Collection
Poems on Medicine.
Where the stethoscope meets the pen
14 poems
Jenelle Jindal is a neurologist who writes. These poems live at the intersection of those two callings—in exam rooms, on MRI screens, inside the marrow of long shifts. Some are wry dispatches from residency; others find the poetry already latent in clinical language. Together, they reveal how a physician’s trained attention—the habit of looking closely, of listening for what is beneath the surface—can become a literary practice.
With A Stethoscope
A haiku bridging medicine and music. The stethoscope becomes an instrument.
Breathe in
Clinical setting meets meditative pause. The exam table becomes a place to be still, not just examined.
I Spy
Neurology in miniature. The MRI screen reveals old strokes and bleeds like a clinical ghost story.
Pain
Clinical reframing of pain as diagnostic signal, not adversary. The medical gaze turned inward.
The Unknown:
Juxtaposition of researcher and patient facing the same unknown. Medicine's duality in two mirrored stanzas.
Help Get Me Out
A clot given a voice inside an artery. Vascular pathology recast as dramatic monologue.
Blood drawn
Clinical procedure meets wry humor. A poke, a vial, and a vanishing smile.
What Is Hypertension?
Etymology as diagnosis. Latin roots crack open a medical term until the vessels themselves seem to wince.
Myelin:
Neuroscience meets personification. Myelin -- the nerve sheath that speeds signals -- cast as unsung hero.
For awhile when I walked in their rooms --
Wry clinical vignette. Patients' assumptions meet a punchline about height and genetics.
Peanut Butter And
Surgery-rotation shorthand for survival. A snack elevated to ritual by exhaustion.
CAT scan --
Medical imaging meets wordplay. The CAT scan yields data, not the animal its name suggests.
D-Day
Flashback and sensory detail track a healthcare worker's solitary march into the pandemic.
To
Health personified as sovereign. Four spare words and one act of reverence.