SHADES OF MEMORY.

What can I say about the batch of 2020, A hope of vaccine they were during the times of covid plenty, doctors scanty. Their passion for deciphering knew no bounds, Working during the golden hours of difficult times , not as easy as Doppler wave sounds. Similar to the trickling contrast flowing along the most complex collaterals and stenosed vessels, Those depleted brains functioned bilaterally in focus solving the meticulous puzzles. Sometimes wondered, " Is this entire class leading to myocardial infarction or a hibernating ischemic notion"? Jumping like electrons from unstable atoms, Clearing doubts of colleagues, inducing tricks and wisdom. Just as the PET scan, bright ideas used to glow, Whenever mistakes and glucose saturation hit a wall echo shadow. The healing touch to the patients will be recalled for a long time, Even the fatty liver when missed, wasn't such a terrible crime. Still reminds me of the case of penile fracture and that confused biphasic gesture. A fragile case of torsion, beyond clinicians vision. Those thrilling focusing skills, saving anyone from an aneurysmal kill. Newly found ectopic love, bothering calls from above. Not to forget all the premature diagnosis, even before the fusion of physis, defying all laws of physics. Covid peak sterilized precaution, a never ending obsessive compulsion. That detailed description on sarcoidosis, which made them stare without ptosis. Whether it was Coco cola fluid or anchovy sauce pus, The motto was eating lunch at peace without making a fuss. Even though we may have sailed through thundering waves of ascites and reverberations of abdominal gas, Realized the toughest voyage is the uncharted effusion called ' life' not the exam to pass. Never easy to imagine a placebo for a pathology for which there is no treatment, Even the clinicians know that , just for the sake of argument. Reassuring one’s self in consolidating all those pieces of knowledge collapsed and shattered as a traumatic spleen, Depending on fate or faith of the crew we were destined to have been. But there were always these miraculous souls; our mentors, companions and well-wishers who dissected the most impossible path akin to the transducer. Even in the darkest of our journey whilst obscured by dense opacities impossible to figure. Their planar sight always quested for photons like an abandoned hydropic Villi in a snowstorm, In future we are lost sailors searching for that starry sky of direction amongst dense and empty clouds of emphysema without a form. In the end all of us are expendable and institutionalized forming into an old healed calcified granularity, Bad memories heal by gliosis, fallen scars heal by fibrosis, but painful errors heal by adaptability. By the time we leave, may regret of not having appreciated the precious footprints in the hydatid sands of time, Who knows, few among us may develop an anchoring trident hand; realizing ‘nothing is forever mine’. The mark left is an artefact of memory etched even in the deepest sulci of an atrophied Alzheimer’s cerebrum, Wondering back " I have progressed a long way from the retroperitoneal hidden space I once came from". One day, bound to realize the vegetative and dependent resource longed was nowhere to be found, Let’s be grateful it was right there, all these years, like a vestigial appendix inside all along. Unforgotten is this existence, It all seems, no words of mine can relive these three year presence. Thomas Alva Edison once quoted "Science is 1% inspiration and 99 % perspiration", But forever remember what legend PRMDR says, Radiology is 1% inspiration and 99 % imagination. No matter how deeply lost in the overthinking shadows of plain sight, don't forget to appreciate the ‘common sense’ of foresight.

Hope we ace and move on with flying colours Close to an MR perfusion image without stroke features.

PRMDR