Immortalizing the Mortal 2024
Hidden in Plain Sight
In Collaboration with McGill's Maude Abbott Medical Museum
How does disability change how we perceive ourselves and how we are perceived by others?
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How do we define the spectrum of disability?
Upper portion of a femur with a comminuted fracture complicated by chronic osteomyelitis.
A Beautiful Blend
Sam Amar, MDCM '26
To the one who is different from me
My preposterous opposite friend
For you it’s a challenge to be
But I’ll love you right to the end.
From sitting and watching TV
To throwing you ‘round in the pool
I’d cry when you’d beat me at Wii
I cherish these moments like jewels.
I’m up when you’re down, glad when you’re sad
And I’m big in ways that you’re small.
You’re different from me, and happy to be,
Not sure how we are friends at all.
But
You act like a stormcloud, accumulate rain
And then thunder and cry from above.
You make those who adore you feel worry and pain
Lamenting the moments where you gave us love.
This makes me distressed, and fills me with rage
How you act makes me crave for a fight.
But your mind, it is trapped in a fortified cage
Unable to see the light.
But is this your fault? Who is to blame?
Can you discern the effects of your acts?
Is it fair that I fury ‘cause you don’t feel shame?
For your brain, the rules of the world are not facts.
You’re innately unique, that won’t ever change
Endearment and hatred, a beautiful blend
The way you behave, it makes me estranged
But I’ll still love you right to the end.
A word from the artist: This is a deeply personal poem about someone in my life who has a very mild developmental disability. Without getting into too much detail, this person sometimes behaves in ways that are troubling and hurtful, which worries and angers those around them including me. Throughout my relationship with this person, I’ve always had to ask myself: “Am I allowed to be mad at him for how he’s acting, given that he may not fully understand the impact of his actions due to his disability?” Is feeling angry towards him mutually exclusive with thinking about him and his situation with empathy and understanding? After lots of thinking, I’ve determined that the answer to this second question is no. I’ve recently began allowing myself to feel what’s brewing inside my brain and my body - these are my feelings, and they shouldn’t be repressed just because this person isn’t intentionally trying to hurt me. That being said, with this freedom also comes the responsibility to realize that while this individual is acting in ways that I consider unacceptable, his behaviour is influenced by factors that are out of his control. To speak more broadly, it’s important to allow ourselves to feel our strong emotions, while also responding to these feelings in ways that are cognizant of other people’s disabilities or life situations in general.
Beneath the Femur
Alice Beauchet, MDCM '25
A word from the artist: Like an iceberg, there is to a person with a disability what we see and cannot see. Above the surface, representing the journey towards a diagnosis, the pipes reveal the intricate maze it can be. A maze that can take years to navigate, sometimes resulting in individuals slipping through the cracks. The iceberg also symbolizes the complexity of visible and hidden disabilities, echoing the contrast between what we perceive of a person and what they keep hidden from the world. Deep inside lives a world only known to the individual and their loved ones. A world where their emotions and who they are, can exist without being constantly guarded. This inner struggle is shown with the control tower, having to constantly and meticulously plan each movement and look around their surroundings as the outside environment is often hostile to accessibility. While the world scrutinizes their every movement, attempting to invade their private sphere.
Vignettes of a Broken Body
Meygan Brody, MDCM '26
Looking
Tap tap goes the cane of the man walking up to me
No, he’s not walking—he’s shuffling and dragging
His broken body thumps behind his extra limb
His third leg leads his way to my bench near my tree
The three-legged man sits down on my bench next to me
He sits, his cane drops, his body becomes unbroken and free
Had I walked up to him now sitting here near my tree
I would see him as whole, as nature made us to be.
Invading
I hammered and I chiseled my way through tough bone
I broke and rebuilt his body, then broke it once more
He’ll understand how he’s mangled deep down at his core
But not how I lovingly carved his body as if from stone
He’ll believe he’s a whole separate being from me
His whole world will think I’m something to look past
That I conceal a true nature, I’m a distorted mask
But I mesh with his body and being—know me, see me.
Being
I wonder how loud is the sound of a bone that breaks
Am I the only one who heard how my body tore?
The ripping of all that was normal at my core—
My new body a cruel portrait of nature’s mistakes
Now it hurts and it stings every time that I walk
No, it’s not really a walk—my leg drags and shuffles
I’ve become a puppet to this broken body that muffles
Who I truly am—and makes me an object to mock.
A word from the artist: I found it really challenging to write about this specimen. Throughout the process, there were some questions that stood out to me, and that I’ve been struggling with even before we chose this year’s specimen and theme. What makes up our identity? Who gets to define that identity? How do we present ourselves to the outside world? How are we received by others? The idea and the experience of disability tie into these questions in such a profound way. Disability is understood as relational—a disability exists because others label it as such, and because our built environment is designed to marginalize and cast aside those with different ways of functioning and of being. I wanted to outline those aspects of disability by writing my piece from three perspectives: as a witness to disability, as the disabling pathology itself, and as the person with the disability.
I also wanted to explore some of the ideas behind current movements of disability justice. There’s been a huge push to reclaim previously discriminatory labels, like "Deaf" and "Mad".This shifts the understanding of disability from a purely relational concept to an inherent part of one’s identity. A disability can form a deep part of our inner selves and can be something to draw strength from. In my own experiences, I’ve seen that there can be a tension even to this idea—disability can be disempowering and even shameful, and it can sometimes make much more sense to think of it as a separate entity from our true being, as something that takes over and destroys who we believe ourselves to be.
Convalescence
Ying Chen, MDCM '25
A word from the artist: In my first year of clerkship, I have witnessed and accompanied my patients on their journeys of recovery from injury, surgery, addiction, illness, loss. I saw how they are affected and changed by disability, diagnosis, grief: mentally, physically, and spiritually. Concurrently, in my own life, I faced an important loss. It is only natural for things to happen which alter us such that we never fully return to the individuals we were before. Whether it be an amputation, a chronic diagnosis, a mental disorder, or the loss of a loved one. We are faced again and again with the inevitable reality of accepting and adapting to change. Through my patients, who bravely faced these challenges daily, I learned resilience, healing and hope. In the spring, I traveled to see the cherry blossoms. They bloom yearly for a very brief period of time. Always beautiful and garnering much attention and awe from the locals, they are never identical to the ones that bloomed a year before. They reminded me that the only true constant in life is change. That, after loss and illness, there is promise of renewal. I thought then, that it must be a natural part of life to shed parts of who we once were, and find hope and healing in new forms.
A Leg
Isabella Comtois Bona, MDCM '27
A word from the artist: I started my creative process by looking at a reference model of an healthy bone, and to describe what I could physically see, and what function would be expected from it. It’s the visible face, the one the human eye see, analyse and put word onto. The leg that has a role written out in the dictionary, and to which the first half of the poem is dedicated to. The altered physiology, what’s beyond reach for the eye, and all the feelings that come with it are expressed on the other side of the poem, white on black.
This piece aimed to merge the physical and the mental counterparts of a disease, as well as what was once, what was lost, and what remains.
Entre rêves et réalité: Le corps comme fenêtre sur le monde
Djalica Diallo, MDCM '26
J’aime imaginer que ma personne, mon verbe “être” à moi, ne se caractérise que par l’esprit que
mon corps abrite, comme-ci celui-ci n’était qu’un vaisseau sans quelconque valeur philosophique. Je
rêve de cette idée que l’âme humaine, affranchie du monde physique, n’est confrontée à aucune de
ses barrières, qu’elle existe en transcendant les lois qui ordonnent notre Univers. Je rêve que l’âme
est libre des souffrances rattachées au monde matériel, celui qu’on peut caresser mais tout aussi bien
violenter. C’est que j’aime rêver. J’adore rêver ! Je ferme les yeux et qui suis-je ? La plus belle des
étoiles; celle qui étreint les secrets de l’espace. Je serre mes paupières encore plus fort et m’y voici,
dans ce territoire où mon âme est libérée de la fragilité de son enveloppe, où elle peut briller tel un
astre incandescent.
Mais la réalité n’aime pas les songes, et bientôt ma vieille amie sera de retour pour m’extraire de
ceux-ci: la douleur, constante, obsédante, poignardante. Je ferme les yeux à nouveau mais cette
fois-ci les rêves se sont échappés. La douleur les a enlevés. Petit à petit, la sensibilité de mon corps
devient insupportable. Je me retrouve esclave de ses caprices, prise au piège par sa faiblesse. Le
corps devient mon poison, le tombeau de mon âme. Et puis alors que la blessure est sur le bord de
m’engouffrer, on me tend la main. Quelques mots et un regard empli d’humanité, et cette fois-ci c’est
la douleur qui s’échappe.
D’un coup, ce monde métaphysique dont je rêvais m’apparaît isolant. Et puis je réalise que notre
matérialité, bien que désenchantante, est aussi ce qui nous permet de disposer du monde. Le corps
est notre ancre dans l’existence, en nous offrant la capacité d’être hors de nous et avec les autres.
Sans celui-ci, je serais condamnée à la solitude de mon esprit, incapable d’être comprise ou de
comprendre. Je serais invisible et aveugle. Ces blessures qui nous handicapent, ces souffrances qui
nous ravagent, constituent un rappel dur mais honnête que nous appartenons au monde, mais que
notre corps constitue notre seule et unique fenêtre sur celui-ci. C’est par lui que nous nous ouvrons
aux autres réalités sensibles, que nous pouvons nous ouvrir à l’Autre. C’est au travers du corps que
nous pouvons vivre chaque instant dans une danse intime avec le monde.
A word from the artist: En découvrant pour la première fois ce spécimen et en apprenant la condition médicale que ce patient avait dû affronter, mes pensées se sont principalement concentrées sur l'ampleur de la douleur qu'il avait endurée, tant sur le plan physique que mental et social. Cette pensée m’a donc amenée à réfléchir à la place du corps dans nos vies, et à quel point celui-ci influence notre expérience de l’existence. Mon intention était de donner voix à une révolte contre le corps, une révolte qui se manifeste dans le domaine du rêve, comme en témoigne la première partie onirique de mon texte. Le rêve devient l’outil de cette révolution contre le corps et contre la douleur que celui-ci inflige à l’âme qui y est détenue, comme-ci celle-ci y était prise au piège. Mais le rêve ici est aussi un moyen d’évasion face à la souffrance ; pendant un court paragraphe, la douleur est oubliée et la voix de ce texte peut imaginer qu’elle est une étoile rebelle, insoumise aux lois matérielles du monde. Cependant, dans mes réflexions sur la vie de ce patient, je n'ai pu m'empêcher d'imaginer les personnes qui l'ont entouré et soutenu dans sa maladie. Au-delà de la souffrance intense associée à sa condition, mon esprit revenait toujours à une lueur d'espoir, à l'idée qu'il y avait sûrement eu quelqu'un pour lui tendre la main. C'est ainsi que la dernière partie de mon texte a pris forme. Cette personne, par son geste d'empathie et d’humanité, a permis à la voix du texte de réaliser que le corps est aussi ce qui nous relie aux autres. Et puis, sans celui-ci, si nous n’étions qu’un esprit voltigeant
dans l’Univers et insoumis à la matérialité du Monde - tel était le rêve décrit - nous serions seuls. Le corps, malgré les souffrances qu’il nous fait vivre, nous permet aussi d’expérimenter toutes les sensations uniques au fait d’être en vie sur cette Terre. La fin de mon texte résume ainsi cette idée: “C’est au travers du corps que nous pouvons vivre chaque instant dans une danse intime avec le monde.”
Broken, Free
Ali Fazlollahi, MDCM '25
Your flesh, oh how it turned to dust,
Drifted off your bones with that eternal gust.
I’ll carry your memories in my crystalized form,
the minerals within your core,
tell the story of a life that came before.
I was fractured, you wounded,
I disconnected, and you socially excluded.
Oh the pain of a broken bone,
a missing whole,
I comminuted, you alone.
When one became two,
we both thought that we are through.
In that moment, our past felt like a blur,
what we had become now,
Is all that the world seemed to care.
We both tried to heal,
with our wounds infected,
reduced to a “cripple”,
our humanity neglected.
Yet, in my marrow’s silent scream,
A white sentinel stood in a dream.
Sequestrum, my necrotic seal,
Encased in life’s fervent zeal.
Around me grew an involucrum’s might,
A fortress against the long, weary night.
Holed yet whole, a paradox in bloom,
Kindled hope in adversity's womb.
In that pus-filled cradle, I thrived in spite,
Endured the pressure, the feverish fight.
Fistulas weaving through flesh and air,
A body’s map of despair laid bare.
But I, a scaffold of ancient rites,
Held memories, love, countless plights.
Though shunned, we bore a spectral grace,
An emblem of life's unwavering embrace.
Through time’s relentless, moldering tide,
I became a vessel where stories reside.
A spectrum of disability, an array of might,
Through brokenness, we found the light.
Connections, fragile, yet tough as steel,
Wove through my essence, helped me heal.
Imperfectly mended, yet staunchly proud,
In silence we roared, unbroken, unbowed.
New shapes we took, identities anew,
In the world's eye, we were taboo.
Yet, those who saw with the heart’s true gaze,
Found beauty in our labyrinthine ways.
So, let my crystallized form so stark,
Illuminate minds, kindle a spark.
Let it shift the view of disability’s frame,
And honor your unique, unvoiced name.
For you are more than a testament of survival,
A bearer of tales, of an endless archival.
In my enduring, sculpted poise,
I echo the endless human noise.
A chorus of the ones who came and went,
In bone’s enduring monument,
Whispering to those who will hear,
"Disability is just another frontier."
Stand by me, and you shall find,
A reflection of your own enshrined.
For I am you, and you are me,
In this dance of life, endlessly free.
A word from the artist: In writing this piece, I was inspired by the resilience demonstrated in this specimen and the strength of the human who lived with it. Dissecting the topic of disability was a challenge for me as it related to an experience that falls outside my realm of lived experiences. But, having interacted with many persons with disabilities on clinical rotations, I focused on the notion of illness narratives and how they may shape one’s identity. In this lens, I sought to portray the relation of the physical body with that of the soul and their process of mutual healing in a story recounted by the specimen. I also wanted to explore the reality of healing — a process that is rarely perfect and is often complicated by external factors, such as toxic environments. The narrative clings to the hope of reconnection, a potent belief that finding oneself again will not only rekindle lost bonds, but will also be the crucible for forging a new identity. This is not a tale of seamless transformation. It acknowledges the challenges faced when taking a novel form — one that the society may ostracize or misunderstand. I wanted this piece to inspire a shift in perspective regarding disability; to see beyond conventional views and recognize the resilience, beauty, and diversity found within these experiences. Memories and stories, like fossils and bones, are often the only legacy left behind. They are not just remnants of the past, but are the very essence of our continued presence. Writing this piece helped me appreciate the boundless spectrum of what it means to be and to overcome, and to see disability not as a limitation but as another frontier in the vast expanse of human experience.
Remettre son billet
Dylan Hamitouche, MDCM '27
A word from the artist: My work explores the spiritual consequences of disability and unjust suffering. In this digital art, the nihilistic character turns his back against God, represented by the eyes. I wanted to illustrate in a symbolic way, not the rejection of the idea of God, but rather the disapproval of His creation, which sometimes can seem absurd and wrong. I was considerably inspired by the beautiful novel The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Consider my work as a counterexample of what one should aim to believe. In the novel, it is made clear that this path leads to despair, self-destruction, and insanity. Even in the darkest abyss, if you look for it long enough, you will see the beauty of His creation. Then, you will know that everything is going to be okay.
To Remodel
Emma Hooker, MDCM '26
A word from the artist: When I sat down to create a submission for Immortalizing the Mortal this year, I was unsure which direction I should go in. The specimen is quite complex, but what struck me initially was how the bone had attempted to remodel itself around the damage done by the previous fracture and subsequent chronic osteomyelitis. This notion of remodeling oneself in response to trauma is paralleled by how this person would have had to remodel their own life and adapt to their new disability. My piece represents this adaptability.
The world we live in is so often not welcoming to anyone with different abilities. While this is a failure of society and not of the patient, it can unfortunately lead to social isolation, which I see represented by the emptiness of the necrotic centre of the bone. The hint of colour I put behind the remodeled bone in my embroidery represents the potential our community has to grow and to understand this person and to welcome them back into the fold.
Driftwood
Sofia Lizza, MDCM '27
Pearly blue eyes
Present but captive
In a body sans control
Mewling and wailing
The pain of broken ribs
Bound to the ground for 13 hours
“Try not to move,” they said
“I can’t,” she replied. “I have MS.”
Pearly blue eyes
Present but captive to bed
Bathed by wipes but no water
To hear an opened tap
Water running on your skin
Coastal drifts
Cradling our mind
Pearly blue eyes
Wanting to be seen
Not a broken piece of driftwood
Passive to the ecoSystem
But driftwood revered
Holding space
Promoting life in its own places
Crevices and holes
Twists and turns
Hollow spaces for nourishing
Pearly blue eyes
Present and seen
“I want someone to listen”
Pearly blue eyes
Driftwood displayed
Eroded by waves
But strong in its journey to shore
Driftwood honored
Her story heard
Precious pearls
Reflected by open waters
A word from the artist: When I saw this year’s specimen, the porous appearance and almost wood grain texture of the bone made me think of a piece of driftwood. With this image in mind, I was inspired to write about a patient encounter I had where I met a woman with advanced Multiple Sclerosis. She recounted a terrible fall she had that caused multiple broken ribs and how much she longed to have a proper shower, rather than be bathed with body wipes. She emphasized how much she hoped to have someone to talk to regularly, something I and the other medical student I was with relayed to the physician. In this poem, I’ve attempted to compare what I understood to be her feelings of loneliness, trepidation, and distrust in the healthcare system to the long, weathered journey of a piece of driftwood that finds itself stranded ashore, either to be ignored or disposed of, or hopefully, revered and displayed. Although her mobility was greatly impaired, her thoughts and medical requests, not unreasonable, were clear and emotionally conveyed in her pearly blue eyes. Rather than focusing on her physical disability, I’ve attempted to honor her story and focus on the importance of actively listening and offering compassion, practices I vow to uphold in my medical studies and future career.
What if I Tell You
Élodie Marceau, MDCM '26
This poem is about disability and the people who suffer
Suffer not from it
But from the shallow space we, society, grant them
What if I tell you
A body that can’t walk, is a body that can fly
A mind that can’t talk, is a mind that can shout
Only, they must have a sky to fly in and an audience to shout at
Here, they do not;
Their possibilities are incarcerated
In barricades
Built by the hands of those who can walk
Upon the sketches and proposals of those who can talk
Overseen by the eyes of those who are respected
And those, we fools
Eat egoist soup in winter
And bathe comfortably in naivety
So our fences are built high and are made of a one-way miroir
And so Here we stand, and There they sit
We outside, They inside
Of the walls that only we can mount; we don’t
Of the walls that only they notice; they do
So here comes my question
Who really is the blind men?
The one who reads in dots and walks with a cane leg
or is it
The one who dumps nails in the middle of another’s path
And builds his own dirty walls in the center of another’s landscape
As my eyes brush upon the specimen of a broken femur
I can so clearly see the infection’s repercussions
The holes carved by the poison
Which complicate this simple fracture
As society complicates a simple disability
The doctor can say what he must
But I believe
It is not when a femur is broken that it cannot walk
It is when the femur does not recognize itself as femur
It is when the human does not recognize itself as human
as capable, as able
Because of the ulcerative wounds of society
Because of the penetrating stares of community
Because of the infection
Because of the walls
Beyond the Surface
Sara Mesiha, BSc. Physiotherapy '25
A word from the artist: As I pursue my studies in rehabilitation, the frequent use and prevalence of the term "disability" stirred something within me. I felt compelled to cast light on a different perspective, one that resonated with my personal journey, so I poured my heart into crafting this poem. It's a testament to perseverance, to finding the courage to press onward even when unseen or judged by others. By focusing on three key themes that have been at the forefront of my mind, I wanted to show that despite any challenges, there's a spark of resilience and a fire burning inside all of us. And maybe, just maybe, my words can help others see that too.
Empowerment and resilience: Life is full of unexpected obstacles and throws curveballs at us. It's our ability to bounce back that truly defines us, despite the odds stacked against us. We possess the power to rise above and conquer whatever trials come our way.
Misunderstanding and judgment: It's far too simple for others to make assumptions based solely on surface observations. It's crucial to remember that there's always more to the story than meets the eye. We must always question biased opinions and strive for deeper understanding.
Identity and self-acceptance: We are more than the circumstances or conditions that surround us. True strength and triumph come from embracing our authentic selves, flaws and all. By accepting and celebrating our unique identities, we unlock the potential for profound growth and fulfillment.
La fracture handicape
Sofia Ricciardelli, MDCM '27
A word from the artist: Les tercets suivants dépeignent la santé comme une forteresse mettant l’humain à l’abri de diverses sources de dangers tels que des risques physiques, psychologiques et socio-économiques. Lorsque les piliers sur lesquels reposent notre santé sont fragilisés par une maladie et/ou un handicap, l’état de stabilité est brimé, offrant des conditions idéales pour l’envahissement de l’être humain par la peur, la perte de contrôle et l’hypervigilance. Ce poème illustre comment la maladie et le handicap peuvent porter atteinte à la sécurité physique ainsi qu’au sentiment de sécurité d’une personne et il fait usage de l’image et d’un champ lexical militaire pour établir un parallèle entre la fracture physique et psychologique.