Do you hear them? The whispers that tell the untold stories of the human mind? In ‘Whispers of the Mind’, neurologist Carolyn Larkin Taylor shares stories, both professional and deeply personal, about her journey through the labyrinth of neurology. Composed of essays spanning from medical school to private practice, this memoir reveals Dr. Taylor’s growth as both a healer and a human being and, through vivid and compassionate storytelling, captures the essence of neurology—a field rarely associated with joy but rich in profound rewards.
Each essay in ‘Whispers of the Mind’ chronicles true events that highlight the intricate connection between the brain, heart, and soul and illustrate the resilience of the human spirit, lessons learned from patients, and the beauty found in the courage of those facing neurological challenges. In sharing her stories, Dr. Taylor invites readers into the mystique of the human brain, providing a heartfelt glimpse into the life of a neurologist dedicated to understanding and healing the most complex organ of all—the mind.
Below is an excerpt from the book titled ‘Jenny’s Story’,. Dr. Taylor recalls the desperate attempt to save Jenny, a young woman fatally stricken by sepsis, while her mother, the ER charge nurse, watches helplessly, leaving Taylor haunted by Jenny’s awareness of her impending death.
Jenny’s Story
As a physician, I’ve witnessed the final moments of life many times. Often, patients pass quietly, their hearts simply stopping as they lie unconscious. But there are rare moments when someone awakens, their face lighting up with a look of awe, as if they’ve glimpsed something beyond. It’s those moments that shape how I view death—not as an end, but as a window opening just as the last door of life closes.
Late one evening in May, I was winding up my long internship year on call. Having just returned to the on-call room after admitting the last ER patient of the evening, I found myself slipping into a delicious sleep when that annoying pager blared at me again. No . . . please! It’s too soon. I’m so tired! I just took the last ER admit and my turn can’t be up already! It was my senior resident. He sounded apologetic: “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your turn, but we have an admission down here who was your patient earlier this year, so you should take this. She’s being admitted with sepsis.”
I hurriedly made my way down to the ER and found Jenny in the trauma bay. She was surrounded by several ER attending physicians and nurses who were working swiftly to establish a large bore IV to infuse antibiotics and pressors to try to stabilize her falling blood pressure.
Aside from the occasional barked order, the voices were hushed as they surrounded her bed like a choir of angels wearing green scrubs. Her veins, having collapsed from shock, were unusable, so they were working frantically to establish a line in the large subclavian vein in her neck.
I was suddenly aware that the evening ER charge nurse, Mary, was standing by my side. I had worked under her tutelage many times this year, and she was a favorite of mine, always ready to help the terrified interns. This night was different. She wasn’t here to guide me this time. I noticed that she was crying and clutching a paper chart as another nurse tried to hold her back.
Jenny was her only child. Jenny had complained of a mild sore throat earlier that day. Mary tried calling the doctor and keeping her home that night, aware that infection with an encapsulated organism such as streptococcus could kill her quickly, since she no longer had her spleen. But it was Saturday night and Jenny had plans to attend a graduation party with her friends, so she begged her mother to allow her to go, insisting that her sore throat had gone away.
Mary was on night duty in the ER when she got the call from Jenny’s friend. Jenny had collapsed at the party and Mary knew immediately what had happened. By the time Jenny arrived at the party, the streptococcus had stealthily entered Jenny’s bloodstream without the spleen police to deter it, resulting in rapid duplication and invasion.
Her immune system was blindsided. Mary called 911 and had her transported to the ER immediately. The subclavian line finally established, triple antibiotics and fluids were now rapidly infusing into her bloodstream. As her vital signs began stabilizing, the way was finally cleared for the intern to examine her and write her orders for admission.
As I approached, Jenny was still in marked distress, but the look in her eyes signaled that she remembered me. Just as I applied my stethoscope to her chest, she bolted upright with frightful eyes and exclaimed, “I’m going to die!”
At that very moment her heart stopped. I called the Code Blue as the ER team surged around me, their efforts to resuscitate her both frantic and precise. For ninety minutes, the battle against Death raged on. Finally, they stepped back, and the time of death was called. Death, which had failed twice before, returned to claim her spirit at last. The look in her eyes at the very moment her heart stopped, as she realized she was going to die, is something I shall never forget.
Carolyn Larkin Taylor, M.D., has always been a trailblazer. Among the first women to graduate from Notre Dame, Taylor went on to become an award-winning neurologist who has dedicated over three decades to the practice of medicine. A graduate of the University of Notre Dame and Hahnemann Medical College, she completed a neurology residency at the University of Pennsylvania, where she was awarded the Humaneness in Medicine Award and recognized as one of Philadelphia’s Top Docs for Women. You can follow Dr. Taylor on Facebook and Instagram.
