Ars Medica is a biannual literary journal, started in 2004, that explores the interface between the arts and healing, and examines what makes medicine an art. Ars Medica remains the only medical literary journal in Canada, and one of a handful of such journals in the world, in the rapidly developing international field of the humanities in healthcare.
Ars Medica allows a place for dialogue, meaning-making, and the representation of experiences of the body, health, wellness, and encounters with the medical system. Content includes narratives from patients and health care workers, medical history, fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, and visual art. We also include sections on writing by and about children, and writing about international health. These are voices that are often silenced in healthcare.
New @ Ars Medica
By Jay Baruch
By Mark Silverberg
By Paul Shore
By Linda Rosenbaum
By Lisa Carrie Goldberg
“Structuring somnolence: Sleep science technology as a medium for drawing with the Body at rest” is an investigation into the fields of sleep science and art.
By Saleem Idris Razack
By Colette Malo
At her mother's hospital bedside, the author receives the news that her mother might not be leaving the hospital alive.
Faced with possible life prolonging options for her mother, the author must decide on the kind of life her mother would want to live.
By A. Rooney
By Amitha Kalaichandran
We waltz as she guides me through the broad strokes of her mind
By Chris Bolin
By Jean M. Cook
Thursday afternoonJim is dying and we are watching. Watching from his bedside to see whether his eyes really focus on our faces as he turns his head to greet us. Watching to see him extend his right forefinger to answer yes to his wife Marian. Yes, he knows David and Jean are here.
By Jewel Fraser
My sister Andrea was already thirteen years old when i first got to know of her existence, ten years younger than I. My father had kept her a secret from my siblings and me — odd considering he had three other children out of wedlock, one of whom grew up with us in the same household.
By Janette Ayachi
A Venus twin slumps forward
in her tangerine dress and turquoise wings,
peeling a hazel branch with a slumberous stare.
By Ben Margolis
“What’s wrong wit’ you?” asked the shopkeeper.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me,” scowled Mr. Jackson as a flap of skin unfolded across his chest. Hinged at the side like an armoire door to Mr. Jackson’s body, the flap opened at the breast bone, curling outward towards his left arm.
By Kurt Rheinheimer
By Bryan Sisk
a ten hour drive.
My first time seeing grandma
in over a year.
dad says she has faded,
the amyloid plaques invading her memory
day by day.
i see her at the family dinner,
hardly the person who helped to raise me.
By Melissa Cofer
How far should I chase you?
the air is
heavy with heat.
tender geranium leaves
dry becoming bitter
By Rita Ariyoshi
“I’m going to apply for a license to kill.” Stokes stood in the doorway gripping a bucket of rags. It was five-thirty and he had just finished cleaning his van.