The otherworldliness of health care, for those who tirelessly diagnose and treat illness in its hospitals’ labyrinthine wards, units, and imaging suites, can come to seem normal. Even the strangest or most alienating clinical occurrences can become unremarkable realities. Another blood draw, lumbar puncture, or even surgery can seem quotidian to clinicians, yet profoundly foreign or even frightening to patients. Although movies, TV shows, or individual experience offer glimpses into medicine’s mysteries, so too does art—particularly poetry. The poem “Echo” reverberates with the eeriness of health care, to which many seasoned clinicians may become inured. The speaker, a patient undergoing an echocardiogram, reflects on the instant intimacy of her relationship with an echocardiography technician she has just met. She describes their dimly lit journey together during the procedure, conjuring an image reminiscent of both a cave and a heart, replete with shadows, chambers, and whorls, similar perhaps to the echocardiogram’s ethereal black and white. The final echo of the poem poses an ironic question—perhaps asked internally by the patient or spoken tentatively into the depths of this metaphorical deep place—“What’s that sound?” What the void returns, surprisingly, is a kind of redemption of medicine’s foreignness. Just as medical technology can offer insights to patients, it gives clinicians something as well. Through poetry, we are invited to reexperience not only the uncanniness that can come with healing but also the privilege we hold in our understanding, and interpretation of, its mysteriousness: “It’s your heart.”