Sick and Tired

In the medical food chain, we are the bottom feeders. Rather, we're not even part of the chain-- we're merely aberrations. One day a week, we hit the hospital. We interview patients, we write up histories. But these histories are not for a patient's benefit, only ours.

The patients we interview have already been admitted to their floor, and they have doctors assigned to their cases. They have diagnoses, treatment plans, and are being treated. Yet every Monday at 7AM, we have to round on and wake these sick, tired people and ask them the same questions that have been asked of them a thousand times before. Sometimes they are willing to share their information, their family history, their secrets, their weaknesses. But sometimes they're downright ornery.



So here we are: A patient doesn't want to recant their story for the 997th time. My passing grade depends upon me coming back from this patient with their complete and miserably detailed medical history.

I realize the world wouldn't want a bunch of junior doctors schlepping in and taking mediocre medical histories that could quite possibly put the correct diagnoses at risk. I also realize that standoffish patients are a part of the game-- and not everyone is in a trusting, perky-good mood when speaking with their doctor. But since we are just pawns in a game and nothing we collect will ever benefit the patient, couldn't we roll in around 2PM after the patient has eaten lunch? Why wake someone who has just had a bowel resection, or annoy someone who hasn't slept in days just for our own educational purposes? The guilt I feel about disturbing sleep and trying to elicit answers from a vomiting, feverish patient has begun to grow with every IV-laden interview.

Today, Karma shook it's ugly fist, as I awoke with a sick stomach. I thought it only fair to drag myself into the shower, into dress clothes, and to the hospital. I'm not contagious, so I felt this day a good punishment for all the lost sleep myself and my fellow schleppers have caused. Bless the restful sleep gained by the ill.

Photo credit. And here.

Why animals bite humans:

Here is my kitty, Stella. And her awesome pea pod Halloween costume. (As you can tell, she looks thrilled.)

She's pretty. Leave my pseudo-cat torture alone. I only made her wear it for two minutes, and as pissed as she looked, she was purring the whole time.

Holy Mother of....

So religion and medicine-- hot topic? Meh. The world has more worries as of now. Every Monday we have 2 fun-filled hours of a clinical class. It's actually quite glorious, because 1) the class is pass/fail and 2) it's a reminder that we're actually shoving all this information into our brains for a legitimate purpose. We had several readings this week about the role of religion in medicine. This topic freaks me out is daunting.

First of all, I definitely agree with teaching medical students about various religions because, frankly, I think we're a little uncultured (ok, maybe just me). I think a lot of what we know about the world's religions comes from television and, like Wik.ip.edia, that is not an extraordinarily accurate source of information. Sad but true, I really don't know a whole lot about different religions. I have several friends who are Hin.du, Buddh.ist, etc., but we rarely talk about our religious beliefs. Religion has actually become somewhat taboo in daily conversation. Though I'm curious, it's not an eas

y thing to ask questions about. So, in short, I think education is a fabulous thing.

Second, I understand that various religions have established opinions and beliefs about certain medical procedures (i.e. Jehov.ah's W.itnes.ses and blood transfusions). As much as I don't agree with these choices, I do respect the beliefs behind them.

Finally, on to the point I really wanted to address. In my class today, we addressed several real and hypothetical cases, the last of which was probably the most off-putting for me. Dr. A. told us of his elderly patient, M, who was in the hospital and going into surgery. He said that he touched her arm, and told her he would say a prayer for her. As an internist, he knew this woman very well, and he and she were both Christians. This situation was totally appropriate. Dr. A. proceeded to explain how well his voicing his concern for her and telling her he will pray for her affected M's mood. Further, it made the doctor-patient relationship stronger. This is where things went awry: He said it is important that we recognize our patients' beliefs, and that the statement of prayer was for her well-being more than his. I can't remember his exact words, but he implied that we should offer consoling prayers even if that is not what we believe.

Dun dun DUNNNN.... So, I'm agnostic. Notttttt a big pray-er. So, I really don't think I'm going to be lying to patients any time soon-- telling that I'm going to pray for them and then not. I mean, what the crap. Interwebz... what to do, what to do?

Fascinating side note: today I sliced my thumb open with a scalpel. Though there is a family practice clinic one floor above, I chose not to get stitches out of sheer laziness.

Pic from xkcd.

Renaissance

It was quite traumatic, deleting all my old posts. As I deleted them, I took the time to re-read them, and relive some of the memories-- good and bad-- held within. I think what I will miss the most, though, are the comments left by loverly readers... the very few of you that exist (and have probably trotted off into the sunset, now that I don't frequently post).

I think I will paraphrase my favorite comment for memory's sake, since more and more brain cells go on strike as the amount of sleep I get decreases exponentially.

"You spend all this time trying to keep up and pretending to be a good student, then one day it hits you-- and you realize you actually are."

I don't know why this hit me as hard as it did, but I really think this frame of thought got me through the entire application process, through my senior finals, through my interview, orientation, etc. I think we (read: I) always feel like we are mediocre-- we look at everyone else and they seem to exude confidence. While they are exuding, we are internally jumping up and down and screaming, because we can't figure out how to catch up with the pack. Truly, though, it is simply a symptom of being an over-achieving, perfectionist nerdette. One day, you realize-- you made it, you did it, you caught up. Or maybe you always were just as qualified, just as smart, just as astute.... you just cared so much to do the best for yourself you felt as if you were falling behind.

I realize that was an extremely rambling train of thought, but I think the most important point is thus: I am the first to admit I need frequent reality checks.

Good morning, Reality. My name's Fizzle. Let's not lose track of one another.

Photo credit.

Medical School, The Beginning

Tomorrow is my first official day of med school, but not necessarily classes (they start Tuesday).  Tomorrow is (another) day of orientation-type activities. Looking back on everything I've had to do to get here... the studying, the sacrifices, the MCAT, the application process, interviews.... I know I have not yet even begun the battle.  In the past few weeks, I have spent time reflecting on the reasons I want to be a physician, and even tried to talk myself out of it.  I consider the fact I have been unable to do this a reinforcement of my commitment to my decision to pursue medicine.

Though I am certain I will delve significantly into my personal life here once again, many of my past personal posts have been removed.  I will attempt to recount my travels through school here, both as a form of stress relief and personal release and also for others who wish to follow a similar course.  The advice and friendships I gained from reading others' blogs and communicating with my peers has been invaluable.

A fresh start

Soon, I will delete a vast majority of my past posts.  It is not out of anger or shame, but of a desire for a new direction for my blog.  More and more of my friends have uncovered my blog, and it is for the best that certain topics are removed from here.  I will continue to be brutally honest, so if you must navigate elsewhere in order to cope, do so.  

In short...

Per neumed's request, my six word memoir and seven-song list:

Loves ice cream but lactose intolerant.

Seven actual songs from this week:

Hospital Beds-- Cold War Kids

Blessed-- Brett Dennen  (<-- if you haven't heard this, listen.)

I Started a Joke-- Wallflowers

You Know I'm No Good-- Amy Winehouse

Independent-- Webbie      (<--My theme song for life.)

Defying Gravity-- Orig. Broadway Cast of Wicked

Where Do You Go To My Lovely-- Peter Sarstedt

Picture by WxMom