Unforseen Difficulties

The preparation for medical school is ridiculous. If one were to try to compile all the possibilities together, I have no doubt the process would be damned near infinite. Some people start prepping in high school. They take tough science classes, shadow docs, and begin the process of building up a history of interest in medicine. This way, when college rolls around, they can reference all that they've done so far. Then college consists of pre-med courses, volunteer work at hospitals or labs, the entire MCAT preparation and process, and -topping it all off- the application process. Buckets of forms, letters, grades, personal statements, and interviews.

There's a lot to do.

Assuming all of this works out, you're all of the sudden in medical school! You get to become a doctor! Your hard work has paid off! What does school do? Well, they continue with preparation, but this time it's to really become a physician (for now we'll ignore the residency process needed before you can become a practicing physician). In other words, the journey continues.

Some of you might be saying, "Wow, that sounds pretty tough." You, Hypothetical Constant Reader might be right. I won't argue that the process is lengthy and can be challenging. It's true. But I believe the real troubles arise from the unforeseen difficulties. The problems that pop up and create situations you've never even begun to consider in your- literally- years of preparation. All of that preparation has been so that when problems arise, you have the skill set and ability to assess and act. A child presents with shortness of breath. Assess and Act. A young man becomes violent and aggressive as he pesters you for drugs. Assess and Act. An old woman codes on the hospital floor. Assess and Act.

But what happens when unforeseen issues arise within the process of your preparatory education? How do you handle the different thoughts, opinions, ideas, and behaviors of your fellow students and teachers? The situations that arise away from the classroom? How do you assess and act? Do you stick to your own Self and values, possibly straying from the carefully constructed path of the Medical School Journey? Or do you keep quiet, noting your feelings, and hope for the best?

I suppose the real question is: can a person really complete this journey through medicine and end up the same core person at the finish line?

Now you might be asking, "What on Earth is he on about?"

Don't fret, Constant Reader. I'd say all is and will yet be well.  I simply sit here thinking, on the cusp of a new year, I see all of the new M1s going through orientation. They anxiously and awkwardly begin their journey. Cramming onto a charter bus to breeze through the other campus. Nervously accepting the white coat in front of your peers. Awkwardly talking and drinking at the parties.  I can't help but wonder, how different am I from them? Have I changed over the past year?

Looking back, I'm surprised by how much medical school, and all its tangential connections, have factored into my life in so many different ways. One year ago I wrote my thoughts and hopes on beginning school. Rereading those words now, I feel as though I managed pretty well. Was it easy and did I ever do it alone? Of course not; no way. Many thanks to all who've helped me (especially a certain redhead).

Two points of advice, however, given then by someone who is still wiser than me now, stick out more relevant today:

-Don't be dazzled by bullshit.

-Make sure all things pass the smell test for veracity, virtue, and truth. 

I think those are good things to think about and constantly return to. All things considered, I'm looking forward to my second year.


Until next time.

A Very Talented Man

Last Saturday, nary a week ago, I attended the kicking wedding reception of my two friends (these ones: here and here). The beer flowed tastily, if not entirely clearly, from the tap. The speakers thumped with a good mix of dance music and people were out tearing up the dance floor. For those of you who don't know (which I don't imagine to be many), I occasionally tap my foot to music. Or...well...how else could I put it?

If there's a party with good music, I will dance like hell all night.

I imagine this to be an accurate representation of both myself dancing and others' reactions. I call those others "losers who should be dancing."

This has never been a problem before. I wouldn't even go so far as to call it a problem in this circumstance, it just had... unforeseen consequences. Literally not seen.

Let me begin by stating my new, and now passionate, belief: drinks should be restricted from the dance floor. Be honest. Have you ever been able to really dance well holding a drink? You're always worried about someone bumping into it or you spilling it on yourself or someone else. You may just be worried about losing any of your precious drink, not even on yourself or others. And forget about looking good while dancing and holding a drink. One arm either becomes a magic stabilizer and awkwardly doesn't move while the rest of your body shakes, or you opt for the up-in-the-air, my-drink-is-safer-up-high hold. Either way, it just doesn't work out. The solution? Ban drinks from the dance floor. It would make everyone less worried and look cooler.

Such a ban would also prevent awkward, dance-ending injuries that freakishly happen out of nowhere and could obviously happen to anyone not just a guy who was GIVING it on the dance floor and has genetically lax knee ligaments.

Obviously.

It's true. I'm such a talented man that God Dance and God Awesomeness must have taken note and said, "Whoa. That is too much dance for a mere mortal. We must stop it. Brother God Misfortune: shut him down." And down he shut me. With a perfect storm of events, my left foot at once betrayed me, jutting quickly to the side of my body riding that frictionless train of spilled beer. Mere nanoseconds later, at the moment when my foot jumped from the beer train and landed at a standstill on dry floor, my body was jostled- unmaliciously- by a fellow dancer. This led Left Knee, previously one of my most dependable soldiers on the battlefield of dance, to be attacked on simultaneously on two fronts. Painfully, he exclaimed,"FFFUUUUUUU[[CENSORED]]!" and hit the ground.

My left knee popped, buckled, and I went down. Having had a past experience of dislocating my right patella and it being surgically repaired, I was worried and cautious. I hopped up and was able to get off the dance floor and onto a nearby bench. The knee felt really tender and sore, but fortunately did not have any sharp or continuous pain. This took any kind of a bone break off the table for my differential diagnosis, but ratcheted a ligament tear to the top of the worry list. Being the stupid man that I am, I tried to "walk it off" and do a few laps around the place. I was able to walk,which was definitely a plus, but could tell it was going to be out of commission for a while. My caring but concerned wife and I were able to make a quiet departure from the reception, grab some NSAIDs and ice from a friend in town, and make our way home. Over the next few days I made a doctors appointment and self-prescribed the RICE protocol and ibuprofen. My knee seemed to improve and I became mildly confident it was a sprain with no tears. Yesterday, the real doctor concurred with my diagnosis. He recommended I take it easy for a week and then slowly work back to normal use and exercise. Also advised was this bold fashion statement.

I fully expect it to become the hot and wild new trend of the upcoming fall fashion season. I hear it's already huge in Europe.

Pretty strange events, all things considered. My advice? Keep dancing like hell. If you don't already, give such dancing a go the next time you have the chance. It's just too damn fun not to.

Until next time.

Not Quite All-Star Material

I've been in a bit of a dry spell with the blog. Who knows why we've had this high pressure system for so long, but I've decided to go ahead and rain some words down for y'all.
(Y'all? I don't know either. Just go with it.)

So, in honor of my trying to return to form, I'm going to tell you a little story.

As stated previously, I'm currently working in pediatrics. It's been a really good experience thus far, and there have been some really interesting cases and children. This seems to be a general trend in medicine. As much as any other profession, it offers wonderful examples that solidify the simple truth that people do interesting things (to say the least).

[Exhibit A: The man who was ruthless attacked by a pasta noodle.]

When kids are added into this mix the results can truly take off. I just imagine all the things adults are capable of and add in the non-existent social rules that govern children. They will say and do just about anything.

Picture yourself as a young medical student. You're in clinic and seeing a hilariously talkative 4 year old Boy who's at the doctor for throwing up. After checking things out with Mom and Boy you go present the case to Doctor. (Boy, by the way, is essentially healthy. The source of his emesis? Eating too many bed time snacks. No joke.) Upon returning to the room with Doctor in tow, Doc and Mom proceed to talk some things out. You, as Medical Student, are sitting quietly on the stool and observing. At this point, Boy is quietly sitting on the footstool and intently looking back and forth between You and Doctor. Boy then slides his stool up to you, right in your grill (medical term). He leans in -leading you to lean in, as if you're sharing a secret- and, looking at Doctor, asks:

Boy: Is tha'chya Momma or ya Gran Momma?

You: *Blank Stare* (trying not to laugh)

You: What?

Boy (much more intently, while motioning with his head): Is tha'chya Momma or ya Gran Momma?

You: What? Neither! That's the doctor!

If you can come up with a fitting reply to that, I welcome it for the future. Another scene from the same visit:
"What do you normally eat for a bedtime snack?" the Doctor asks.

Boy pauses, as if this is some kind of a trick. He boldly replies,

"Oatmeal!"

Her brow furrows in disbelief.

"Oatmeal?" she says.
A grin slowly creeps across the boy's face.

"Cookies!" he quickly adds.

This was obviously a very entertaining visit. Occasionally, however, the excitement comes not from the patient but the doctor. Or, in this case, the medical student.

I suppose I should just come out and say it.

I hit a kid in the face.

And made him cry.

I know what you're thinking:

But that is not the case (kind of). Let me explain. Kids are fussy. It's a fact of life. So sick children are especially fussy (by "children" I more accurately mean this 11 month old.) I was working with another medical student who was trying to listen to this child's lungs. The child was unhappy and crying. Let me tell you, it's hard to hear breath sounds when they're being dominated by loud wailing. To help with this, I pulled my ID badge (clipped to my white coat on a retractable...badge...clip) and was loosely holding it in front of said screaming child to function as a distraction.
This is what I'm talking about. Although mine isn't FBI. Sadly.

It worked. Seriously. It often does. The kid starts playing with the badge, and boom, no more crying. Unfortunately, the aforementioned retractable badge clip felt that now was the most opportune time to become UNclipped from my white coat. This resulted in it rocketing from my hand and hitting the first thing in its path...

...the kid's face.

A reenactment of what may have happened.

I know! I know! I'm a terrible person. Needless to say, I went ahead and left the room at that moment. The boy was unhappy and me being within sight of him wasn't going to help. In my defense, however, it was the card and not the heavy retractable part that hit him. When it was all said and done he was alright and not worse for wear.

Kid's are resilient, right? Especially in the facial...region.

Until next time.