On the first day of my psychiatry rotation I was anxious, and like most students I worried. I worried I would not have anything to say and I worried I would say too much. I worried I would say the wrong thing at the wrong time and I worried that my words would be more consequential than I ever intended them to be. I worried about my worry. My internal monologue was extremely intrusive, though I welcomed the change from my previous few weeks in the operating room, and I looked forward to exercising a new set of skills. Perhaps I simply felt relief that no one could yell at me for not knowing how to read people’s mind while looking outrageously enthusiastic with only my eyes while in the operating room.
Aside from the obvious anatomical and physiological implications that dictate sports, I am convinced that there are numerous principles that run parallel between medicine and sports. The aim of The Sport of Medicine is two-fold: to show that there is power in understanding the journey of others to help mold our own, and why I believe that medicine is a sport in its own, unique way.
Lessons learned from both sides — A column exploring the qualities of a physician from the perspective of a physician in training, through the lens of a patient.
The loudest sound I heard was neither the punctuated laughter of youthful teenagers nor the whispered voices of lovers holding hands, but the wind.
It is one thing to be a doctor and another to be a patient. It is a radically different thing to be a medical student paired by your medical school to a physician who is your “patient-partner.” Sounds like a word salad, but that is where I found myself as a first-year medical student at The Geisel School of Medicine of Dartmouth a few weeks after moving to New Hampshire, weeks before I would receive my white coat, months before I would have any clear idea of what the medical world is really like.