Code Blue
Baby powder, body odor / Dark red blood, pale white skin
Baby powder, body odor / Dark red blood, pale white skin
The rhythmic clash of the kartal, a copper instrument, marked the beginning of our Sunday dance extravaganza. “Chak De India” pulsed through the air, a Bollywood anthem that ignited our spirits. Didi, a kartal maestro, kept the beat steady, a rhythm that mirrored the pounding of my heart as I twirled and leaped, lost in the joy of dance.
For most of my life, I never truly understood what it meant to be a doctor. As the first in my family to pursue medicine, my understanding of healthcare was shaped by occasional doctor visits and, admittedly, unrealistic portrayals on TV. Like many other students in this position, I was naïve about what the profession would entail.
As a former in-Training staff member and columnist, I gave you A Taste of Your Own Medicine and now it’s time to give you a taste of my own medicine! I started writing for in-Training as a medical student when the site was in its infancy. It’s amazing to see how it’s grown while I have been away in training and now as a breast surgeon. It only feels right to provide some reflections on my journey to breast surgery.
“That doesn’t happen often,” I quietly but excitedly say to myself while discussing our consult from the PICU. My attending hesitates, pondering the precarious balance between encouraging my medical curiosity and protecting me from the horrors of child abuse and mistreatment that still haunt her to this day.
Being a health care professional can, at times, feel ironic because our intention is to promote health and wellness, yet we often neglect our own. As medical students, we consume large amounts of information in short periods of time, which can be both stressful and mentally strenuous. We often must be awake for long hours, whether it’s for rotations, for studying or for both at once.
I walked up the stairs in my heels, white coat and stethoscope, which I had no idea how to use, on the first day of my first clinical day two weeks into medical school. The question of whether I belonged in a position of authority felt more prominent than ever as patients in the lobby passively asked me about their treatments and I waited for the staff to return from their lunch break. I told them we were in this together as we waited in the lobby, equally anxious to learn how to address their health concerns.
I have always been taught to treat the patient and not the disease. As a first-year medical student, I am not sure I know how to treat either yet, but I know that putting a face to a disease is crucial to my training as a physician. I have always been intrigued by human stories in medicine that involve difficult and often stressful conversations because they have a tendency to become flashbulb memories that impact patients’ lives forever.
Science, in German, is Wissenschaft, which translates to “pursuit of knowledge” in English. I recently finished my neuroscience PhD training and revisited my scientific journey spanning from my teenage years to my PhD thesis. As a teenager, I was busy memorizing knowledge from textbooks. As an undergraduate, I had some experiences where I learned that science is not always as clear-cut as what I was taught in classes. As a PhD student, I have been trained to look at scientific findings with a critical eye and always ask if they are accurate.
This was my patient. I sat with her, held her hand, coaxed her to share pieces of her life story from underneath the covers.
Moving to Arizona for an eight-year dual-degree MD/PhD program was one of the biggest, and reflecting back, best decisions I had ever made. Though at the time, it truly felt like the scariest commitment of my life.
There is nothing quite like the feeling of puncturing the thin shrink film around a new canvas. Getting ready to paint is a routine — the rumbling of the kettle as I thumb through my collection of teas, picking the perfect album to play on repeat for the evening. Putting on the highlighter yellow shirt from high school plastered with smudges of blacks, greens, and whites from years of previous paintings.