Contributing Writer
Wayne State University School of Medicine
I'm a fourth year medical student in Detroit pursuing a longtime passion in oncology. Oncology presented itself to me as the perfect intersection of complex medicine, intense academia, and emotional challenges. And at the heart of all this, the love for treating the patient join these three facets. But the foil to this love is the darkness that cancer exudes. Like a black hole, the gravity that cancer carries with it further binds these aspects of oncology tighter. And in these moments, the difference between medical science and the art of medicine become evermore apparent. Raw emotions and difficult decisions present themselves relentlessly. And it's my goal to capture these nuances and complexities in writing to paint a picture of the human complex.
Dan and I mimicked ducklings as we followed our senior resident, Tassia, single file down the stairs on our way back to the resident room. As we neared the bottom, we crossed paths with another medicine resident leading two medical students playing the same roles as Dan and I.
“I used to be an elementary school art teacher in San Francisco.” The more he smiled and the more he spoke, the larger the lump grew in my throat. He wore a grayed t-shirt that matched his unkempt black beard.
“Military Medicine” would be grossly incomplete without a physician’s input, particularly one who spends so much time with veterans. I asked Eric Young, MD, a hospitalist at the Denver Veterans Administration (VA), for his perspectives on service, medicine, their intersection and the greatest opportunities for medical students.
The Veterans Administration (VA) is as indelible and resilient as the patients it serves. The service has changed, succeeded beyond belief and otherwise trudged along to the present. As a preclinical medical student, one hears all kinds of things about “this one VA patient,” without any context, and it piques curiosity.
In honor of Veterans Day, the in-Training staff would like to dedicate a few pieces in “Military Medicine” to the Veterans Administration (VA), an institution entrusted with serving those who served us. This article is a primer, perhaps more correctly a gross oversimplification, of the history of veterans’ health care in the United States.
The entirety of the third year of medical school is an act. If you want to be a good medical student, you are what your team wants you to be. Amenable, pliant, easygoing — even when inside you are a bitter angry little thing who’s tired of being pushed around.
It was a Wednesday morning. The air was crisp. The sun graced us with brilliance. I made my way to the emergency room where I was working for a two-week period on the cardiology consult service.
I don’t really know why I stayed with you. All I know is that I could not leave.
The day before I was asked to give this speech, sometime mid-May, I was speaking with a first year student. At the time, I was two weeks shy of completing my third year of medical school — the year of school that you spend the most time in the hospital.
To physicians, hospice frequently symbolizes defeat. Referring a patient to hospice care can feel like admitting that disease has defeated years of training. In medical school, we are trained that the role of the doctor is to fight the disease and find the cure.
At 7:21 p.m., I arrive at the hospital for the first overnight shift of my medical career. It’s not a great start — the bus was late, and I didn’t sleep nearly enough this afternoon in preparation for the night ahead.
Yellow does not mean sunshine, nor lemons. / Definitely not daffodils, nor sharp, new Number 2’s. / Yellow means sick. Dirty. Dangerous.
Contributing Writer
Mayo Clinic School of Medicine
Nia Sathiamoorthi is a fourth-year medical student at the Mayo Clinic School of Medicine. She attended the University of Wisconsin-Madison and majored in science journalism and pharmacology. Her time there cultivated her love for Badger sports, cheese, and science journalism.
