Contributing Writer Emeritus
University of Illinois at Chicago College of Medicine
Raymond is a member of the Class of 2015 at the University of Illinois at Chicago College of Medicine.
The barrage of words that greeted me as I was unceremoniously dropped off with my first medical team during my third-year internal medicine rotation twisted my stomach into a knot. Standing awkwardly with the team on rounds, the harsh fluorescent lighting overhead, I came to realization that I was much like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz…
During morning rounds, the resident and I stopped by our young patient’s room. He was technically five weeks old, but was born five weeks prematurely, so all in all, he was delightfully newborn-sized. The nurse was sitting in a recliner, holding him. He was well enough to be held. We finished rounds, ate breakfast, and headed to the OR. Our work unexpectedly finished early for the day, and I was free to go. Instead of immediately leaving the hospital, I headed back to our young patient’s room.
“If I begin to repeat myself, just tell me. I have Alzheimer’s. At least, I think I do,” the elderly gentleman said with a smile. This elderly patient of mine was a jovial gentleman and in fantastic shape with unremarkable vitals on physical examination. If it was not for his diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease, the physical and emotional state of this patient given his age is nothing less than enviable.
“I have diabetes.” Shadowing at a pediatric endocrinology office, I was told this statement by a four-year-old patient. As weeks passed, I could not stop thinking about it.
In the rest of the house, the noise of the party is deafening: the clink of glasses, the sizzle of burgers on the grill, the excited cries of relatives reunited after long absences. But in the bright light of the kitchen, Mark is talking to me without sound. He presses his right hand over his left then moves up its length, separating his thumb from the rest of his fingers as he goes replicating the open and shut motions of a jaw. “This is the sign for cancer,” he says.
A mere five weeks into my third year of medical school, I met a patient who would leave an indelible mark. Jose was a Hispanic man that teetered between overweight and obese; I am a tall, medium-build Chinese-American who was thin in high school. He struggled with depression during 40 odd years of life; my biggest worry growing up was excelling on the competitive piano circuit. He spoke of a family rife with discord and unhappiness; my family is intact and supportive. He dropped out of college; I want to stay in school forever. He ate rice and tortillas; I ate rice and tofu. We were different but for a moment, our lives intersected.
I will admit to being an “OR avoider” — albeit, one who is certainly in awe of the stylized pageantry of sterile armor adornment. In the operating room, safe spaces are demarcated by mere inches. Rest your hand beyond the thresholds monitored by the scrub techs and you are deemed a threat to a clean procedure. Gesturing in ways that are otherwise socially advantageous gives new territory to harmful bacteria that threaten favorable outcomes. As third-year medical …
On a Saturday morning at one of our local safety net clinics, where third-year medical students see patients independently and then present to the supervising attending, a man in his 60s arrived to talk about some lab results he had received and what they meant. This man, Mr. S, had many medical problems, including hypertension, COPD, chronic kidney disease and newly diagnosed diabetes. He came to the office that day wanting to know why he had …
I’ve come to realize having an automatic word filter is one of my greatest blessings. It becomes quite useful when, in the middle of rounds, a patient’s single, monosyllabic response inspires such a flurry of mismatched curse words that only a properly formed filter can save my dignity. What exactly did this patient say that stunned me so violently? My attending had asked him a straightforward, albeit grim, question. “Do you know you have cancer?” …
Once upon a time, in a rural hospital far, far away, a med student began her clerkship. At the University of British Columbia, the Integrated Community Clerkship (ICC) provides an opportunity to spend the first clinical year of medical school in a hospital in rural British Columbia rather than a large academic center. The intent is to provide hands-on education and to encourage physicians to one day return to serve a rural community. Applying to the ICC was …
I had experienced codes before. Prior to entering medical school, I had worked as an emergency room scribe, charting patient encounters as they unfolded. I considered myself familiar with a code’s whirlwind of action, always one step away from the true pandemonium. After all, I had stood on its borders, plucking shouted orders and silent actions from the maelstrom, weaving them into a coherent, documented clinical picture. Naïve, and all too eager to count at …
Ms. Miller is a fading star. At first glance, I begin painting an elaborate picture in my head of Ms. Miller in her brilliant shining glory. Young. Stubborn. Beautiful. Loved. I have no way of knowing if these things are true, but in my head I must believe them because it’s just way too sad to accept the truth. Old. Inert. Defeated. Wrinkled. Alone. Ms. Miller was brought to the ER from her nursing home …
Contributing Writer Emeritus
Ross University School of Medicine
Dr. Morgan Shier, MD is a family medicine physician in Colorado and was one of our first in-Training writers in 2014 and a featured writer in our print book in-Training: Stories from Tomorrow’s Physicians.
