Contributing Writer
Eastern Virginia Medical School
I am an MD candidate in the Class of 2017 with an interest in primary care and underserved populations.
Today was not sunny, but today James got to go outside. James is seven years old. Today, he was allowed to drink ginger ale. He’s never been allowed to drink what he wants. He hasn’t left the hospital in weeks. Since James was born, he has had an array of complications. He’s suffered numerous heart attacks, a nearly fatal hemorrhage, a stroke, renal failure, and has lived most of his life on dialysis. His doctors have tried heroic measures “to …
The medical students, residents and Dr. G stood around the computer with backs hunched. With serious and emotionless faces, we stared directly into the screen. We were taken aback by the MRI results of his brain in front of us. Was this a primary tumor? An AVM? A dreaded metastasis from somewhere else in his body? How long has this mass been in his brain? Look at the size. Look at the calcifications. What did …
Confession One: I am an OR moron. Take me out of the OR, and I’m like any other third-year medical student. High achieving with at least some capacity for normal adult functioning. I study, I cook, I pay my bills. I attend medical school, for goodness sake. Most people in this world would consider that the pinnacle of young adult functioning. But in the OR, none of this matters. In the OR, I’m like half …
Kyle died early on a Sunday morning. His last meal was vanilla pudding, fed to him lovingly by his grandmother Shirley, while reruns of “Inspector Gadget” played in the background. When Kyle was born 25 years earlier, the family had been told he would not live more than a few weeks into infancy. But Kyle surprised everyone by surviving a quarter of a century with debilitating cerebral palsy. What surprised me most about Kyle was …
After arriving at the hospital, scrubbing in and warming up with a few anatomy questions with my attending, I was relaxed and ready to assist with the upcoming thyroidectomy. My patient, who will be referred to as “M,” was a 17-year-old girl who presented to the office with dizziness. After an extensive workup it was discovered that her symptoms were due to thyroid dysfunction. The surgery was meant to be a straightforward case, but the …
I read the latest progress note: ¨67-year-old male with metastatic lung cancer. Mildly agitated. Pain controlled with morphine.¨ I walk into a single room to see a frail man looking worn beyond his years. I introduce myself and ask if it is a good time to chat. He looks away and tells me that now is not a good time. I can see he has just received his lunch tray. Fair enough. I would not …
“Es un milagro, señora.” It was getting late, and the clinic waiting room was almost empty. It was OB/GYN day, and the patients—predominantly Spanish speaking migrant agricultural workers—had all finally been seen. All except Maria, who was still in the exam room. Her six-year-old son, Joaquin, skittered around the outside corridor, under the watchful eye of the nurses preparing to close up shop. I was in the exam room with the doctor and Maria, and …
Throughout my rotations, I often wondered what it must have been like to train under the tutelage of Michael Debakey, a pioneer in cardiac surgery, or Harvey Cushing, the father of modern neurosurgery. I imagined myself scrutinizing a CT scan (or a plain X-ray in Cushing’s time), having these masters of medicine critique my differential diagnosis or being in the operating theater learning a new operative technique. I tried to imagine the immense satisfaction one …
“Are you really prepared to see this?” the doctor asked staring intensely at me, his arm blocking my way to the patient’s room. “Yes,” I replied hesitantly. “You prepped me on the patient already.” “Kid, I didn’t ask if you were prepped. I asked if you were prepared.” I knew that a scheduled delivery for a miscarriage would be a traumatic experience. I knew that it required the utmost sensitivity and compassion. Dr. A had …
“This can be a depressing specialty at times; we laugh to stay sane,” my attending explained as I stared in dismay at the cackling residents and faculty after one of them made a rude comment about their patient. This was the first day of my rotation on this service and I was very disappointed. Still brimming with the ideals of professionalism taught in the first two years of medical school, the scenario I witnessed seemed …
Doing a sub-internship in the ICU is, well, intense. On the first day, I was completely overwhelmed by seeing so many sick patients, most of whom were sedated, ventilated, and on at least one pressor. In just a few weeks, this came to seem perfectly normal. However, what continued to stir me were the extreme emotions I saw patients and their families experiencing. I couldn’t help but feel those emotions myself. The most difficult day—thankfully …
Sunday, 8 p.m. What started as valiant efforts of creating new recipes turned out to be embarrassing failures in judgment and common sense. Initially, I thought mixing tofu, some greens and pasta would turn out to be an Asian delicacy, maybe something that I could proudly share with friends and family. But, after adding one spice to another, topping sauce over sauce, I realized that it was over. It was time to call it an …
Contributing Writer Emeritus
Georgetown University School of Medicine
Hi! I am a Class of 2014 medical student at Georgetown University, with plans to pursue family medicine. After graduating from the University of Pittsburgh in 2009 with degrees in chemistry and the history and philosophy of science, I moved to D.C. for medical school. I love D.C. because it has been an amazing place of opportunity for me to pursue my interests in health policy, underserved medical care, cultural awareness and education, and the arts. There is nothing that an open mind can't teach us, and writing is one of the greatest expressions of what we learn from the world, our experiences, and ourselves.
