Contributing Writer
University of Toledo College of Medicine and Life Sciences
Rayan is a fourth year medical student at the University of Toledo College of Medicine and Life Sciences in Toledo, OH. In his free time, he enjoys playing basketball. After graduating medical school, Rayan would like to pursue a career in neurology.
The interviewer smiled, gave a vague answer and followed it with a diatribe about how present-day residents have it so “easy.” How his generation had to “walk through feet and feet of snow” to get to work and how work hour restrictions did not exist. Caught off guard, I wondered what sparked such an emotional response to a common interview question.
Blue, white, red, yellow, pink, brown. These are the colors of the ties and strips of fabric around the scrub pants and tops indicating their size. At the start of medical school, I would squeeze into a red top and red pants: these were the larges.
During my Step 1 dedicated study period, I remember looking at these visual comparisons of an early version of First Aid and the most recent edition and feeling righteous indignation bubble up inside me. The former was thin and worn and tattered while the latter was thick, hefty, solid. Hundreds of pages longer, the newest edition felt impenetrable and impossible to commit to memory, expanding yearly with new minutiae to scrutinize.
I came across a photo on social media of some classmates that appeared almost identical to another one I had seen months ago — beaming medical students crowded together against a brick wall of a campus apartment. Déjà vu. But there was one difference. Nearly all the students in this picture were white, whereas all the students in the older picture were non-white.
Humor can be a double-edged sword; when used inappropriately in the workplace, it can taint interactions between health care providers and detract from professionalism.
Making the choice to study medicine in my homeland is a momentous undertaking, with a surrounding fragile health system deficient of medical supplies and in shortage of expertise. Through this series of articles, I will share my experiences and perspectives on being a medical student in Palestine.
What is the recipe that makes an ideal medical student? Are each of us the summation of perfectly measured ingredients? Are we all weighed to the gram, set to proof until we rise just enough and gently set to bake?
2020 was a tough year for all of us (and 2021, and 2022…), but it brought me closer to the medical humanities. The pandemic was the reason that I began to write.
To fully capture the breadth of medical humanities is simply not possible. In fact, it is all too easy for the medical community to lack an appreciation for all of the ways that the humanities not only complement, but enhance medicine. Medicine — a field so biological and chemical — is often associated with far more rigidity than where the humanities permits the mind to go.
As she closed the door behind her, the palliative care geriatrician whom I (Meghan) was shadowing turned and said, “Remember, there are no difficult patients – just difficult situations.” We walked to our next patient, Mrs. C, who was suffering from congestive heart failure. All cures had been exhausted and she was tired of being at the hospital but was scared to enter hospice care. The doctor clasped hands with Mrs. C and explained that starting hospice did not mean giving up – it meant living life on her own terms in the time that was left. After these discussions, Mrs. C appeared more at ease and decided to pursue hospice care at her home.
In this article, I hope to examine some causes of this discrepancy, compare and contrast the various prison systems across different countries, understand the shortcomings of America’s prison system in addressing these issues and shed light on how prison systems can provide better health care services.
My interest in radiology began, as it does for many, with the thrill of coming to a solution based on imaging and some sparse words on a patient’s chief complaint. Reading radiologic scans is like learning a language — a code composed of axial and coronal views, enhancing and nonenhancing areas and anatomical landmarks. When you dive into the millimeter slices of a contrast CT and the defect snaps to your attention, you are hooked.
Columnist
School of Medicine at Trinity College Dublin
Fiona Doolan is a 4th year medical student at the School of Medicine at Trinity College Dublin, Dublin, Ireland, graduating in 2023. She holds a B.S. in physiology from Boston University, 2017. She is host of the podcast CXR: Careers x Radiology. CXR is a long-form interview podcast introducing radiology to the medical student. It was inspired by the explosion in virtual connectedness worldwide during the pandemic, and from a deep curiosity about the specialty. Fiona is an avid runner and aspiring radiologist.
Write Rx
Now and for the foreseeable future, providers and patients wear masks. An essential element of the doctor-patient relationship – nonverbal expression – is much reduced. When what is on our faces is anathema, we rely more heavily on narratives. Consider each entry of ‘Write Rx’ a prescription for a narrative medicine exercise that just might help you find the right words to relate to patients in this changed space. Here I hope you will find a bit of inspiration for reflection amidst the rigors of medical school, not in the least thanks to some famous physician-writers, excerpts from whom serve as an entry point for each exercise.
