Contributing Writer
Herbert Wertheim College of Medicine at Florida International University
Monica is a third year medical student at Herbert Wertheim College of Medicine at Florida International University (FIU) in Miami, FL class of 2023. In 2018, she graduated from FIU with a Bachelor of Science in biology and interdisciplinary studies. She enjoys photography, ballet dancing, and exercise in her free time.
“I’m sorry that you have to see me this way,” said Ms. A as we exited the examining room.
Twenty minutes earlier, Ms. A had been laughing and cracking jokes while my attending physician and I obtained her medical history and life updates. Ms. A came in for a pre-op evaluation and concerns of high blood pressure readings at home. The room was cold, but I felt like we were three friends having coffee and catching up, so there was a familiar warmth.
Many of us had careers in medicine before beginning this arduous journey of medical school. We were nurses, technicians, EMTs, CNAs, researchers and more. We enjoyed a few years of steady pay and real-world lessons before we transitioned back to textbooks, lectures and rotations. Although it is easy to be lulled into a sense of security and comfort knowing that we have some medical experience under our belts, we have a duty to ourselves to pursue our studies with an open mind.
A 5-year-old African American boy presents to the emergency department with left leg pain. His leg is exquisitely tender to palpation…. If I read this vignette in the first year of medical school, I would have navigated to the multiple-choice answers to select anything related to sickle cell disease. The question writers are stating that the patient is Black, young and has a painful limb — this is not a difficult diagnosis. Rather than envisioning …
As the door swings open, it hits the chair that was shifted more than usual. / Next to the computer sits a 94-year-old woman in a wheelchair / who is here for one last visit.
A classmate of mine committed suicide a few weeks ago. Though I’ve heard the harrowing statistics about physician and trainee suicide rates, to be honest, I never expected to personally encounter such a tragedy. The small classes at my medical school allow for a strong sense of community in which we all know each other, celebrate important life milestones, and happily reconnect when we’re together after clinical rotations scatter us throughout the hospital.
The first thing I notice are his boots. He’s still in his street clothes, having just been admitted. He looks thin, emaciated — his clothes hang off him, shirt collar drooping down from his neck like peeling paint. His boots, however, seem to fit him properly. They look warm, well-worn but sturdy, like they have weathered a hundred bitter winters and could withstand a hundred more. For some reason, this comforts me.
For many of the elderly and their families, the COVID-19 pandemic has been a scary and trying time. A major concern has been the physical health and safety of this vulnerable population. In addition to community infection control measures like social distancing and avoidance of public gatherings to slow the initial spread of the outbreak, public health officials have also endeavored to protect high-risk populations by recommending electronic visits with loved ones, whether they are at private homes, nursing homes, or in the hospital.
My medical school career was complicated by more than just complex cardiac physiology or biochemical pathways. Little did I know that at the end of my second year I would go from knocking on a patient’s door during a clinical session, to sitting in an exam room myself.
Upon arriving at the room, we learn that the nurse continued trying to speak to this patient in English despite the patient’s evident inability to speak the language. Following her half-hearted attempt at “patient education,” she proceeded to lift the patient’s gown and attempts to strap on the monitors. As a result, the woman is frightened by her nurse because she is unaware of what this foreign nurse is doing to her and her unborn child. One week out from detention. She is scared. Imagine.
When the start of M3 year came along, I was ready: ready to put my First Aid book to rest, ready to be involved with patient care, ready to observe physicians in their realm of expertise and ready to find my place in the broad field of medicine. Now, halfway through the twelve months of clerkships, I ask myself, was it all I imagined it would be as an inexperienced first-year student?
The heart monitor beeped incessantly, and the pulse oximeter kept dropping to the 80s. I ran to get a nurse. He walked calmly into the room, straightened the patient’s finger and left without a word. The oxygen went back up to 98.
When I was 17, I went to the gynecologist for a Pap smear because my mom said, “Once you have sex you have to get one.” It felt like punishment, but it was also the only way I had a chance of getting birth control. I went to three different doctors and exam after exam, they kept saying I could have cancer. I did a ‘colpo’ — whatever that is. After that, they did three different procedures on me, three, all to take pieces of my cervix. I don’t remember what they were called or what even happened. All I remember is the pain.
Contributing Writer
University of Texas Southwestern
Amber Allen is a fourth year medical student at the University of Texas Southwestern in Dallas, Texas Class of 2021. In the fall of 2016 she graduated from the University of Texas at Austin with a Bachelor of Science and Art in biology with a Bridging Disciplines certificate in children and society. In 2020 she graduated from the University of Texas Health Sciences Center at Houston with a Master of Public Health and a focus in epidemiology. She enjoys all genres of dance, traveling, and spending time with her two schnauzer puppies, Kado and Willow. After graduating from medical school, Amber would like to pursue a career in full-spectrum family medicine.
