During my M3 rotations, I believe I have learned as much about medicine as I have about humanity. I’ve come to appreciate that to perform well in this profession, we must embrace both its scientific and human elements.
Screams. Tears. Despair.
A sense of sadness in the atmosphere.
Loss that cuts so deep,
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.
Every medical student has felt apprehensive about facing death at some point, right? Maybe you have experienced someone dying before, or maybe it is something you have never seen and only rarely contemplated. Regardless, there is a subtle tension lurking during your first two years of pre-clinical studies, during which disease and death are intellectualized and abstract. Then clerkships start.
It was a Friday morning at 4:30 a.m. and I was rushing to the hospital for pre-rounds. I was on my neurology rotation, and my pockets were heavy and stuffed with tools. My preceptor had texted me the room numbers of the patients I was to visit that morning. I had three patients to see in the hour before rounds — the first two patients I had been following every day this week and a …
Big procedures can be tense, but today’s felt a little different. The atmosphere was relaxed. Then, unexpectedly, a few issues arose. Two of them, to be precise.
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.
General: / Patient is in NAD, / except for being awoken at 7 a.m. by someone he has never met
In early spring, amid the earlier quarantines, I watched dandelions grow outside my window. At first, subtly and hidden among the blades of grass. Then budding, bursting yellow amid green galaxies. These tiny suns danced in April’s wind and their scent carried morning’s dew and earth-like warmth into midday, until the smells of grills and barbecues took stage.
This piece depicts placenta and umbilical cord. The title refers to the stages of labor; stage 3 marks the separation of the placenta and umbilical cord from the uterus.
What if I could see the emotions that flood my patient’s mind? What if I could know how much space anger, frustration, joy, sorrow, hope took up in their mind’s real estate?
When we approached his room, Craig was wedged in the doorway, sitting on his walker angled towards the nurse’s station. It was the first time I had set foot in a hospital as a medical student; the task was to simply chat with a patient for about forty minutes. “Craig?” one of the nurses called out. “Yep! I am Craig, at least I was before I got in here!” he replied. Something about the enthusiasm in his voice appealed to me, so I sat down next to him and struck up a conversation.