Contributing Writer
Oklahoma School of Community Medicine
Medical student at University of Oklahoma School of Community Medicine in Tulsa, OK.
While I could list close to 100 lessons, I believe focusing on three of the most important ones would aid other future health professionals in managing and ultimately treating the chronic illnesses that will become even more prevalent in many of our future patients. As a disclaimer, I do not claim to be an expert on this topic, but these ideas spring from my own personal reflections.
My attending / looked at me / and asked, / What is killing your patient?
Almost every morning, one of our physiology lecturers asks a question. Usually, it’s a question to which most of my 200 classmates would know the answer. Every day, the professor asks their question, often losing their rhythm in the twenty seconds it takes to shake an answer out of us. The silence lingers until finally they get a response, often whispered like an embarrassing secret by someone sitting near the front. The timid self-consciousness on display in this small ritual is a major part of the socialization that happens in medical school.
As future physicians, understanding the consequences of absolute resource levels impact health is critical. A physician who advises a better diet to somebody without the ability to act on that advice is of little more use than the physician who prescribes an imaginary medication. However, institutes of medical education do a disservice to their students by keeping the conversation so narrow. Medical schools must begin to more fully teach how relative inequality impacts health.
Exquisite Eliza Jean, / Oh my, our 22nd playdate and I still have so much adrenaline; / Last time I thought I might lose my finest specimen. / Yesterday while under the scalpel, dear Betsy barely made a sound, / So please take heed, and don’t excessively squirm around.
The cultural competency framework that has become the mainstay of medical education is often times employed in incredibly reductionist ways. It seems to propose that exposing physicians to homogenized, static and packaged ideas of culture will aid them in estimating patient behavior, preference or response in the clinic, thereby diminishing health care inequality. Training like this paves the way for even well-intentioned student-doctors to be explicitly ignorant under the auspices of clinical benefit. It spoils the good intent to create better patient outcomes by legitimizing the validity of stereotypes and the development of physician bias.
“You need to come in to the E.D. ASAP.” A new patient was admitted at 2 a.m. and requested for a crisis counselor. Back in 2009 when I was volunteering in New York City, unlike with cases of sexual assault, survivors of domestic violence had to specifically request for the presence of an advocate. This woman, I’ll call her Sadie, had already taken the first courageous step to seek help.
December 10, 2015 marks the one-year anniversary of the inception of White Coats for Black Lives, a national organization of medical students that aims to eliminate racial bias and racism in the practice of medicine — as they are threats to the health and well-being of people of color.
Today is International Human Rights Day and the one-year anniversary of last year’s national White Coat Die-In to support the #BlackLivesMatter movement. The coordinated die-in protests drew national attention highlighting racism as a public health issue. Across the nation today, silent protests at medical schools in New York, Philadelphia, Houston and San Francisco call on medical schools and academic medical centers to move beyond mission statements and slogans in their efforts to promote racial justice.
One year ago, on December 10, 2014, over 3,000 medical students participated in the National White Coat Die-In. We knelt to the ground, rested our backs on concrete and tile, looked up at the ceiling and contemplated what it meant to be a citizen. We embraced a deafening silence pregnant with the implications of erasure. Our bodies, cloaked in the privilege of a white coat, painted a complicated image of advocacy and appropriation.
Our American democracy was founded on the promise of freedom of religion, a conviction that invites immigrants from all over the world and enables our country to grow and prosper. Our health care system is strong because we celebrate that diversity — understanding diverse perspectives and cultural practices is fundamental to providing the highest quality of care. Today, hatred and xenophobia have been thrust into our daily lives in a way that degrades our common humanity and impairs our ability to work together.
Over the past few months, a recurring topic in news conversation has been the plight of refugees from Syria. Recently, European nations such as Germany have contemplated whether to extend asylum to many of the estimated 6.5 million individuals displaced within Syria, and the 3.5 million who have fled to neighboring nations. The Syrian Civil War began in 2011, and with growing instability in the region due to the growth of groups such as ISIS, much of the previous infrastructure has eroded, including the country’s health care and public health systems. There are a number of concerns for the health of refugees trapped in Syria, and for those who have found asylum in countries across the globe.
Writer-in-Training, Columnist and in-Training Staff Member
Philadelphia College of Osteopathic Medicine
Aishwarya is a second year medical student at the Philadelphia College of Osteopathic Medicine. She relishes any opportunity to talk policy, social determinants of health, mental health parity and inclusion topics. Outside of school, Aishwarya enjoys yoga, green tea with lemon and copious amounts of dark chocolate.
Doctor of Policy
Doctor of Policy is a column dedicated to exploring and challenging contemporary health policy issues, especially in the fields of behavioral health, health care access, and inclusion, all from the eyes of a public health girl in a basic sciences world
