Contributing Author Emeritus
Georgetown University Hospital
Dr. Kaitlyn Dykes is an Internal Medicine resident at Georgetown University Hospital, in Washington DC. She completed medical school at Thomas Jefferson University in Philadelphia Pennsylvania and was a part of the clinical research tract. She completed her bachelors of science in Genetics, Cell Biology and Cell Development with a minor in Art History at the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities. She her most recent research is in the field of hematology oncology. Additionally she is actively involved in medical education. Hobbies include reading, painting, visiting museums (when they are open), and enjoying time with friends and family. She hopes to pursue a career in hematology-oncology.
Staring at each high-yield line in First Aid, attempting to commit every word to memory, hour-upon-hour, is the life of a medical student. The stress, isolation and over-caffeination, amidst the constant influx of information, is overwhelming and can cause even the most compassionate student to forget why they are studying.
It was a Wednesday morning. The air was crisp. The sun graced us with brilliance. I made my way to the emergency room where I was working for a two-week period on the cardiology consult service.
His fiancée calls him “The Storyteller.” We sit down outside a cafe during a warm August evening. Still clad in his hospital scrubs, he just finished a shift as a pulmonary/critical care fellow at Rhode Island Hospital.
We wield the privilege of the scalpel, / Slice skin, / Cauterize the cutaneous, / Disrobe the depths of disease.
The day before I was asked to give this speech, sometime mid-May, I was speaking with a first year student. At the time, I was two weeks shy of completing my third year of medical school — the year of school that you spend the most time in the hospital.
It’s 1 a.m., everyone’s running on three cups of coffee / When a man stumbles through the entrance / And I could hear whispers of / It’s him, the homeless man, back in the ER again
To physicians, hospice frequently symbolizes defeat. Referring a patient to hospice care can feel like admitting that disease has defeated years of training. In medical school, we are trained that the role of the doctor is to fight the disease and find the cure.
The first thing she noticed, / Was her heart fluttering off and on, / The doctor saw her pale, / And iron pills were called upon.
Tears hold onto the ledges of her eyes. As the physician and I approach, a quivering begins. It emerges at the jaw, a flutter running across her lips, only to drop onto her shoulders and envelop her hands.
During the team huddle I was assigned to Room 403, Bed 1. “There is a lot you can learn from this patient. You should see him.” I got the one liner and was off.
“Dan the magic man,” Q replied. Q rummaged through his jacket pocket and pulled out a quarter. A childish smile brought the color back to his face as he attempted to make the coin disappear into thin air and then pull it out from behind my ear.
A pair of Navy socks on pale, scrawny legs — that’s what I remember about him. 0300 hours in the ED and the umpteenth “What brings you in tonight, sir?” and suddenly all the patients start to meld together.
Medical Student Editor and Contributing Writer Emeritus
University of Alabama at Birmingham School of Medicine
Stephanie Cockrill is a fourth year medical student at University of Alabama at Birmingham School of Medicine. She enjoys horseback riding, crafting, and quilting in those fleeting instances of free time available during school. She and her husband are parents to two dogs: Arya, a 5-year-old Collie, and Sybil, a 2-year-old Labrador/sharknado mix.
