A physician’s two favorite words: diet and exercise. Patients are constantly told that lifestyle interventions are the most important modifiable risk factors to prevent chronic illnesses like diabetes and hypertension.
In light of obesity’s concerning prevalence and economic burden, it becomes imperative that we equip future healthcare providers with the knowledge and skills essential for effective obesity management. However, despite the numerous consequences of obesity on both individuals and society, medical students are often found to be inadequately prepared to discuss weight management with patients.
Despite ongoing efforts and changing perspectives, gender equity in surgical specialties has not yet been achieved and is not simply a problem of the past. Only in addressing deep-seated gender roles and actively creating opportunities for the representation of women and gender-diverse persons in surgery can surgeons in Canada accurately reflect the populations they serve.
The rectangular device’s intrusive, sudden blare triggers a visceral response as I feel the plastic clip vibrate against my hip. I feel my palms flood like a wetland, sweaty fingers crashing against each other like driftwood washing onto shore. My mind wanders for a moment as I notice the reaction I’m experiencing.
When I reflect on ways to implement holistic care for the patients I work with, I think of the impact of my mother as a primary caregiver for my abuela’s (grandmother’s) medical care, despite not having a medical background herself.
In disease and in health, our bodies tell stories. But more often than not, these stories are left unheard and unseen. A meaningful method for illuminating untold stories is through traditional/classical dance forms. Dance especially is a space for knowledge and roles to be authentically represented. For marginalized communities in particular, traditional dance has for centuries been a medium for creative expression and healing despite how circumstances and society have complicated their access to care.
As my fellow PA students and I compared notes after our first cadaver dissection session with our medical student colleagues here at Stanford University, we discovered that more than a few of us had fielded slightly abashed questions from our MD student counterparts along the lines of, “So, what exactly is a PA?”
The crumpled old gentleman nestled in the armchair of his hospital room, bundled in blankets from the warmer down the hall, cards from his family propped up like a miniature Stonehenge on the table beside him. I listened closely to his heart and lungs, eyed the half-full urinal hooked onto his bed frame, and drew my fingers along his shins.
In my second year of medical school, amidst the frequent exams and impending doom of third year rotations, I would often look forward to Tuesday nights. On these nights, students and residents would come together to play pick-up basketball at a local gym, removed from the stresses of medical school.
One step and then another; / the end is near! The end is nearly here! / And yet, it is not. Not yet near. / So, I carry on, though I am weary, / though my telomeres shorten or because my telomeres shorten,
The following infographic is the result of my goal to create a resource, backed by literature, from the perspective of a medical student to help other students become fluent in the “language” of oral case presentations at the start of any clerkship rotation.
One of the most powerful paradoxes of medical education is that we learn how to heal the living by dissecting the dead. Our cadavers house the beauty and intricacies of human creation, the distinctiveness yet commonality of each human body and the finality of decline.