Columnist and in-Training Staff Member
Morsani College of Medicine at the University of South Florida
Ajay is a pediatric resident and a Class of 2017 graduate of the SELECT MD program at the University of South Florida. He is passionate about delivering primary care to underserved populations—specifically, low-income and homeless patients in urban centers. Ajay will be specializing in pediatrics, with a particular interest in child maltreatment.
M.D. or Bust
Numerous studies have documented that medical students lose empathy during clinical years, becoming jaded and pessimistic. This has been linked not only to diminished enjoyment of our work, but also to worse patient outcomes. My goal is to sustain the humanistic values that drive so many of us to medicine, so that, instead of being quelled by cynicism, our idealism can be refined by wisdom.
Challah bread is traditionally prepared for Jewish holidays and the Sabbath. We made ours on a Wednesday night. Helen and Marie stare warily from their wheelchairs as a dozen medical students file into the retirement home lounge, toting tubs of flour and challah dough. “We’re not playing bingo?” Helen asks, looking disappointed, as students and octogenarians begin matching up for the evening.
In the rest of the house, the noise of the party is deafening: the clink of glasses, the sizzle of burgers on the grill, the excited cries of relatives reunited after long absences. But in the bright light of the kitchen, Mark is talking to me without sound. He presses his right hand over his left then moves up its length, separating his thumb from the rest of his fingers as he goes replicating the open and shut motions of a jaw. “This is the sign for cancer,” he says.
A mere five weeks into my third year of medical school, I met a patient who would leave an indelible mark. Jose was a Hispanic man that teetered between overweight and obese; I am a tall, medium-build Chinese-American who was thin in high school. He struggled with depression during 40 odd years of life; my biggest worry growing up was excelling on the competitive piano circuit. He spoke of a family rife with discord and unhappiness; my family is intact and supportive. He dropped out of college; I want to stay in school forever. He ate rice and tortillas; I ate rice and tofu. We were different but for a moment, our lives intersected.
Now six months away from graduating from medical school, I’ve started to reflect on the patients who hold a special place in my heart and memories, who taught me invaluable life lessons. We were in the assisted-living home of an elderly couple who had agreed to meet with us so we could practice our interviewing skills as first-year medical students. The old woman was sitting in a reclining armchair, leaning back. She had multiple medical problems, …
I worked my last shift in the emergency department as a medical student last week. A few hours in, I walked to the chart rack and grabbed the next patient to be seen. I walked into the room in question and introduced myself in that fluid, simple way I’d perfected over thousands of encounters over the previous few years. “Hi, I’m Sarab Sodhi, the fourth-year med student on the team. What brings you in to see us?” …
I will admit to being an “OR avoider” — albeit, one who is certainly in awe of the stylized pageantry of sterile armor adornment. In the operating room, safe spaces are demarcated by mere inches. Rest your hand beyond the thresholds monitored by the scrub techs and you are deemed a threat to a clean procedure. Gesturing in ways that are otherwise socially advantageous gives new territory to harmful bacteria that threaten favorable outcomes. As third-year medical …
I’ve come to realize having an automatic word filter is one of my greatest blessings. It becomes quite useful when, in the middle of rounds, a patient’s single, monosyllabic response inspires such a flurry of mismatched curse words that only a properly formed filter can save my dignity. What exactly did this patient say that stunned me so violently? My attending had asked him a straightforward, albeit grim, question. “Do you know you have cancer?” …
Ms. Miller is a fading star. At first glance, I begin painting an elaborate picture in my head of Ms. Miller in her brilliant shining glory. Young. Stubborn. Beautiful. Loved. I have no way of knowing if these things are true, but in my head I must believe them because it’s just way too sad to accept the truth. Old. Inert. Defeated. Wrinkled. Alone. Ms. Miller was brought to the ER from her nursing home …
How can doctors-in-training actually practice medicine “narratively”? Daniel, a fourth-year medical student applying in pediatrics and a graduate of Columbia University’s Master of Science Program in Narrative Medicine, grapples with how to humanize the practice of medicine, especially while up against the limitations of effecting change as a medical student. He concludes with a poignant personal story about an unexpected encounter with a former patient on the streets of New York City.
Mr. Lacey was irate, to say the least, as he rattled off a list of his symptoms. Constant pain. Nausea. Dizziness. Numbness. Weakness. Fatigue bordering on exhaustion. He said he had been spending most of the day in bed and had become dependent on his wife and children for basic daily tasks. “I’m serious, Doc. I’ve just about had enough of this. I’ve been looking into Hemlock Societies.” The interview screeched to a halt, and …
In 1984, in the midst of fleeing the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, a young girl agreed to pose for a photo. In her short life, she had survived the carpet bombings that claimed the lives of her parents, trekked through mountains to escape her war-torn home, and struggled to adjust to life amongst a sea of other refugees — but she had never been photographed. Restricted by her religion from smiling at a male photographer, …
She had not been home in at least three days. She sat motionless, shoulders slumped, arms draped limply over her lap. I couldn’t tell if she had nodded off. The wrinkles of her clothes seemed to blend into the lines of her face, stuck in a soft, yet permanent frown. The red of her blouse appeared faint against her pallid skin, as if exhaustion had sapped everything it could from her being, and had moved …
Contributing Writer Emeritus
Georgetown University School of Medicine
Lindsay Boyers is a medical student at Georgetown University School of Medicine with an interest in dermatology. She graduated magna cum laude from University of California Santa Barbara in 2009 with a degree in Communications and was elected to Phi Beta Kappa. She enjoys both clinical medicine and research, having taken a year to conduct research at the University of Colorado in the department of dermatology. She enjoys the arts, especially painting and writing, and spending time with her family in Colorado.
