1st Year, 2nd Semester - Ride the Wave!

I should begin this by saying that I love medical school. I really do. The more I'm learning about the human body and mind the more amazed I become. It is a miracle that we as human beings function. Did you know, for example, that every one of the 37 trillion-plus cells in your body are, even as you read this, creating (or destroying) 2000 proteins a second?  Way cool! Or, did you know that we humans have more bacteria cells in and on our bodies than we have of our own cells? Think of THAT next time you feel grungy....

Knowing and learning all of this is wonderful. One downside of medical school, though, is the reality that it becomes, by necessity, nearly all consuming. As this first year is drawing to a close (only 74 more school days left!), school builds upon itself and becomes bigger and bigger, a tsunami of "high yield knowledge" for which we are increasingly accountable. This massive wave dominates one's time and threatens to overwhelm every aspect of life - thoughts, dreams, even relationships. It is essential to be able to strike balance in one's life! I'm learning that, at least for me, becoming a physician is not a job - it's a calling. It's a transformation of myself into a new person. I hadn't been warned of this powerful force of change before applying to professional school.

I guess the take home message is this: my classmates and I are becoming healers. Complete strangers will come to us for comfort, answers, healing, hope. This is a profound responsibility and humbling honor. To become this source of skill and knowledge requires a profound sacrifice. For the sake of my future patients this is a sacrifice I welcome.

I love medical school.

courtesy of www.brasilwallpaper.blogspot.com

The Good, the Bad, the Crazy - Part I

I shouldn't be blogging right now. In two days we have our final final (think about that...) for the semester. This test covers MFM (Molecular Fundamentals of Medicine - essentially biochemistry on steroids) and Histology (structures of the body studied on a cellular level.) It promises to be a big test. We are being given over 2 1/2 hours to complete it. I should be studying for this beast of an exam and I will resume studying in a moment. I recall, though, that I promised you an update, so here I am, if not briefly.

First, it is difficult for me to grasp the reality that our first semester in medical school is over. How did that happen? How can 18 weeks go so fast but feel so agonizingly slow? How is it possible that we completed over 27 semester hours of work (almost a year's worth of studying in an undergraduate university) in four short months? I look back on this first part of my former medical training and questions fall into my head like pebbles in a jar: am I in over my head? Am I crazy for trying this at this point in my life? Will I be able to handle 3 1/2 more years? Will I remember what I need to know when treating a patient? What if I forget something essential and hurt someone? and the list goes on.

I hope, dear reader, that you don't misunderstand me. I love (LOVE!!) what I'm learning. I am so grateful to have the privilege, the honor, of being here and being transformed slowly, painfully, into a physician. I know many people who haven't made it this far. Indeed, we have already lost, in this first semester, nearly 20% of our class for sundry reasons. I love Lincoln Memorial University DeBusk College of Osteopathic Medicine (LMU-DCOM for short), the faculty and staff here, for the nurturing and concern they have showered upon me in order to ease my transition from civilian into health care provider. I feel a great debt to them for their teaching an mentorship.

www.nocoastbias.com

Knowing all of this, it has been a difficult journey. I have missed out on so much time with my family. I have spent hours (and hours and hours and hours) staring at power point slides and flipping through books. I have felt (and feel even as I type this) the pressure of pending exams. Medical school is not for the faint of heart. I'm becoming increasingly convinced, however, that this race is not designed for the fast or strong as much as for those who endure, those who possess that almost supernatural stick-to-itiveness that drives so many to accomplish so much. I love it. It's killing me, but I love it.

More after this coming Monday and our final.

Back to the books.

Checking In

Can it be the last time I posted anything on this blog was September?! Like a tsunami, medical school swept me away, carrying me careening through a rocky canyon of anatomy labs, written tests, and patient-simulated practicals. The time that I enjoyed at the beginning of the semester quickly evaporated as more and more information was crammed aggressively down my throat with the hope that some of it might stick. The jury is still out as to whether these efforts were successful...

The semester is winding down. We are in the midst of finals week and, as such, my time even now is limited. I wanted you to know, dear reader, that I haven't forgotten about you. There is so much to share, so much that has happened. My goal is to provide a more extensive post this coming Saturday (the day after tomorrow).

Be well. Be healthy. Take care. And I will chat with you in a couple of days. Meanwhile, for me, it's back to the books.  :)

Rest in peace, sweet balloons

Remarkably, we are half-way through our first semester. Despite the joy and anticipation of the recent White Coat Ceremony this past weekend, the semester itself has been a spasmodic convulsion of stress and study interrupted by the infrequent, brain-squeezing exam. At this point, I daresay that people who go to medical school must be the worst kind of masochists, myself included.

The sad reality is, though, that I love this. I love the stress. I love the pressure. I love the learning and I love (did I mention love?) the fact that we are being molded, through this fiery crucible, into physicians. It gives me an anticipation for the future and reminds me that, despite my many years, this old dog can be taught new tricks. The suffering is oddly encouraging.

With that, I give you the following two videos: two more balloons have passed from this world to the next, marking the completion of another couple of difficult medical school exams. 

They were good balloons. May they rest in peace...

That terrific, terrible White Coat

Today was our White Coat Ceremony, at time when, at long last, we as medical students receive our short white coats. Though most medical schools usually grant this privilege to incoming students right after the beginning of their first year, at LMU-DCOM we must work successfully through half of the first semester before receiving this honor. And an honor it is! How smart and professional my colleagues and I looked as we took the Osteopathic Pledge today (you can read the pledge here), bedecked in our new gleaming medical smocks, our mouths forming the words that would direct and guide the rest of our professional medical careers, said in the company of hundreds and hundreds of witnesses. 

All of because of that white coat.

What is this coat that casts such a sudden and startling shadow over my life? It is merely polyester, a gift to me from the Tennessee Osteopathic Medical Association, a thin, ill-fitting garment that has the seal of my medical school and, above this, my name neatly embroidered over the left pocket. 

Over my heart.

This is no mere coat. This is a symbol. A powerful, moving, driving emotional force that represents something so much bigger than myself that the very thought of it is at once inspiring and terrifying. I am now, officially, part of the world of medicine. No more MCATs, no more stiff competition for admission, no more uncomfortable interviews or carefully worded essays seeking the favor of medical school administrations. I'm part of the team. I've been admitted to the ride. And, as I'm slowly molded into a physician, I am ever more aware that I am not here because of my extraordinary talent or intelligence (neither of which I have in any great abundance), but because of the grace of God and the support and sacrifice of so many, many people, my family being foremost in this group. This is part of the reality of the White Coat.

In like manner, the coat is a message to our society. By wearing it I am telling people that I am available to care, eventually to heal. That I have sacrificed my life entire for the health and welfare of strangers. That I am no longer my own. That I am determined, wherever I find suffering, to do my best to alleviate it. That I willingly accept the tremendous burden and unspeakable privilege of becoming a health care provider. It is a sign of accomplishment and a reminder that there is so very much more to do. Every day, when I put it on, I need to be aware that I stand on the shoulders of many who have come before and that I have an obligation to prepare the way for those who will come after. 

That damn, delightful White Coat. May my colleagues and I be found ever worthy to wear it.

I Wish I Were an OSCE Meyer Wiener...

Tomorrow is our first OSCE test. OSCE stands for "Objective Structured Clinical Examination" and is the first time that we get to officially play doctor. We will be given a simulated patient (an actor or actress) with simulated vital signs and a simulated medical problem. We have 18 minutes to properly greet the patient, establish some semblance of rapport, clarify the chief complaint, get a pertinent history, conduct a physical examination, and provide a differential diagnosis ("I think you may have..... THIS, this or THIS"). The entire time a proctor will be hovering over us and grading our every decision. Most of the young people, my esteemed colleagues, are quite nervous about tomorrow, as very few of them have ever done anything like this. For myself, I did this in the Army for about 18 years. I'm not nervous at all!

Sort of...

In the Army, I had the opportunity to see hundreds and hundreds (and hundreds) of patients with pathologies of nearly every kind. In those experiences, though, I was the medic. I would greet, screen, stabilize, sometimes diagnose (with a doctor around), and treat. Tomorrow, I'm going into that room as a student DOCTOR. In other words, there is no one higher up the chain to blame if I mess up! Though I am only in the first semester of medical school and have a very, VERY long way to go, I am being given a taste, however small, of my future for my patient tomorrow will be looking to me, and me alone, for help to heal their ailment. They will expect me to know what I'm doing and to do it in a manner that is smooth, compassionate, and competent. They will be looking for a man both educated and sympathetic, a balance of Einstein meets Mother Teresa. I'm suddenly feeling very small. Doubts begin to ping around in my head like so many billiard balls: what if I don't measure up? What if I forget something important? What if (and this is my biggest fear, God forbid), what if I hurt the patient? Primum non nocere never weighed so heavy. 

In the end I know that tomorrow is simply a test of skills thus far developed, that the person in front of me will be a paid actor, and that it will all be over in a few minutes. What tomorrow means to me, though, is that I am growing up to become a physician, one who is being trained to care for hurting humanity. I'm beginning to sense a passion for people and a love of learning I've heretofore never known. And I am reminded that there are few greater joys than to help the hurting. 

Bring it on!

                                                   Image Credit: Ronald Harden (r.m.harden@dundee.ac.uk)

Of Art and Science

It is little secret that I am a "Type A" personality. Like most of my colleagues in school, I like to be on top, in charge, and "the best". Admittedly, pride is a great propellant of this personality and, as a Messianic Jew, I understand that such an approach to life is often less than godly. I am working to change this.

It is this "Type A" attitude, then, that recently caused me some rough feelings. Today was our first OPP practical exam (osteopathic principles and practices - click here for more information). Like my fellows, I studied hard and practiced the healing therapies that we have thus far been taught. I went into the test feeling confident. And, though I have every confidence I passed, I did get one question wrong.

One.

And my "Type A" kicks in......

How could I have missed that one question? It turns out that I didn't get it wrong - at least apparently. A few weeks ago we were practicing our OPP and I was corrected by a kind and knowledgeable instructor. "This is how you do it, Troy, not that way." I was grateful and moved on. Today, as you can predict, I was given the same situation and I presented the answer as I was corrected. To the horror of my anal personality, I was told that I was wrong. What??!! my mind rebelled. I politely tried to explain to the grader my predicament. He would have none of it and thus I missed the question.

To whom should I listen: the teacher from a few weeks ago or the grader today? This quandary demonstrates an eternal truth about medicine - it is as much art as science. What may be true for one practitioner may not be true for another and what may work to heal one patient may injure another. This truth makes medicine an incredibly difficult career. Add to this the reality that human lives are at stake and the pressure is on. So, don't be too hard on your health care provider. It is likely that they are trying their best and, like all people, may make the incidental mistake or two. Hopefully it will not be a serious mistake and hopefully all will be able to learn from it.

Meanwhile, another test is over. Here is the video of the victorious balloon blast. Thank God, another one down! :)

God bless you, dear reader. As for me, it's - back to the books.