Outside Hospital
We’ve all heard about it. We’ve all read about it. Now we really find out what actually goes on at Outside Hospital.
Well hello there, stranger.
Been a while since I have posted much on here. It’s just been really busy lately. I completed the 10 week block of Internal Medicine just over a week ago. Since then I’ve started a 4 week block of Neurology. So far it is a drastic change of pace. I should be posting something here in the next week or so — at least that’s what I am hoping for.
I am also working on replying to some emails. If you have emailed me through the Contact page, I apologize for being slow the reply. I appreciate and welcome all feedback — even the negative ones. Yes, I have had some rather confrontational emails, but oh well. Such is the nature of internet anonymity, right?
Also, if you are a longtime visitor you will notice a bit of a change in the sidebar. I am not sure if it will be there very long or not. I decided to add this site to the Google Friend Connect system. I am still unfamiliar with what it does. I assume it helps you keep up to date with the blogs you follow. At this point I had relied solely on Feedburner to syndicate the blog posts for whoever is interested. But technology marches on — and I guess I will eventually follow.
Other than that, this post is just to update ya’all out there about what’s going on. If you’re interested, I have also started blogging again at The Differential. So stop on over there and say hello too!
Anosognosia & Hemineglect
Reviewing my neurology notes about strokes. This does an excellent job of showing how it affects real patients.
Three Weeks
A 3 week stint at a county hospital isn’t very long. Three weeks, with one day off per week, is 18 days of coming in every day.
But a lot can happen in 18 days. Three weeks is long enough for me to admit a patient, follow the patient for three weeks and watch the patient deteriorate right in front of my eyes.
The patient is not even 30. Young children at home. I doubt the patient will be alive in a week’s time.
Three weeks.
Overheard In The ED
I remember one time when my team was on-call. It was late at night and the ED was packed. There were beds and chairs lined up in the hallway with makeshift dividers separating patients.
There was one particular patient at the end of the hallway that I had noticed after walking back and forth. He was a scruffy older man who was lying in a gurney, sunglasses in place. He looked like he was resting comfortably enough.
On one of my trips through the hallway, I had just passed him when a nurse walked up to him and asked, “What’s your name, sir?”
Though my back was turned to them I heard him reply in a deep, rough, scratchy voice, “Wolverine.”
“Wolverine?” the nurse asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
I about died with laughter. I never got to meet this character. He wasn’t admitted to our team. But I’m sure it would’ve been fun to treat a superhero.
Do No Harm
Do no harm. It’s a simple principle often repeated by medical and non-medical personnel alike. I remember one occasion when a friend asked me, “why do no harm?” He asked why the axiom was a statement phrased in the negative rather than in the positive. Why is the phrase not something more positive like, “Do good?”
During the first 3 weeks of the Internal Medicine rotation I had the opportunity to take part in the care of one Mr. S. He was a 65 year-old smoker who was admitted for a COPD exacerbation. By the time we, the medicine team, had seen the patient, the ED doctors had already seen Mr. S. In the ED, he had received breathing treatments and antibiotics; he also had a chest x-ray performed. The ED Physician’s note, though, had a short comment regarding his negative chest x-ray. It noted that the x-ray was suboptimal and this was probably due to the patient being dehydrated at the time.
The team read the note and put an order for Mr. S to have a repeat chest x-ray the following morning after he had the chance to be rehydrated. No one suspected how much this one order would change the course of Mr. S’s hospitalization. The next morning’s x-ray revealed a new suspicious mass. The reading from the follow-up CT scan reported a new 1.5 cm speculated lesion and an enlarging 2 cm lesion.
After a biopsy that would later reveal that Mr. S had lung cancer, he developed a pneumothorax for which a pigtail chest tube was placed. Somehow the tube ended up out of place – at least that is how the thinking goes. Mr. S subsequently developed massive subcutaneous emphysema. On physical exam, crepitus could be felt from his temples to his ankles. When his airways became compromised, he was transferred to the CCU for intubation and sedation.
Prior to the transfer to the CCU, there was about an hour’s worth of time in which Mr. S slowly ballooned up to the point where breathing was difficult. As a student, one often feels helpless. That feeling is compounded when the rest of the team is also unsure of what to do. In this case, everyone was unsure of how to stop the expanding emphysema. After the transfer, he was no longer under our care so I stopped knowing the details of what happened next. But I heard that Mr. S remained intubated and sedated for days as his body was allowed to reabsorb the air. I stopped hearing updates about him, but I kept thinking about it. The events that led to his emphysema and subsequent intubation and sedation were iatrogenic. It was our fault. We did not notice a misplaced pigtail chest tube until it was too late. Had we failed in doing “no harm?” I don’t know. But we certainly would have failed if the goal was to “do good.”
Perhaps it is all semantics, but I began to think that doing “no harm” is a much more attainable goal than to “do good.” Because doing “no harm” is a more passive approach. And there are times when we just don’t have a “good” option to do. We can merely attempt to do things that won’t make a patient worse while we allow the human body to heal itself. Which is exactly what it felt like we were doing for Mr. S. I kept asking anyone who would hear, “why can’t we do something?” It is a tough thought to accept for people who enter medicine with the intention of doing something. But maybe this slight difference in semantics will help those of us who are in medicine keep our sanity, to feel like we accomplished something – or at least that we are not failures at such a lofty goal as “doing good.”
Angry Patients
“Oh, you guys get to go home, huh,” the man in the black t-shirt sad with a grin.
I heard my classmate laugh as the four of us continued walking through the waiting room towards the exit. We had just concluded a one-hour lecture and it was time to go home for the weekend. But in order to get from the conference room to the parking lot, we had to go through a waiting room half-full with people had been waiting for who-knows-how-long.
“How can you just leave when there are people waiting here?!” A second patient yelled out sarcastically. At least I thought she was saying this in fun. In response I smiled at her.
But after I rounded the corner, I whispered to my classmate, “I think she was serious.”
So far, I have been fortunate enough to avoid personal encounters with angry patients. I have watched as attendings talked to frustrated and angry patients. I have heard stories of patients telling other students that they don’t like them or other stories of angry patients yelling at medical students. But I have never had the misfortune of experiencing this first-hand.
I fear, though, that it is inevitable. Anyone who deals with patients will eventually have to deal with angry patients. I just hope that when the time comes, I will be able to handle it well.