Originally posted on The Differential on July 23, 2008

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My little sister has been on a classic film spree. She announced to me that she wanted to see all the movies that had won an Oscar for best film. She also bought an Audrey Hepburn 3-Pack DVD that contained Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Roman Holiday, and Sabrina.

Okay, I’ll admit that I too am a fan of Audrey Hepburn, Julie Andrews, and other great actresses of Hollywood’s golden era. They seem to convey so much in the subtle facial expressions or tone of voice -– something that I fail to notice with so much CGI/special effects these days. Well, being the awesome big brother that I am, I used my Netflix subscription to order another one of Audrey’s famous films: My Fair Lady.

At almost three hours in length, My Fair Lady is a pretty long movie that traces the journey of a poor flower girl as she is transformed under the instruction of Professor Higgins into a genuine Lady. The process is long and arduous. It’s filled with frustration as well as comical moments. The audience watches as Eliza Doolittle sheds tears and then as she recites phrases like “The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain” or some other nonsense about hurricanes in Hereford and Hampshire trying to properly emphasize each syllable to the professor’s satisfaction.

It’s sort of like the transformation that is required of medical students. They say medical school changes you. It changes the way you think, speak, and act. It changes who you are. And it’s supposed to do exactly that. It takes the raw material in the form of an eager, optimistic, and sometimes-naive college graduate and transforms it into a newly minted MD who is probably more than just a little nervous about starting internship.

During orientation and registration our school administrators told us that by the end of just the first year we would notice things differently. We would see and hear things through different lenses.

I am kind of surprised at how true that statement turned out to be. There are words and phrases now floating around in my noggin that I never knew existed.

Mnemonics wander idly through my mind. Sometimes I don’t even remember what they are for. There are words like “LARP” (describing the path of the Vagus nerve) and phrases like “army over, navy under” (suprascapular artery over and nerve under) and “To Zanzibar By Motor Car” (branches of the Facial Nerve).

Prior to the first year, I had never heard of the phrase “differential diagnosis.” Well, on second thought, I did often hear Dr. House ask his team what the differential was. But it kind of flew over my head at the time.

Evidence-based medicine now means something. Before, it just sounded cool. I was a science major. I knew that evidence was good. Now, I still think it’s good. But I’m not too fond of searching through the literature for the latest studies trying to determine a link between statins and preventing Alzheimer’s disease.

Whenever I go to a restaurant I watch the waiters. Why? Because in Anatomy class I kept hearing about a waiter’s tip that can present with injury to the upper roots of the brachial plexus. I still have yet to see a waiter walking around with the so-called “waiter’s tip.” But it hasn’t stopped me from trying to find one.

Wal-mart is no longer just a convenient place to pick up supplies. It’s also a great place to pay close attention to customers’ faces and gaits. I might be able to identify a walking example of some neurological deficit I learned about in lecture.

As far as medical education goes, I’m just a baby. Or, to tie in with my intro, I’m just starting my training with the good professor. I’m still raw and crude. But even after MS1, I’m glad to report that there’s progress.

In about a month, right after Labor Day, my second year will officially begin. I’ll try to enjoy my last “free” summer. In the meantime, like Eliza Doolittle, I’ll try to faithfully recite the precious tidbits of information that the dear professors have imparted. However, it’s probably a little bit harder than talking about rain falling on Spanish plains in that oh-so-elegant British accent.

Originally posted on The Differential on July 9, 2008

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It’s lunchtime at the hospital cafeteria. Patients stand in line, their IV stands in tow. Children from the pediatrics hospital sit in pillow-lined wagons while their parents pick out food. Doctors, nurses, and other staff members file through the cashier, scanning their cards so as to avoid the hassle of carrying cash. The first year medical students eat and talk about their morning experiences on the wards, some more excitedly than others.

A phone vibrates and its owner chuckles as he reads the text message. And that’s how the lunchtime gossip starts. Or maybe that’s just how the morning gossip transforms into lunchtime gossip. He leans over to his neighbor, who then gladly moves the info down the line. A first year fainted during rounds that morning. Everyone smiles, then desperately tries to find out which one of their classmates fainted and on which service.

A character from Grey’s Anatomy said that the hospital is “high school with scalpels.” That could probably be said about medical school, too.

Watching at least one of the medical dramas on television seems to be a requisite for every medical student -– regardless of how little medicine is actually on the show. When the new season of Grey’s was starting, there were a bunch of my classmates who got together to have Grey’s Anatomy nights. (For the record: I don’t care for E.R., I have no comment on Grey’s Anatomy, Dr. Gregory House fascinates me, and Turk and J.D. never fail to, in the very least, put a grin on my face.)

In medical school you can find the nerds, the jocks, the popular kids, and the bullies. They’re just called by different names. For example, bullies have graduated to being called gunners. The really mean ones have an even cooler name: snipers (as previously written about by Anna on The Differential). Even the class elections, where interesting promises and platforms can be found aplenty, seem like popularity contests. It’s just tough to grow up.

On the other hand, I’ve heard plenty of stories about the workplace being so much like high school, too. Maybe it isn’t adults acting like teenagers, but teenagers acting like adults. And then we just have a bunch of really mature teenagers in high school. But this is a topic of a whole ’nother post.

The difference between medical school and high school, though, is more than just scalpels. It’s, uh, about… Well, it’s like… It’s about learning to save lives!

Wow. Now I’m even writing like a high schooler.

Originally posted on The Differential on July 1, 2008

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Throughout the year, one question loomed over me, haunting me like a bad dream: “Do I really want to go through all of this to become a doctor?” It’s a question I think is harder to answer now than when I was in college, especially now that I’ve started to see what I am getting myself into.

One day while I was in high school, I was sitting on the couch in front of the television. I’m not sure what I was watching. I do remember my mom calling me away from the tv set. She called me into the living room because she wanted to talk. I found it rather odd; it seemed totally out of the blue. But, I suppose, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Conversations with mom sometimes seem, at least to me, to come right out of left field. That evening my mom defied the stereotype that all Asian parents want their children to become a doctor or a lawyer. She sat me down to tell me she didn’t want me to become a doctor. That conversation was in high school.

The thing is, I was never the child who grew up with dreams of becoming a doctor. When my mom found out she was pregnant, she decided that in order to stay at home with me she would have to start her own business. She started a data entry business. As a result, I grew up around computers and decided that one day I wanted a career that involved computers.

But here I am, now a medical student. Although I have only completed the first year, I’m on my way towards earning the right to add the initials M.D. behind my name. Not that I need any more letters; my last name is long enough.
It’s scary, though. I have put myself on a path towards becoming a physician -– a path that is long and quite expensive. Should I continue down this path, I know I will find myself in a very rewarding career with enough money to keep a roof over my head and food on the table.

It’s a frustrating journey. There’s a ton of information that is force-fed during the pre-clinical years. At times it’s a challenge to see how some of it is even relevant to patient care. More than once during my first year, I wondered if I really want to do this. It was almost a monthly cycle; it coincided with exams that came about every five weeks. I hated exam weeks. Actually, I still do. But those were the times when I wondered, considered, and longed for being somewhere else. I enviously think about friends who have finished school and are earning a good paycheck. Then I take a look at the numbers on the statements I receive from my lender. It is always a little shocking to see how quickly those numbers grow. Sadly, the balance of my checking account has the opposite trend.

Yet there are times where I am truly grateful for the chance to be where I am. And there are many more times where I am excited about the possibilities of where I’m headed. Because medicine -– being invited into the depths of patients’ lives –- is exciting. I wouldn’t blog about medical school if I thought it was boring, depressing, and monotonous. On second thought, I probably would. But if you’re reading this site, you probably wouldn’t be my target audience.

Sure, it can be hard and time-consuming. Obviously it can be very frustrating. But after having spent six weeks in the wards with attendings, residents, and medical students (2 at the beginning of the school year and 4 after), I think I have found a source of inspiration and motivation. It’s not about the prestige; I don’t think all the training is worth what prestige is left in the profession. It’s not about the money; there are easier and shorter paths to earning a decent living. It’s not about being your own boss; the current medical system has made that terribly difficult. It’s all about the patients.

And now I think I’ve found the answer to that looming question. I just hope my answer doesn’t get lost in the deluge that will come in the form of my second year…