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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.

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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.

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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.”

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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.

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Whoops, It Was A Good Day

Today was the first day of my 3 weeks of outpatient internal medicine. Some people refer to it as Ambulatory Medicine. Maybe that’s because the patients, for the most part, walk in.

I was putting on my shoes on the way to the 7:30 AM orientation session when I noticed a text message on my phone. It was from a classmate. It read, “Where are you?”

It was 7:15. Plenty of time for me to get to the hospital for the orientation. But with the text, I realized my mea culpa. It was a 7:00 AM orientation.

But what can you do? Whoops. So I strolled in to the conference room 30 minutes late and took a seat.

And that was my entrance into Ambulatory Medicine. It was a fitting start to the day. Because for the rest of the day I felt a little bit lost. Ok, fine. I felt a whole lot lost. Whether it was what to do with the patient after I had finished up with them, or where to send them when my attending wanted a STAT X-ray, I was totally in the dark.

A number of times I walked to the friendliest looking nurse and asked what I was supposed to do. What do I do with this chart? This patient is ready to go, do I just send them outside?

I saw a total of three patients today. None of them were terribly complicated patients. Their problems were manageable. But the situation was uncomfortable — for me.

But when it was all said and done, it was nice to have seen the patients. The population at a VA is a unique one. I remember one elderly patient who was in the US Army Airborne back in his day. Served 3 tours of active duty. He also showed me pieces of shrapnel under his skin that were still just coming up to the surface some 30 years after his injuries.

Crazy day. A day that started with a “whoops” and was filled with almost a constant sense of being lost. But it was a good day.

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On the Wards – Thrown to the Wolves

I missed the deadline to submit my preference for where I wanted to do my Family Medicine clerkship. Fortunately, though, my first choice was an away rotation at a hospital near my parents’ house.

On my first day of Family Medicine clinic, I was scheduled to work with Dr. C, a senior resident. Before seeing my first patient, we talked about how things were done in clinic. We looked at the list of patients scheduled for the afternoon. We discussed the chief complaints that these patients had reported when making the appointment.

Dr. C asked me what rotations I had already been on. He asked me if I was familiar with different physical exam maneuvers. He graduated from a different school than I attend so he wasn’t too sure how much to expect of me.

While we were talking the medical assistant roomed a patient. I didn’t notice this. I didn’t even know what to look for. But Dr. C did. And as he wrapped up, he finished with, “Well the best way to find out where you are and how much you know is to just send you in. So go see the first patient.”

And that was that. I went to see the patient. I took a history and performed a physical exam. When I came out I told Dr. C what the chief complaint was and what my physical exam findings were. He asked me questions about the patient. I apologized for not thinking of asking for that information.

I’ve decided that the third year is full of these moments where I feel like I’m just thrown into the deep end of the pool. It is a state of almost constant unpreparedness. It was the same way when I started my Pediatrics rotation. I started on the Pediatric Pulmonary team. During our first full week the service was swamped with patients. They gave each student 5 patients to take care of.

Two weeks into Pediatrics I was sitting at lunch with 3 other classmates. Every single one of us felt overwhelmed. We each felt like we didn’t know what we were doing; it was like a mean prank where they throw you into a game without the instruction booklet.

But maybe it works. Maybe the constant feeling of not knowing quite enough is what pushes us through the fatigue and the strain to keep reading. Maybe we have to feel like we know nothing in order to push harder. Maybe this is one of those “refiner’s fire” types of situations that will mold is into competent physicians.

Sure. I can accept that. Why not?

Bring on the wolves.
 

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Random Thoughts at 6 AM

It’s 6 AM here. I feel like taking a shower. It would probably make me feel more awake. But the problem is that I don’t want to be awake. I want to be asleep.

I’ve been up since 1:30 AM. The plan is to keep studying for a few more hours and then go to sleep. I am bummed that I don’t get to wake up today and turn my clocks back one hour (Daylight Savings Time is today).

I need to be at the hospital by 5:30 PM today. As luck would have it, I’m scheduled for two days of “night float” just days before my shelf exam. So today and tomorrow I will be arriving at the hospital by 5:30 PM and staying until 7 AM.

No beds. No naps. Just hanging out on the Labor and Delivery unit in case something goes down.

I’ll be silently hoping for “quiet” nights. Because the nurses will pounce if I say something like “quiet” on the unit. It’s supposedly bad luck.