anna in med school

I’m sure he’s heard it before, but seriously, if your last name is Williams, shouldn’t you think twice before naming your son William?  A pearl from Dr. W. Williams’ rheumatology lecture:

If you remember nothing five years from now from this lecture, please remember her (St. Therese of Lisieux, Patron Saint of Tuberculosis) quote: “Without love, deeds, even the most brilliant, count as nothing.”

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I’m not as hardcore as John…in weather like today, I bag the bike.  Taken from my bus stop:

Or I stay home and VC unless small group requires my presence.  I chose to become a doctor so that I could spend my days in scrubs.  I chose to go to Penn so that I could stay in my pajamas until the day of scrubs arrives.  Not really, but it’s a pretty sweet perk.

On Sunday evening, John and I had the good fortune of having a double date with the lovely couple above for restaurant week.  Everything about Fork was spectacular…the artfully constructed courses warranted gesticulations so grand on my part, that my fork literally leapt out of my hand during one particularly scrumptious morsel.  John: “Shoooot!–we can’t take you anywhere.”

I met Jon M (half of said gorgeous couple above) on the interview trail last year.  Either I had made a decent impression or had succeeded in sufficiently embarrassing myself, but he somehow remembered me when we saw each other six months later at Penn Preview.  And I’ve been tagging along after him ever since.  He’s an exceptional mind and a dear friend to me…and part of me looks forward to the last few days of cramming before an exam because it means I have additional excuse to study with him.

Jon took the beginner’s course in medical Spanish last semester.  I might be getting this story wrong, but I believe at one point, the students were asked to describe their significant others or friends in two words in Spanish.  Keep in mind, Jon studied French in college; he was only a few weeks into learning Spanish.  When asked to describe his wife, Jaime, this is what he could come up with: “tall” and “nice.”  Good effort.  Fabuloso! I wish I spoke Spanish.

Next weekend will be productive; it’ll really have to be.  But for now, a few responses from the husband…glad we’re still in the honeymoon phase of our relationship, or something:

During our attempt at studying together, spoken in monotone, all words in the same breath: “I-love-you-more-shut-up.”

“You make me unproductive.  Slow as molasses in January, enjoying your company or some such bullshit.”

John, you take my breath away with your compliments.

When the whole med school thing popped into my head, I’m a little embarrassed to say, I did the age math.  Ugh!  I’m going to be in my thirties when/if I graduate, and my mid- to late-thirties when I finish residency.  And then my life is practically over.  Okay, an exaggeration for sure, but my attitude was ludicrous nonetheless: a) although I sometimes wish it were otherwise, I’m definitely not an anomaly, as taking years off before school is pretty standard, if not the norm; 2) I think, just maybe, there is life past 35 (haven’t we learned anything from Sex and the City?).

Sometimes it’s a little difficult to watch the friends from college go on and become doctors while I’m only starting school.  But much much more often, it’s nice to have people I love and admire kind of show me how it’s done, become the type of physician I hope to be.

Lisa is a pediatrician.  I think she was always supposed to be a pediatrician.  She has a gentle warmth and kind temperament about her that attracts people, especially children.  I got to know her in the Dominican Republic, watching her play baseball with the children of Esperanza.  I was trying to describe her to my neighbor yesterday…she’s one of those exceptional people who is able to handle stress and keep all her ducks in a row, like a real adult or something.  She always had a life outside of med school, making time to have lunch with me on the corner while studying for the boards, volunteering at a camp for children with special needs while serving as president of UVA Med.  And, when she stayed with John and me for her Boston interviews, I discovered that she wears a purple suit.  Love that girl.

Yesterday I came home to find a package with my name on it in curly print.  Inside were some treats in tupperware and a note: “Nothing like some hot chocolate and cookies after a hard day of school/studying.  Good luck with this semester!  xoxo, Lisa”  Did I mention that she’s in her intern year?  She probably made the cookies post-call.  I think I’m a few months older, but I still want to be her when I grow up.

That’d be John (I know, big surprise, right?), who just diagnosed an elderly woman who presented with lower back pain as having an aortic thrombus, right above the bifurcation…and saved her life.  And, thanks to MDTI, all us MS1s know how brilliant that is.

John, while I can’t promise the finest muffins and bagels in all the land, you may drink from the keg of glory–er, from the 12-oz-bottle of Dogfish Head–that I have waiting for you in Philly.  Safe travels via Megabus, and I’ll see you in a little over 16 hours!

I can barely touch my toes.  When I stop practicing yoga, I quickly become unable to touch my toes.  And that is the most superficial benefit yoga has shown me.

One year ago, the lovely Lisa C (an MS2 I’ve come to admire considerably and feel fortunate to call my friend) decided that yoga should be available to PennMed students and staff free of charge.  But, in a city like Philly with studio classes easily going for 20 bucks a pop, where could a debt-laden student find such a class?  Or a generous soul willing to teach?

Enter Ms. Julia Horn:

A native of the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina, Julia studied dance at North Carolina School of the Arts and then Tisch School of the Arts in New York City.  She performed worldwide as a principal member of the Yoga-Dance troupe Tripsichore Yoga Theater and, since then, has become a teacher and choreographer of great merit.  Julia has created original yogic performances for a world tour of Hong Kong, Singapore, Bali, Thailand, Paris, and Iceland.  Her diverse performance background and small mountain-town upbringing infuse her teaching with a rich, artistic, and nature-driven vision that inspires students of all levels.  Julia currently teaches to the greater Philadelphia community at Studio 34, YogaChild, and Shani Yoga Shala, and now to cancer patients at the Museum of Anthropology and Archaeology.  Students who recently completed Mod 1 might also appreciate how the language of gross anatomy is seamlessly incorporated into her classes, as Julia has attended a number of anatomy trainings and has held a life-long interest in medicine and health.

Basically, Julia is the shit.  And we get to have her all to ourselves every Monday at 5pm in the student lounge.

***Our first yoga class of 2011 will be MONDAY, JANUARY 31st, at 5:00pm***

~ One hour ~ All levels class ~ Faculty, staff, students are invited ~

~ Donations suggested ($5-$10) ~

~ Medical Student Lounge ~ 2nd floor Stemmler Hall ~

I very much hope to see many of you on the 31st!  If you’ve never tried yoga before or you’re an experienced veteran, this is a fantastic space to start or continue your practice.  Remember, I’m the girl who can’t normally even graze her toes, so inexperience and inflexibility really are not valid excuses.  I think you’re going to love it here!

I would appreciate it if you would stop offering rad elective courses.  “Mind-Body Medicine and Mindfulness Meditation: Theory and Practice”??  THROW ME A FREAKIN’ BONE!  How am I supposed to say no to that?  After the half-credit intensive bioethics class I threw myself into this past weekend, I think I need a class on meditation to recover, no?

Clearly, I am a terrible medical student.  I really should just embrace being a permanent class-taker–a student of life, if you will–and, rather than find respectful employment, wear a sign that says “will think for food.”  The coherence/quality of my thoughts, however, is questionable at best.

I’m a shy person.  (Don’t be fooled by the fact that I talk too much–a vice I’m working on.)  In new social environments, my face flushes, my hands sweat, my stomach flips.  Maybe it’s because I have this trepidation, but I find a lot of excitement in subtle interactions (looking someone in the eye, extending my hand).  Actually confronting someone in person (like that passive aggressive beret-wearing asshole in biomed last week…Doria, Sara, and Amy, you know who I’m talking about), well that’s just flat-out cathartic.  One of my goals with this blog is to be open about my experiences here; otherwise, what’s the point?  I might seem tame, but many of my posts are profoundly personal, and I frequently pause before I hesitantly click “publish.”

Still, I’ve never not hit “publish.”  I lean toward putting my foot in my mouth after it’s too late rather than restraining myself to begin with, and I rarely regret it (though maybe I should).  But there is one part of my life about which that is not always the case: myself as patient.

They don’t tell you (or at least I never considered) that when you sign up to enter a medical field, you likely give up some of your privacy as a patient, unless you’re super motivated and committed to seeking healthcare elsewhere (which I am not).  John, for example, was hit by a car on his way to his ER shift in his fourth year of medical school.  He was barely late for his shift, except that he showed up on a backboard rather than a bicycle.  (He subsequently refused all pain meds so that he could work the rest of his shift once he was discharged; crazy kid.)  I don’t think he gave a damn, really, but it is a little odd: colleagues becoming care providers.

When we lived in Boston, John and I worked at neighboring hospitals.  Due to insurance and convenience, it made sense for me to go in for my regular appointments just next door.  When I was asked if I could be seen by a resident: “Sure!”  He/She was going to discuss my history, measure and weigh me, maybe send me to the lab to get blood drawn.  No offense to residents, but it’s not brain surgery.  Of course, what I didn’t consider was that, especially in our second year in Boston, most of the internal medicine residents knew most of the ED residents…and with a last name like Jesus, you’re not easily forgotten.  Okay, so they knew my husband…and, while it did strike me as funny when a resident, while performing my pelvic exam, was going on about how John was always welcome over for dinner with her and her husband when I moved to Philly, I never felt uncomfortable.  There was still a level of distance.

But things have shifted again.  MS2s began their clerkships two weeks ago…and so my friends are roaming around the hospitals and clinics at which I’m a patient (mandated, in part, by student health insurance).  One day I’ll tell you more about my not-terribly-concerning-but-somewhat-annoying chronic condition.  For now, let’s just say that I was at a specialty clinic earlier this week.  As I was checking in, the door to the clinic swung open to reveal an MS2 completing paper work on the other side.  I startled myself by the speed at which I turned my back so he wouldn’t recognize me.  The desk nurse asked me if I would be willing to be interviewed by a student or a fellow before seeing the physician.  I swallowed (I don’t want to be one of those patients who refuses to be seen by a student), “Well, the thing is, I kind of know the student…”  Nurse: “Oh!  Of course, say no more!”  Everyone was super careful and discrete during my visit…but, just as I was leaving, I slipped and almost tumbled into the MS2, and we exchanged an awkward greeting as my face turned beet red.

Here’s what I can’t figure out: where did this embarrassment come from?  I’m all about respect for patient privacy, but my personal level of discomfort in this instance is disconcerting…especially considering that I would probably be okay divulging every other aspect of my life to this MS2.  Maybe even my health.  But not there.  I’ve come to expect that, when I walk into a clinic as a patient, I am relatively anonymous.  No one knows me as anything but a patient.

Click on “Publish.”

Just got this email from my friend Alex:

Here’s what I did at work today: science

I keep telling myself that the temporary inconvenience of not having Internet access for a night or two a month is worth what I’m saving by “borrowing” wireless from a generous neighbor…whatever; most of the people in my building dump their recyclables in my makeshift blue bin, so it’s a fair trade-off. But a comment or two on the talk I attended this evening, “The Quest for the Perfect Vagina: Understanding the What, How, and Why of Trendy Cosmetic Surgical Procedures and the Ethical Considerations Involved,” will have to wait until tomorrow.

In the mean time, I am putting in writing what my dissection group has already heard, oh, four or eight times: I am no longer allowed to take home a jar of nut butter of any kind. I hear that natural peanut butter actually helps prevent arterial blockages, but probably not in the quantities I consume.