Accepted

A couple months ago Sarah Pritzker, writer and blog editor for Accepted, asked me if I would be willing to do an interview focusing specifically on my path to applying and getting into medical school. I was more than happy to oblige and my interview went live on their blog earlier this week! If you're interested in applying to medical school, pop on over to their site and give it a gander. Also featured is this pic of first-year me in my brand spankin' new white. Talk about a throw back! So young...so well rested. ;) 

Lastly, I know most of my posts on here are me sharing stories about my experiences as a medical student, but if any of you ever have questions about anything, medical school related or not, please feel free to shoot me an email or comment below!

Happy Sunday, friends. :)

Hand and Heart

"Grab a pair of gloves and get in there."

Following my resident's instructions, I put on a pair of blue gloves and pushed my way through the sea of nurses and doctors, to stand in line ready to perform chest compressions on a patient who had coded in the ICU.

Like everyone else crowded into the small patient room, I tried to ignore the blaring sound of the heart monitor and seemingly lifeless body of the elderly patient, all of which confirmed the sinking feeling I had in my stomach. This was bad, and all I could think about was how much I did not want to watch another patient die in the ICU.

Standing beside the patient's bedside, I looked down and saw her hand reflexively reach out. Instinctively, I grabbed it. And while another medical student rhythmically pumped on the patient's chest, I firmly held the old, wrinkled hand and began to softly stroke it with my thumb. I let go when I got the nod from the nurse running the code to begin my compressions. I carefully placed my hands on the center of the patient's chest, amidst the EKG tabs and wires. I pushed down one time and, miraculously, felt a heart beat.

In amazement I shouted that I felt her heart beat. Almost simultaneously the nurse checking the femoral pulse shouted that he had a pulse, too. I looked up at the heart monitor to see a weak, irregular, but definitely present heart tracing. I backed up as the critical care doctor began examining the patient and giving more orders.

I know the science. I know the physiology. I know that it was the electrical conversions and the magnesium and the brilliance of seasoned attendings perfectly managing a critically ill and dying old woman that caused her heart to start beating again.

But I also know that there is power in compassion and hoping, against all odds, that maybe this one time, for this one patient, a code won't end in defeat.

And walking out of the ICU this afternoon I realized something else, too. I have yet to feel something more beautiful than a still heart begin to beat again.

A little help

I had been yelled by one of the senior residents for not scrubbing in on surgeries I was repeatedly told by other residents to not scrub in on. During the middle of one surgery a nurse, who was worried my glasses would fall into a patient's open abdomen, taped my glasses to the middle of my forehead with a giant piece of surgical tape. And then I got kicked out of the OR because I didn't know the answers to the surgeon's questions. Needless to say, last Wednesday was rough. Walking out of the OR I could feel tears burning my eyes as I walked into the bathroom. After I had a good cry I went to the library to research the surgery I had just been asked to leave. I sat down at a computer, my face puffy and tear stained, closed my eyes and willed myself not to cry again. When I opened them, I saw that three of my med school buddies had pulled up chairs, literally surrounding me with friendly and understanding faces. They let me vent, made me laugh, and quickly pulled me out of the dark hole I was trying desperately not to sink into.

Last week was my first week of surgery. There were parts that were AMAZING (I seriously think I could just live in the OR), and as mentioned above, there were also some parts that were not so amazing. And it's in times like those that I'm unbelievably thankful for my med school friends. We run around the hospital, in short white coats, and every time we see one another, it's a relief. Because we know our battle buddies aren't going to pimp us, or ask us to drain anything gross, or yell at us for not doing something. Often our camaraderie manifests in dorky faces across the wards, goofy greetings as we pass each other in the stair wells, and sometimes simply being there when one of us is having a really rough day. But without these people, and those moments, I don't know how I would survive rotations. Because as I have found time and time again, those famous words ring true, "I get by with a little help from my friends."

Square One

I've been on surgery for all of two days now. And, while I absolutely love being in the OR, it can be intimidating to say the least. In and of itself, the OR is like a whole new world, with unspoken rules and sterile fields that cannot be broken. That, coupled with the vast amount of knowledge the surgical residents are able to rattle off at a moment's notice, is enough to make the most confident medical student break into a cold sweat. During the past two days I've been reminded of the (relatively) little amount of clinical knowledge I've mastered in my seven months in the hospital. While most of the time, I use this fact to motivate me, sometimes it has the opposite effect, and I can feel the realization of everything I have yet to learn weigh me down.

I experienced one of these moments yesterday morning. It was 5:07am and I was on my first ever surgical rounds. Myself, and the entire team of surgical residents were standing outside a patient's room when my fellow student and I found ourselves in the middle of a particularly bloody session of pimping (a style of questioning all medical students fear to our very core). While questions, that I did not know the answer to, were whizzing past me like bullets in a WWII period film, I remembered something a preceptor on my previous rotation told me about surviving medical training.

I was sitting across from her desk at the end of the day reviewing the cases we had seen. It was my final day working with her and we got to talking about medical school and its challenges. At the end of our conversation she gave me this final piece of advice:"Discover what you like about yourself. Hold on to that. And if you do, no one will be able to touch you. Promise me you'll do that?" 

Medical student, how do you repair a spigelian hernia?! As I was jolted back to reality by the quizzical stare of my senior resident, I could feel the heaviness already gathering in my chest. But then I made a choice. And, after taking a deep breath I calmly replied, "I don't know, but I'll look it up."

So c'mon 2016, bring it. :)