How do you pull a blog back from the brink? Let's start by explaining how I got here.
In addition to having a precious few free hours a day as a third year, working with real patients every day is an intensely personal experience. There is so much to process; over the past few months I've found it easier to do that with just the people to whom I am closest. Then there's the fear that I won't convey as well in writing interactions that have meant so much to me on the interviewing or observing end. Finally, how do you end a glimpse into someone's decision-making with a trivial recipe for kale salad?
Over the past few months, I've learned to feel ownership over my patients, to follow them daily in the hospital and try and make myself useful to them regardless of whether a note needs to be written or not. It's the luxury of being a med student that we have time to do this. And in practicing this, I've begun to feel for this handful of patients, worry about them on the days when I'm not there, become very upset when I hear about a miscommunication. Medicine takes you into the most intimate moments in strangers' lives, from a family meeting in which an elderly couple turned down palliative surgery in favor of home-hospice, to planning next steps after a miscarriage, to intrusively asking a patient whether he wants to die.
Last week I met a man who was a survivor of the earlier AIDS epidemic, diagnosed with HIV in the mid-80s and told at 22 that he would have five years to live. He buried all of his friends from that era, grew close to his family, and only a few years ago stopped taking all medication because he had grown tired of it. I felt so strongly for him, felt so privileged to be in the room interviewing him. Over the past few months I've been reading a nonfiction book, My Own Country, by Dr. Abraham Verghese, about the AIDS epidemic in rural Tennessee as experienced by an Indian-trained, African-born infectious disease doctor. I can only see that book as increasing my interest in this patient.
As I've written enough, I think I will link to this recipe from the New York Times, which looks delicious and inspired my lunch for tomorrow: Apples from Thanksgiving Start to Finish. My adaptation was a quick chopped dinosaur kale, sliced apple, Cabot farmhouse cheddar cheese, toasted walnuts, and a mustard/balsamic/olive oil/black pepper dressing.
In addition to having a precious few free hours a day as a third year, working with real patients every day is an intensely personal experience. There is so much to process; over the past few months I've found it easier to do that with just the people to whom I am closest. Then there's the fear that I won't convey as well in writing interactions that have meant so much to me on the interviewing or observing end. Finally, how do you end a glimpse into someone's decision-making with a trivial recipe for kale salad?
Over the past few months, I've learned to feel ownership over my patients, to follow them daily in the hospital and try and make myself useful to them regardless of whether a note needs to be written or not. It's the luxury of being a med student that we have time to do this. And in practicing this, I've begun to feel for this handful of patients, worry about them on the days when I'm not there, become very upset when I hear about a miscommunication. Medicine takes you into the most intimate moments in strangers' lives, from a family meeting in which an elderly couple turned down palliative surgery in favor of home-hospice, to planning next steps after a miscarriage, to intrusively asking a patient whether he wants to die.
Last week I met a man who was a survivor of the earlier AIDS epidemic, diagnosed with HIV in the mid-80s and told at 22 that he would have five years to live. He buried all of his friends from that era, grew close to his family, and only a few years ago stopped taking all medication because he had grown tired of it. I felt so strongly for him, felt so privileged to be in the room interviewing him. Over the past few months I've been reading a nonfiction book, My Own Country, by Dr. Abraham Verghese, about the AIDS epidemic in rural Tennessee as experienced by an Indian-trained, African-born infectious disease doctor. I can only see that book as increasing my interest in this patient.
As I've written enough, I think I will link to this recipe from the New York Times, which looks delicious and inspired my lunch for tomorrow: Apples from Thanksgiving Start to Finish. My adaptation was a quick chopped dinosaur kale, sliced apple, Cabot farmhouse cheddar cheese, toasted walnuts, and a mustard/balsamic/olive oil/black pepper dressing.
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