I keep on fallin'

Alas, another Jonah day for yours truly today. It was more than that. It was mortifying, embarrassing, humiliating, *insert adjective of choice* because you get the picture sort of day.

I'm on Pediatrics right now. This is my second week of Peds Critical Care (aka ICU for kiddies). And thus far, I've really adored it. It totally appeals to the ICU-loving Med Student in me - what with all the cool acronyms like ARDS, RDS, TTN, PPHN, HFOV, etc, etc. Plus all the Attendings here? Love! Yay for 2 hours of one-on-one Chest X-Ray teaching today! So you will understand why it would be doubly horrible that this happened to me during this rotation, in front of these attendings.

The story from the beginning? Well I was a bit sleepy going in to work today. But no big deal I thought. I'm pretty much tired every day in clerkship. As we were doing hand-over this morning (essentially where the resident on call over night talks about all patient issues they encountered), I felt sort of hot. Strange considering as how the unit (and hospital) are normally freezing, ice-cold. Anyhow, we start doing our bed-side rounds and I continue feeling a bit sleepy. Not any more different from any other day though. As we get to the third patient, the Senior resident randomly assigns the patient to me and starts asking me how I would manage them. Again, not really an issue. I felt a bit put on the spot, but it's not like it was the first time I was pimped. I had been in much, much worse.

But then all of a sudden it started getting really, really hot. And then I started having cold sweats. Then things started to turn black and the resident's voice became all muffled and distant. And I thought to myself 'Oh crap, fight it, fight it, deep breath, deep breath!' Then the next thing I knew everything turned blurry and voices around me were saying

'Are you okay, are you okay? Help her down. Lie down. Get a wet towel!'

Yup. I had passed out. I had fainted on rounds and was now lying supine on the floor of MY PATIENT'S ROOM!

I heard people around me saying:

'Should we do a blood sugar? (no poking me please)'
'Did you eat breakfast today? (I did) '
'Get her some orange juice (they did).'

I came around pretty quickly after that (I was never actually fully out, more of an out-of-body experience).

So yes. I reverse face-planted (trendelenburg!) in front of the whole unit. It was like my first year nightmare come true. How mortifying. They probably thought it was because I couldn't take the pimpage. Sigh.


I always thought that if or when I passed out it would be under more romantic circumstances. For example, I would be standing and operating oh so heroically for a long marathon 14 hour surgery. And then I would finally collapse out of exhaustion as a hot resident (hot senior would fit the bill nicely) or attending (Dr. Vascular would do) would rescue me and carry me out as others around cheered & clapped at my bravery (and birds would sing, and little animals would join in 'tra-la-la-la-la'... hmm, probably have been watching too many Disney movies). Alas, reality is so much more mundane. I would never have guessed it would be during rounds. Much less in the ICU. Even much less on Peds.

Oh, the humiliation

Don't make me angry. You won't like me when I'm angry

12 weeks of surgery can really change a person. Like I said, spending all that time with the surgery residents had me slowing morphing into them. I began developing that surgeon attitude. You know the one. The swagger, the confidence, the cockiness. It's all about getting to the problem and fixing it (usually with a scalpel). Take no prisoners! So when I started to talk and act like them it became a bit weird. Because let's face it, all the people you're hanging out with are 1) guy and 2) guys who were surgeons. So there was a bit too much slapping me on the back (hard may I add), and making inappropriate comments. But there were times, when my new-found surgeon-esque confidence really came in handy.

I just came off of my General Surgery rotation 2 weeks ago. General Surgery is THE rotation during our surgery block. It's 4 weeks long, and you do a ton of stuff, and actually have a lot of responsibilities. One of the roles is to go down to the Emergency Department to consult and admit patients. It's fun. It's unpredictable. You never know who or what is waiting for you down there.

One night on call, I was paged to go see a patient with possible acute appendicitis. Easy-peasy I thought. By that point I had seen a ton of 'appys' so I was pretty comfortable with 'working one up.' Just had to ask the patient some questions, examine his belly and we would be good to go. Ah, if only every patient was so simple. You see, this patient - who we shall refer to as Mr. Stubborn, decided to make it a bit 'interesting' for me.

Stuff
Hi Sir, I'm Stuff the medical student on the Gen Surg team. They've ask us to come see you because they tell me you've been having some stomach pain?
Mr. Stubborn
Yes, the emerg docs tell me I have appendicitis and that I need an operation. They said SURGERY [stressing the word surgery] was coming down
Stuff
They told you that huh? Well I'm from the surgery team. But I do need to talk to you for a bit and do an exam before we know what exactly we're dealing with
Mr. Stubborn
[rolling his eyes]
Why? They told me I have appendicitis.
Stuff
[getting slightly irritated - it's way too late in the day for this]
I don't know what they told you exactly. But I really need to ask you some questions before we can do anything else.
Mr. Stubborn
[Like he's doing me a big favour]
Okay FINE. Just do it fast.
Stuff
[Trying to be nice]
Thank you

So I ask my questions. It's pretty clear at this point the guy has appendicitis, but I needed to do the physical exam in order to confirm.

Stuff
Okay Sir, now I need to have a feel of your stomach
Mr. Stubborn
[raising his voice]
What?! Why??! I already TOLD you that I have appendicitis. And that I need SURGERY.
Stuff
[getting very annoyed now]
Sir, I need to feel your ABDOMEN before we decide on anything. I have to confirm that this is appendicitis before we operate.
Mr. Stubborn
[starting to whine]
No! The other DOCTORS have already poked me enough. Plus it hurts too much. I want to see the SURGEONS already.
Stuff
Like I said I'm from the GENERAL SURGERY team, Sir.
Mr. Stubborn
You're not even a REAL doctor.
Stuff
[Oh no he didn't]
Look man, I'm the closest thing you've got right now to a surgeon. You want to get this treated? Well, turn around, stop whining and let me feel your stomach. The faster we do this, the faster you and I go to the OR. Got it?!
Mr. Stubborn
[meekly]
Yes ma'am

And that my friends is what 12 weeks of surgery does to nice girls.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

In clerkship, you rotate through lots of different services and specialties. You spend an insane amount of time with the residents on that service. It can be a stressful situation, and you really do need to work as a team in order for things to work well and efficiently. So I guess, it’s not a surprise and sort of expected that residents on the same service will share certain idiosyncrasies.

For example, during my 12 weeks on surgery, I noticed that many of the residents loved to use the word ‘perfect.’ No matter what the situation, they always used ‘perfect’:

Gen Surg Senior
Mr. X, have you pooped yet today?
Patient X
Oh yes, doctor
Gen Surg senior
Perfect

Hot Senior
[during morning rounds]
I’m going to take off the dressing now. It’s gonna hurt
[rips off bandages]
Patient
[Screams in pain]
Hot senior
Perfect

Hot senior
[in OR]
Stuff you’re going to suture up that wound okay?
Stuff
[After 20 extremely long minutes of suturing up a 5 cm wound, says triumphantly]
Finished!
Hot senior
Perfect!

Another observation? Surgeons walk fast. Really fast. And they always seem to be walking like they need to get somewhere very important. And when and if they actually go somewhere important, they seem to storm into a place like they own it. On one of my first days on Vascular, when I was basically being my other senior’s second shadow, we were going down somewhere – I don’t even remember it being that important, perhaps for a coffee run? Anyway, we were trying to get out of the elevator but it was super packed with people. I had to push my way out while he had already forged ahead. Partly owing to the fact that the guy had an unfair advantage in the leg length department (6 ft tall versus 5ft 4) it was not a surprise that he was quite a bit ahead of me. So I started to run after him, not wanting to be left behind. I guess he noticed me not glued to his side, so he turns to wait and sees my clumsy running. When I finally catch up, he gives me my first piece of surgery advice:

"Stuff, we always walk fast and we walk with purpose. We NEVER run, but we always walk fast. No matter what, got it?"

So what has happened to me after 12 weeks of surgery? I find myself now saying perfect in every possible situation no matter how irrelevant. And I walk fast. Really fast. Surgeon fast. And I do sort of storm into places (with purpose of course). And people always ask, 'Surgery?’ To which I answer confidently, 'Yup!' (except that doesn't quite work anymore seeing as I am on pediatrics).

I hope my pediatrics rotation cures me of these, because at his rate I'll be drinking my coffee black, and making inappropriate comments about everything and everyone, having somehow morphed into a male surgeon.

Good-bye Tonsils!

One of the most distinct memories I have growing up was when I was 6-years old. I was in Grade 1 then and we were just starting to read books. At my school, we would have afternoon sessions every week with the 'older' kids (older being 9-yrs old or so - which at that time was OLD) who were assigned as our "reading buddies." Our reading buddy would then come and read to us a book of our choice. There were tons of books to choose from. Fairy-tales, adventures, cars, animals. I remember there seemed like shelves filled with different books.

Unlike all my classmates though, I would always, every single time without fail, choose the exact same book.

The book? It was called 'Good-bye Tonsils.' Basically, it was about a little girl who had to have a tonsillectomy. It was a simple story, but I remember it vividly: the little girl meeting the doctor, going to the hospital (with her stuffed toys of course), having the surgery, and then afterward having only Jello and ice-cream to eat (a 6-year old kid's dream come true).

I was absolutely fascinated by this story and I still remember how enthralled I was by it to this day. [Thinking back, I was a strange kid because NO ONE else chose this book - I remember frantically looking for it one time because I thought someone else took MY book - but of course, no one did. It was just hidden].

Now in present day, I just finished my ENT (ears-nose-throat) rotation a couple weeks ago. It was here that I witnessed a real-life tonsillectomy for the first time. As I was assisting in the surgery, I immediately remembered the book and my 6-year old self. At that moment, it all felt so apropos. Like full circle, you know what I mean? That I was here - finally - reaching one of my goals/dreams. I guess that 6-year old girl was onto something huh?

Unfair

I'm on pediatric neurosurgery right now. It's my second and last week which is now quickly coming to an end (such is clerkship - time absolutely flies!). I've been missing vascular and the team very much but this has been another eye-opening learning experience.

Peds neurosurgery. How do I describe it. Fascinating. And tragic. Very tragic. Seeing kids sick is not fun. That's not to say there aren't miracles and kids don't get better. They do! And when this happens it's a truly wonderful thing. But when they're sick, and I mean some of these kids are very, very sick, it's so hard to watch. It's hard to separate yourself from the situation and so very hard to not just sit and cry.

Last week on my second day on service, one of my consultants invited me to attend an emergency operation that night for a child with a brain tumour. It was some sort of rare metastatic brain tumour which was very large. But she got it out. And when we went to see him the next day, he was doing really well. He was still a very sick little boy but he was doing better, watching his cartoons and asking for Oreo cookies. The plan was to discharge him home and then continue with chemotherapy.

But then things took a turn for the worse. A recent MRI was pulled up. The tumour my consultant took out was gone, but now a second tumour had grown at an alarming rate. It had almost doubled in size since the last week. And what was worse was the appearance of a new third lesion. We had to tell the family.

As we approached them the mom already had tears in her eyes. She knew things weren't right. I guess parents just have that sixth sense. Going into the private room, I asked my resident if I should be in there too for this meeting. It felt so awkward, so wrong, so uneasy. I didn't think I belonged and that I was intruding on such a tragic and private moment. Once in there, the doctor started to speak... about the options, goals, expectations. It was a lot to take in. The mother started to cry again. They said that they had always known this was a possibility. That they knew the tumour was an aggressive one. They wanted to give their child a fighting chance. But at the same time at what cost. They wouldn't put their son through something that was futile. How much more could one little boy take. Was it worth it? They wanted answers. We could not say anything for certain. All they wanted was for their son to be okay. We couldn't even tell that. It was so hard to watch. So hard to be there. I wanted to cry. Wanted to comfort them, tell them it would be okay. That there son would get better. But it was not my place. I did not know them. They did not know me. So I prayed inside for them, for him, for all of us. And I hoped that it would be enough.

They decided to operate that night. There would be no Oreos for our little patient that day. So I had to fight back more tears as I heard him cry because all he wanted was that one cookie.

Peds has been tough in this sense. It seems so unfair. Life seems so unfair for our little patients. We shouldn't have to see little boys on our operating table waiting to have their brain tumour removed. Little girls shouldn't face an unknown future because they were 'accidently' dropped or shaken. We shouldn't have to fix them. They shouldn't be broken in the first place. It's too tragic, all too tragic.

I truly, truly admire all those who work with children. But for me, it's been a tough two weeks indeed.

Don't you hate pants?

Midway through clerkship and I've survived! I've finished my anesthesia rotation (which I loved - yay for IVs and intubations!) as well as my vascular surgery rotation which I absolutely adored ever so much.

I was so nervous right before I started vascular. 1) It was my first ever surgical rotation 2) It had the reputation of being very intense and very busy 3) Did I mention that hot cardio resident was the senior resident on the team? Hence, I thought it'd be horrible. That I'd hate it. I mean what do I know about aortas and blood vessels? Um, they carry blood. Blood is good.

Luckily, it turned out to be an incredible experience. I mean I had my hand on a patient's beating aorta - not something one experiences everyday. Surreal and amazing at the same time. There certainly was never a dully moment on this rotation. And it sure was full of some very "interesting" experiences.

One day, I was sent to help out at Vascular Clinic. Normally this is a relatively easy and relaxed time. You go in, introduce yourself to patient. Ask them about their problem (usually it's a AAA or peripheral vascular disease) and then do a focused physical exam. So you palpate their abdomen for masses, and feel for pulses from femoral down. Patients are usually told to remove their pants for this and to put on a gown so we can look at their legs and feet more closely. Easy-peasy. Routine. OR so I thought.

I had seen many a patient by this time and that I had the 'act' down pat. I spoke too soon. I should have guessed that something was not quite right when the clinic nurse warned me the next patient was looking rather 'unkempt.' But again, I'm supposed to be all professional and stuff right? No judgments here.

Stuff
[knocks on door]
Hello sir, I'm St...
[stops short when she sees patient has gown on backwards and is not wearing ANYTHING waist down. I.e. The man is naked as a jaybird]
No Pants Man
Is this gown on backwards?
Stuff
Yes, yes it is. Now how about I put this blanket on you.
[Proceeds to cover man up while hurrying to finish the interview as fast as humanly possible]

So let's just say our patient population in vascular was never predictable.

Another day I was following around hot senior for the day (in clerkship thus far, I have latched myself onto whoever tells me to follow them and then don't let go. You learn pretty quickly that if you don't, your resident/team will forget about you and go their separate ways, leaving you lost. Oh so very lost. I was lucky in that my vascular seniors would usually tell me to follow one of them).

We get called down to the ER to see a consult for an "ischemic toe." As we're going down the lift, he pre-warns me that the patient has some "psychiatric issues." He mentions something about OCD and possibly schizotypal personality disorder. Apparently the patient had been in the night before but left AMA. Okay, we had our psych lectures last year. I could deal with this. I'm a patient-centred medical student. Boy was I wrong:

Crazy toe man
[sitting in bed looking rather wild-eyed and agitated]
Hot senior
Sir that toe is going to have to come off
Stuff to self
Crap. This guy looks scary
Crazy toe man
Oh I know. It's dead. That's why I cut off the dead part yesterday myself. Doesn't it look better now?
Stuff to self
[slowly moves closer to senior. Senior looks like he could defend us if necessary This is somewhat reassuring to me]
What?! He did what??!
Hot senior
Yeah, well that's just the top part. The whole toe is going to need to come off. Plus we're going to need to admit you to hospital. You have an infection in your leg.
Crazy toe man
I can't stay in hospital. I need to take my heart pills.
Hot senior
Sir this is a hospital. We have all the pills you need.
Crazy toe man
Yes but I need MY pills. Plus I don't have an infection. Look it's so pink. It's got to be healthy.
Stuff to self
[inching even closer to senior]
Yeah pink because you have a rip-roaring cellulitis. Man look at that massive pitting edema.
Hot senior
[pokes leg to demonstrate pitting edema]
Actually your legs are very swollen and that pink is actually your infection. We're going to need to give you antibiotics. And then take off your toe.
Crazy toe man
[Getting more agitated]
It's NOT infected. I can still feel it and move it. See. SEE!
[Moves foot with dramatic flair]
Stuff to self
[Is now right next to senior. Really wanting to grab his arm at this point and hold on for dear life]
Oh man. This is not going well. Can we get out of here now?
Hot senior
Yes it IS infected.
Crazy toe man
[getting VERY agitated]
NO it's not! I DON'T have an infection. And you're not putting me to sleep to take off my toe.
Stuff to self
[Has now completely glued her entire body to senior's side, cowering behind him ready to hide behind him should anything come flying at her]
This is not good. Please stop antagonizing him.
Hot senior
Okay fine then we'll just take it off here. You can stay awake. Then you can come stay with us for a few day. We'll get you your meds.
Crazy toe man
[Apparently appeased by this proposal]
Okay
Stuff to self
What? What just happened here?

And so hot senior amputates crazy toe man's toe in the ER using only local anesthetic! Apparently, the patients in the next beds were none too please with the sound of saw on bone. Go figure.

Ah Vascular. I miss you.

And so it begins

Again intended to post this earlier, but here it is. Better late than never:

So here we are. Summer ended way too early and before we knew it, third year aka 'clerkship' aka 'the start of real medicine' aka 'the rest of our lives' had begun. So many people had said that clerkship would be the best part of med school. It would be the year where we finally learned real medicine and how to be doctors. It would be exciting! It would be fun! It would be amazing! All the superlatives on what we should expect and how we should feel.

Everyone around me seemed so excited and so ready to begin. But me? I was absolutely terrified. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted so much to feel like a ‘real doctor’ and be in the hospital treating real patients. But I was not excited. I was scared. I had no idea what to expect, what was expected of me. I mean, let’s face it, my clinical knowledge was so limited to theoretical what-ifs and standardized patients. I’d never treated anyone for real before. And what about the residents? And the consultants? Would they be mean? Would I get yelled at? What if I get paged when I’m on call and have no idea what to do? There were so many what-ifs. So no sir, I was not excited. I was frightened, petrified, spooked. And I felt like the hugest idiot in the world. And we had not even started.

The start of school came so quickly. One moment we were finished exams and summer had started. But then as fast as you can say “vacation” third year had started. We were off to a jam-packed start with intro to clerkship lecture week. Basically it was a week of reviews, and how-to seminars for different procedures (IVs, suturing, intubations, casting, etc). It was actually quite fun and helpful (and at times bloody – hello IVs!) but again it flew by. Soon we were at the Labour Day weekend. And that entire weekend I was so nervous.

You see, the way clerkship works at our institution is that our class is divided up into different groups. Each group will rotate through the core specialties (surgery, medicine, psychiatry, family medicine, obstetrics/gynecology, paediatrics) but in different orders. My clerkship group (and my first choice) started with surgery first. I figured I’d start clerkship with a bang and jump with both feet first. But surgery was also the most notoriously intense rotation. Thus explained my nervous anxiety.

First day of the rotation was actually okay. It was held at big academic hospital on campus and we were sent to the big fancy robotics department. The day was actually super fun and not nerve wracking (except for the lecture in the morning from the senior general surgery resident on what the ‘expectations’ for clinical clerks were – aka being scut monkeys). It was pretty much a hands-on session for learning how to do IVs, suture, tie knots, intubate again. Good practice.

And it would have been an excellent day had I been able to figure out how to tie a surgical knot.

Let's just say I was not the brightest bulb when it came to tying knots. In the one hour session we had, the first 30-40 minutes of it were spent by me trying how to figure out to do this one stupid one-hand square knot tie while everyone else had moved onto the more complex surgeon’s knot. The good news was that the attending physician supervising us was very nice and patient with me. But eventually even he gave up and got the – ahem – hot cardiac surgery resident to come help me. Let's just say that did not help the situation at all:

Hot cardio resident
So let's teach you how to tie some knots
Stuff to self
Good grief this guy is hot. How am I supposed to concentrate?
Hot cardio resident
[takes Stuff's hands in his while making a knot]
Make a figure four...loop the string around... finger under, over...
Stuff
Uh-huh
To self
I have no clue what this guy's doing or saying. Hmm, don't think this holding hands business is really doing anything to help my knot tying. Is it me or it really hot in here?

Now in the midst of the small talk the group was making (I was too busy trying to get that darn knot), I hear hot cardio resident mention that he’s actually the chief resident on vascular surgery this month and if anyone was doing vascular as a selective. And I don’t know why but someone’s voice which sounded a whole lot like mine said loudly in an overly enthusiastic tone “I am!” (needless to say I was shocked by said boldness). He turns and says ‘Oh great! I should spend more time with you to make sure your knots are awesome.’ To which I think to myself 'Oh crap, now he'll remember me as the girl who cannot tie knots.'

Good thing I was a great deal better at suturing (hot cardio resident said they looked good - at least I am not COMPLETELY without hope). But I was more than slightly intimidated and nervous by the fact that when I was leaving for the day, he patted me on the shoulder and said 'Hey see you in 2 week!'. Aww you would say, how sweet. But to me that scared me. Because that meant the remembered me. He remembered me at the end of the day and he would remember me in 2 weeks as the girl who absolutely sucked at tying knots. What a way to begin clerkship. Needless to say I have been practicing knot tying relentlessly ever since.

End of an Era

Wow we have not updated in a long time. Apologies, but things have been in a word - crazy. I intended to post these things awhile back (i.e. in June) but one thing led to another and here are are now. So here it is:

So school is finally finished. It's been a hectic year. Super packed, filled with exams, tests, OSCEs (horrors!), volunteering, research projects! GAH! IT's no wonder we haven't updated in the longest time. While I'm glad that school is finished, I am still shocked and slightly alarmed at how fast it's all gone. I think about it and it feels like it wasn't that long ago that I had just started working with Dr. BossMan. I blinked and I got into med school. I blinked again and first year was all over. Now I've blinked a third time, and here I am, all finished second year and working with Dr. BossMan (and a certain infamous Dr. C) again. 50% doctors. Crazy, exciting, scary. It’s hard to know how to feel, especially with clerkship looming. What does that mean? Well, it means they’re going to let us loose onto real patients?! Like the non-acting /standardized type!? I find it highly alarming that today on the subway a person was choking on their gum and I froze. What in the world is it going to be like next year when emergencies happen every day?! Double yikes. (Note: the guy was okay). Anyways, let’s get through the summer first before we open that can of worms.