Today I took the final part of my medical licensing exam. I was somewhat anxious about it as for Steps 1 and 2, I had blocks of vacation during which to study in 6-8 hour sessions. This time, I didn't want to use one of my precious vacation weeks for board studying, so I've been trying to cram in a hour or so of practice questions or reading here or there. The mantra in med school as to necessary study time is "Two months for Step 1, two weeks for Step 2, and for Step 3-- bring a #2 pencil." That is all fine and dandy, except I have a friend who actually failed Step 3 a few months ago, and at over $600, I don't want to make that mistake.
I think that it went well enough. The exam is actually computerized these days. By the end of it, I was kind of absent-minded, but I think I did alright. I won't find out now for over a month. Some of the cases were ridiculously easy, and other ones left me playing eenie, meenie, miney, mo between options of bizarre syndromes.*
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Yesterday I ran by the lake again. I don't know what the heck people are talking about when they talk about runner's highs and all that garbage. The best feeling I've ever had is getting to that point where I'm not painfully aware of my labored breathing while trying to find a semi-dry area of my hand with which to wipe away the sweat.
The humidity was a killer. The air was so moist, you could feel each oxygen with its two attached hydrogens hurling itself at you. The air was so moist that if you grabbed a handful of it, you could squeeze the water out of it like a sponge.
Mile 1 sucked. Mile 1 always sucks. I took my walk break, and knocked out Mile 2. Second walk break. I hit the hash mark on the path, but I wasn't ready to turn around and start running again, so I walked down to the water's edge. This run sucked-- even the squirrels were lined up along the path, laughing at me.
And then for once, the shuffle option on my iPod saved me. Instead of it's usual trickery of breaking my stride with something like Enya, AC/DC came on. It was a song I hadn't heard in quite some time-- the one I convinced the squad to choose for the halftime performance, much to the dismay of our coach. It was time to stop being a pansy, and run. Miles 3 coasted by, and by the time I hit Mile 4 it was over: bad mood abolished.
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I know I have mentioned this before, but days at work seem to almost have themes. The other day, it was nosebleed day. And, more recently it was "Bad News Day". I can understand that no one likes giving their patient bad news, but when I am at least the fourth or fifth person to speak to a cancer patient that week, I don't think it's fair that I am the one stuck telling them they aren't going to get better.
I had a handoff patient at signout. They had been seen by someone else. I was just supposed to wait for them to get back from radiology, and send them home. Simple. The woman comes back and starts puking all over the place. I get that under control, and then she asks me why she keeps going into renal failure. I tell her that I don't know. I ask her what's going on with her colon cancer. She says she doesn't know what is happening, but her surgeon said he wouldn't operate because the cancer had "exploded all over her abdomen".
Then I ask her what her oncologist said was the next step. She said she didn't know. So there I am, stuck telling her that while I don't know what is going on with her personally, sometimes when cancer starts spreading, different organs start shutting down, and they don't get better. She looked like I had slapped her. I told her that I could treat her urinary tract infection, and give her medicines for pain, but that she needed to talk with her oncologist about her options. They left shortly afterwards, but not before I saw it-- the recognition that she was losing her battle.
It's not fair. I have a hard enough time doing my job-- I don't want to clean up after somebody else. And I don't mean to crush anyone's hope. I do think that attitude is a big part of healing. However, if you are being turned down for surgery because your cancer has metastasized, someone should tell you that this is not only a bad thing, but a VERY bad thing. I went into emergency medicine partly to protect myself from becoming attached to patients. While helping to improve the quality of life of a terminal patient is important, it's also hard to watch them go.
Then there was the very anxious executive who came in after a car accident. He looked absolutely fine, and wouldn't you know it, there was an abnormality on his head CT. Some sort of "spot" that they couldn't determine whether or not it was a benign lesion, a dilated blood vessel, a chronic deformity... or MALIGNANCY. Great. As you can imagine, that little news bit didn't go over so well. "Uh sir, there's something unusual on your head CT..."
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Tomorrow the PU's (parental units) are back in town. It's not exactly the best time, as I am working every day but one of their visit, but I guess that leaves them plenty of time to explore on their own. They have a huge RV now, which somewhat complicates things as it won't fit in my driveway, but I guess it has been working well for them.
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*I know you don't want to actually think of your personal physician just randomly guessing at crap, but if you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you should know that by now, NOTHING IS SACRED.
I think that it went well enough. The exam is actually computerized these days. By the end of it, I was kind of absent-minded, but I think I did alright. I won't find out now for over a month. Some of the cases were ridiculously easy, and other ones left me playing eenie, meenie, miney, mo between options of bizarre syndromes.*
----------
Yesterday I ran by the lake again. I don't know what the heck people are talking about when they talk about runner's highs and all that garbage. The best feeling I've ever had is getting to that point where I'm not painfully aware of my labored breathing while trying to find a semi-dry area of my hand with which to wipe away the sweat.
The humidity was a killer. The air was so moist, you could feel each oxygen with its two attached hydrogens hurling itself at you. The air was so moist that if you grabbed a handful of it, you could squeeze the water out of it like a sponge.
Mile 1 sucked. Mile 1 always sucks. I took my walk break, and knocked out Mile 2. Second walk break. I hit the hash mark on the path, but I wasn't ready to turn around and start running again, so I walked down to the water's edge. This run sucked-- even the squirrels were lined up along the path, laughing at me.
And then for once, the shuffle option on my iPod saved me. Instead of it's usual trickery of breaking my stride with something like Enya, AC/DC came on. It was a song I hadn't heard in quite some time-- the one I convinced the squad to choose for the halftime performance, much to the dismay of our coach. It was time to stop being a pansy, and run. Miles 3 coasted by, and by the time I hit Mile 4 it was over: bad mood abolished.
----------
I know I have mentioned this before, but days at work seem to almost have themes. The other day, it was nosebleed day. And, more recently it was "Bad News Day". I can understand that no one likes giving their patient bad news, but when I am at least the fourth or fifth person to speak to a cancer patient that week, I don't think it's fair that I am the one stuck telling them they aren't going to get better.
I had a handoff patient at signout. They had been seen by someone else. I was just supposed to wait for them to get back from radiology, and send them home. Simple. The woman comes back and starts puking all over the place. I get that under control, and then she asks me why she keeps going into renal failure. I tell her that I don't know. I ask her what's going on with her colon cancer. She says she doesn't know what is happening, but her surgeon said he wouldn't operate because the cancer had "exploded all over her abdomen".
Then I ask her what her oncologist said was the next step. She said she didn't know. So there I am, stuck telling her that while I don't know what is going on with her personally, sometimes when cancer starts spreading, different organs start shutting down, and they don't get better. She looked like I had slapped her. I told her that I could treat her urinary tract infection, and give her medicines for pain, but that she needed to talk with her oncologist about her options. They left shortly afterwards, but not before I saw it-- the recognition that she was losing her battle.
It's not fair. I have a hard enough time doing my job-- I don't want to clean up after somebody else. And I don't mean to crush anyone's hope. I do think that attitude is a big part of healing. However, if you are being turned down for surgery because your cancer has metastasized, someone should tell you that this is not only a bad thing, but a VERY bad thing. I went into emergency medicine partly to protect myself from becoming attached to patients. While helping to improve the quality of life of a terminal patient is important, it's also hard to watch them go.
Then there was the very anxious executive who came in after a car accident. He looked absolutely fine, and wouldn't you know it, there was an abnormality on his head CT. Some sort of "spot" that they couldn't determine whether or not it was a benign lesion, a dilated blood vessel, a chronic deformity... or MALIGNANCY. Great. As you can imagine, that little news bit didn't go over so well. "Uh sir, there's something unusual on your head CT..."
----------
Tomorrow the PU's (parental units) are back in town. It's not exactly the best time, as I am working every day but one of their visit, but I guess that leaves them plenty of time to explore on their own. They have a huge RV now, which somewhat complicates things as it won't fit in my driveway, but I guess it has been working well for them.
----------
*I know you don't want to actually think of your personal physician just randomly guessing at crap, but if you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you should know that by now, NOTHING IS SACRED.
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2 comments:
After Jay's first craniotomy, the surgeon told us how well things had gone etc. etc., and as he was walking out the door he mentioned that another doctor would be in to discuss followup.
When Dr. W. came in, she started talking immediately about clnical trials, and chemotherapy - and Jay said "Are you telling me this thing's malignant?!" She was very taken aback when Jay then broke down.
When she left the room, the surgeon happened to be in the hall, and she was furious. We overheard their conversation:
She: "You said you'd TOLD him!"
He: "Well, I did."
She: "What exactly did you tell him?"
He: "I said he'd be seeing you."
She: "You didn't mention why?"
He: "I said you were from Oncology. He knows what that means."
Yeah, he did say we'd be seeing Dr. W. "from the Oncology Department" to "discuss followup."
NOT the same thing at all. There's a natural resistance to taking that step in logic that destroys hope. Somebody has to push you, and nobody wants to be the one.
You have my sympathy, but it's the right and courageous thing to do.
I do happen to get the "in the zone" or "runner's high" thing, but it's usually not until about 30 minutes into cycling. I never got it running.
I'm reading a book you may like, titled Blink by Malcolm Gladwell. If you don't feel like reading it, go to a book store and read pages 39-43. It's about doctor/patient communication and it's impact on malpratice suits.
"But in the end it comes down to a matter of respect, and the simplest way that respect is communicated is through tone of voice, and the most corrosive tone of voice that a doctor can assume is a dominant tone (43)."
Have a great weekend!
Chris
My Blog
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