Beginning your third year of medical school while moving out of your old apartment and changing your sleep cycle to an earlier one can be summarized by one word: exhausting. I am exhausted. But this has been one of the coolest things I've ever done, and I can honestly say for the first time I KNOW I made the right choice. I'm so glad I came to medical school.
I have seen patients by myself in a variety of clinics over the past few weeks, and B and I just moved 80% of what remained of my stuff out of my apartment this weekend and put much of it in storage. I have so much extra work to catch up on it's not even funny. And we won't be here next weekend because my cousin is getting married. But it's been amazing. B has sacrificed much of his vacation time in helping me, my mom, and my brother, who just had shoulder surgery. Let's just say there's a lot going on.
More after some sleep. But just wanted to write that I am still alive and kickin'. But not kickin' it.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
The Unwritten Rules
One thing I'm learning is that on the wards, many, many people will let you just put your foot in it. This is not just other medical students who think they're competing with you -- doctors, nurses, staff will let you just make a mistake and then see how you react. This morning was my morning. My attending asked me to check my schedule and tell the patient when I'd be back. Simple, right? Nope. I didn't have my schedule (for the year, not this week) printed out and with me. That was mistake #1. I couldn't log on to the server because I had forgotten which account and password out of five new account/password combinations I was supposed to use. So it locked me out. That was mistake #2. So far, so good.
But the compounding mistake was asking another doctor to log in for me. Apparently that is a big, BIG no-no. But she didn't tell me that. The few other people sitting there didn't say anything. She was just silent, then asked, "Do you have an ID?" and I said yes, but I was locked out. Then she said, "hold on," and left, so I thought maybe she would help me. Meanwhile, I looked up the help number. When she came back, she said, "Are you still locked out?" and made it absolutely clear she was not going to do anything about it. Let me note that she didn't say anything along the lines of, "You know I'm not allowed to do that. Call that number on the screen." She was just silent, as was everyone else.
So at this point, I finally caught on and said, "I'll just call the hotline here." And I picked up my cell phone, spent the next 10 minutes on the phone, and got my schedule off the computer o' doom (it is not a coincidence that the server login screen resembles the Blue Screen of Death). By which time, of course, my patient had departed. I offered a dejected apology to my attending and then swallowed it like a big girl and kept seeing people (who in this case, were very adorable well babies, so this was frankly not too hard). But I lost a patient for my cohort and a chance to look like I actually had my act together.
Lesson learned: Never, never, never, never ask for help if there's a chance you can solve it without putting someone out. Because you are at the bottom of the ladder. Oh, and carry your schedule for the entire year, in case someone asks you what you're doing next July when your patients need shots. Third, always keep an eye out for the Unwritten Rules. The nurses know, just copy them. And never ask a doctor who isn't responsible for you for help. No teaching credit, no time. Oops, I forgot one: learn how to blend invisibly into an overcrowded room without getting in anyone's way or, God forbid, taking a chair (that one I knew: they all 'belong' to someone).
But the compounding mistake was asking another doctor to log in for me. Apparently that is a big, BIG no-no. But she didn't tell me that. The few other people sitting there didn't say anything. She was just silent, then asked, "Do you have an ID?" and I said yes, but I was locked out. Then she said, "hold on," and left, so I thought maybe she would help me. Meanwhile, I looked up the help number. When she came back, she said, "Are you still locked out?" and made it absolutely clear she was not going to do anything about it. Let me note that she didn't say anything along the lines of, "You know I'm not allowed to do that. Call that number on the screen." She was just silent, as was everyone else.
So at this point, I finally caught on and said, "I'll just call the hotline here." And I picked up my cell phone, spent the next 10 minutes on the phone, and got my schedule off the computer o' doom (it is not a coincidence that the server login screen resembles the Blue Screen of Death). By which time, of course, my patient had departed. I offered a dejected apology to my attending and then swallowed it like a big girl and kept seeing people (who in this case, were very adorable well babies, so this was frankly not too hard). But I lost a patient for my cohort and a chance to look like I actually had my act together.
Lesson learned: Never, never, never, never ask for help if there's a chance you can solve it without putting someone out. Because you are at the bottom of the ladder. Oh, and carry your schedule for the entire year, in case someone asks you what you're doing next July when your patients need shots. Third, always keep an eye out for the Unwritten Rules. The nurses know, just copy them. And never ask a doctor who isn't responsible for you for help. No teaching credit, no time. Oops, I forgot one: learn how to blend invisibly into an overcrowded room without getting in anyone's way or, God forbid, taking a chair (that one I knew: they all 'belong' to someone).
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
There but for the grace of God go I...
...where on earth have I been for the last month? Oof. That is truly the million-dollar question, but the answer is pretty much what you'd expect from a medical student in her last two months of her second/third year of a joint MD/MS program: studying. And finishing things. And starting things. With a touch of freaking out underlying it all.
Anyway, today I've got my typewriting skills back, because today was the day I PASSED the USMLE Step 1! Now, I didn't pass 'with flying colors' or streaks of glory or smears of superiority or any such thing. Oh, no. I passed by the very skin of my teeth -- which is not cool nor is it characteristic of my attitude towards exams. I usually like exams and do well at them. But that is another blog for another day. Today, I simply sigh a big sigh of relief. I passed. I passed. Thank the Lord above, I passed.
Which means: I can move forward with rotations. I don't have to call the nice patients in my longitudinal patient panel to tell them that no, I won't be seeing them at their appointments this year after all. I don't have to take time off to retake the test. I can graduate on time, hopefully, and some day be an actual doctor. I can actually enjoy myself (or try to) this year. I can start looking forward to the next set of exams. I can actually make friends with my new classmates/teammates/preceptors/attending doctors. And -- and this is the big and -- I can focus on learning medicine in all its nitty-gritty, terrible beauty.
And: I can help plan a wedding (yay x 1000), find a summer sublet, hang out with friends and B more, and be a less grouchy sister to my younger brother, who has moved home! Good times. Plus, my adorable and slightly plump, middle-aged Siamese cat will get more attention, not to mention my long-suffering parents. Today is honestly one of the most beautiful days I have ever seen. Fluffy white clouds, blue skies, sunshine, eucalyptus trees -- and a passing score.
A passing score, by the skin of my teeth. When I saw it, I felt my heart racing, the same feeling you get when you're hiking and you almost step off a cliff by mistake. Phew. And now, finally, I can say my classroom years have come to a close. I can finally let them go. And I'm mourning them, because I can't remember a time when I wasn't a student in a classroom whose job was to learn. And now I'm a student in the real world, an apprentice-student-doctor, being given real responsibility (with supervision) for real people with real problems who need actual help. The classroom of life.
So far, I'm on my third day of clinical rotations. I have seen two patients entirely on my own, many with my preceptors, and I have six patients who are "mine" -- I will follow them throughout the year and be at any of their appointments I can make it to. My rotation is a longitudinal one, which means I do ALL the core disciplines at once: family, internal, OB/GYN, pediatrics, psychiatry, neurology, surgery, etc. It's been AMAZING. It's been like a dream come true. And my preceptors have been really great teachers so far. And the patients, of course, are the entire point. That's the reason you wake up early (very early!) in the morning. Eventually, the goal is for me to have roughly 60 patients of my "own" for the year -- which is nothing when you realize that the average clinician carries about 1000 patients on a regular basis. But of course, we're just starting out.
I will be blogging more now -- so much to write about, so little time!
But I will never, ever forget, in exams or in life: There but for the grace of God go I.
Anyway, today I've got my typewriting skills back, because today was the day I PASSED the USMLE Step 1! Now, I didn't pass 'with flying colors' or streaks of glory or smears of superiority or any such thing. Oh, no. I passed by the very skin of my teeth -- which is not cool nor is it characteristic of my attitude towards exams. I usually like exams and do well at them. But that is another blog for another day. Today, I simply sigh a big sigh of relief. I passed. I passed. Thank the Lord above, I passed.
Which means: I can move forward with rotations. I don't have to call the nice patients in my longitudinal patient panel to tell them that no, I won't be seeing them at their appointments this year after all. I don't have to take time off to retake the test. I can graduate on time, hopefully, and some day be an actual doctor. I can actually enjoy myself (or try to) this year. I can start looking forward to the next set of exams. I can actually make friends with my new classmates/teammates/preceptors/attending doctors. And -- and this is the big and -- I can focus on learning medicine in all its nitty-gritty, terrible beauty.
And: I can help plan a wedding (yay x 1000), find a summer sublet, hang out with friends and B more, and be a less grouchy sister to my younger brother, who has moved home! Good times. Plus, my adorable and slightly plump, middle-aged Siamese cat will get more attention, not to mention my long-suffering parents. Today is honestly one of the most beautiful days I have ever seen. Fluffy white clouds, blue skies, sunshine, eucalyptus trees -- and a passing score.
A passing score, by the skin of my teeth. When I saw it, I felt my heart racing, the same feeling you get when you're hiking and you almost step off a cliff by mistake. Phew. And now, finally, I can say my classroom years have come to a close. I can finally let them go. And I'm mourning them, because I can't remember a time when I wasn't a student in a classroom whose job was to learn. And now I'm a student in the real world, an apprentice-student-doctor, being given real responsibility (with supervision) for real people with real problems who need actual help. The classroom of life.
So far, I'm on my third day of clinical rotations. I have seen two patients entirely on my own, many with my preceptors, and I have six patients who are "mine" -- I will follow them throughout the year and be at any of their appointments I can make it to. My rotation is a longitudinal one, which means I do ALL the core disciplines at once: family, internal, OB/GYN, pediatrics, psychiatry, neurology, surgery, etc. It's been AMAZING. It's been like a dream come true. And my preceptors have been really great teachers so far. And the patients, of course, are the entire point. That's the reason you wake up early (very early!) in the morning. Eventually, the goal is for me to have roughly 60 patients of my "own" for the year -- which is nothing when you realize that the average clinician carries about 1000 patients on a regular basis. But of course, we're just starting out.
I will be blogging more now -- so much to write about, so little time!
But I will never, ever forget, in exams or in life: There but for the grace of God go I.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
It blows my mind.
It blows my mind that a healthy woman with NO prior health history, on NO medications, who had a baby 5 months ago, could spontaneously develop a dangerous liver abscess from a severe infection. This world is a crazy place.
Luckily, she will be okay. She was my last patient at the JMP! Which is another thing that blows my mind. I can't quite realize that three years have gone by. I am no longer that fresh-faced young person just starting anatomy. Three years older, and dubiously wiser, and slightly sadder, and definitely happier, all at the same time. I've learned a lot, and not all of it has been from a textbook.
1. It's good to be important, but it's more important to be good.
2. A sense of humor will preserve you.
3. Never scoff at love in any form.
4. Remember what it feels like to be sick. Everyone in the hospital feels like that times ten.
5. Be grateful. As often as possible.
That's all the sentimental nonsense I got for now. It's a mellow sunshiny afternoon here after days of rain, and our big clinical exam is tomorrow! I'm a little tired so I may take a quick nap before studying my physical exam stuff. We each get six patients: 20 min. for physical exam, 8 min. written exam, 7 min. feedback from each examiner. They grade you on above, at, or below competency, and there's some magical algorithm to tell them whether you've passed or not. Sigh.
Life is crazy right now. There is too much to remember. I miss B something fierce. I try not to dwell on the fact that I don't really get to see family, hang out with friends, catch up with old friends, or have lots of fun right now. But I'm probably contagious anyway, given this vague pro-dromal feeling, so perhaps it's a blessing in disguise.
I'm listening to The Great River from the LOTR soundtrack, which is beautiful. Wouldn't it be fun to be Howard Shore and compose all the music that went with that movie? Although maybe it would be more fun to be in the orchestra or the choir. Hmm. Either way, it's pretty fabulous stuff.
Luckily, she will be okay. She was my last patient at the JMP! Which is another thing that blows my mind. I can't quite realize that three years have gone by. I am no longer that fresh-faced young person just starting anatomy. Three years older, and dubiously wiser, and slightly sadder, and definitely happier, all at the same time. I've learned a lot, and not all of it has been from a textbook.
1. It's good to be important, but it's more important to be good.
2. A sense of humor will preserve you.
3. Never scoff at love in any form.
4. Remember what it feels like to be sick. Everyone in the hospital feels like that times ten.
5. Be grateful. As often as possible.
That's all the sentimental nonsense I got for now. It's a mellow sunshiny afternoon here after days of rain, and our big clinical exam is tomorrow! I'm a little tired so I may take a quick nap before studying my physical exam stuff. We each get six patients: 20 min. for physical exam, 8 min. written exam, 7 min. feedback from each examiner. They grade you on above, at, or below competency, and there's some magical algorithm to tell them whether you've passed or not. Sigh.
Life is crazy right now. There is too much to remember. I miss B something fierce. I try not to dwell on the fact that I don't really get to see family, hang out with friends, catch up with old friends, or have lots of fun right now. But I'm probably contagious anyway, given this vague pro-dromal feeling, so perhaps it's a blessing in disguise.
I'm listening to The Great River from the LOTR soundtrack, which is beautiful. Wouldn't it be fun to be Howard Shore and compose all the music that went with that movie? Although maybe it would be more fun to be in the orchestra or the choir. Hmm. Either way, it's pretty fabulous stuff.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The Post Triumphant!!
I have an announcement to make! After 48 hours of incredibly hard work and very little sleep:
A new thesis comes into the worldTo prevent the spread of germs (mine to you), visitors are very welcome after April 2nd.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
We're Not Alone
And, as proof that others have felt this way since time began (or at least since the first world war):
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
(Yeats, The Second Coming)
Things Fall Apart
The book by Chinua Achebe describes a man who watches in dismay as his way of life becomes obsolete. The analogy is a pretty good one for 3rd year at the JMP. The first two years, you mosey along, doing PBL like it's a hobby, thinking to yourself how fun medical school has turned out to be. You don't actually bother to remember much from the first year, and you remember a little more from the second. Third year, you begin to realize ways in which some of the common myths passed around the JMP are actually hurting some of its type A procrastinators (hmm, I wonder if I fall into this category).
First, I'm exhausted so please take this post, if you happen to be reading it at the moment, with a grain of salt.
To reiterate: please take this post with a grain of salt. None of these generalizations are subscribed to by everyone, professors and students, in the JMP -- in fact, I think only a few individuals actually believe them. But they have somehow become acceptable to say. I debunk them below.
Top Ten Myths Passed Around the JMP
1. "Don't worry now -- after all, the boards/thesis/exams/wards are a long way away. The best preparation is lots of fun and sleep." This is not true. I cannot even tell you how many times people (including professors) brushed me off instead of helping me find the tools to really learn and make myself a better student. Now, in my 3rd year, I find myself having to correct mid-course. Sleep is important, obviously. But so is taking your work seriously! You're not paying $30,000/year to scrape by.
2. "Oh, whatever -- I barely studied. Who cares, anyway? Screw it." This attitude is addictive. I know I've gotten sucked into it. But really, people? This is not middle school, it's medical school. I realize they both begin with M. But you're still too cool for school?
3. "You'll never know everything, so don't worry about it. Just enjoy it the first time around, it'll be back." Yes, but if you never take the time to understand it when it's fresh and exciting, it'll always be a mystery and eventually you'll develop a mental block, whether it's EKGs, ABG's, or other acronyms that scare you. Better advice would be, "There is a lot to learn, but don't feel anxious. Just take it one step at a time and focus on the task at hand."
4. "Medicine keeps changing. Don't bother to memorize anything." This is something I've heard again and again and again, and truly it does students a disservice. Memorization helps you remember things so that you can understand them the second time around. And glycolysis hasn't changed in my lifetime (or yours, either)! Anatomy? Still the same (evolution isn't that fast). Normal vital signs? Very crucial. So ditch the hippie attitude. It is important and we do need to know it by heart. When it changes, we'll have a basis to understand the change.
5. "In PBL, students call the shots and can learn whatever they want, however they want to learn it." Again, not true. There are standards, they are simply not published. So please, please ditch this myth and the passive-aggressiveness it generates. If you want us to learn something specific, don't use the unit exam to tell us this -- just tell us! Believe me, we won't be offended or crippled by a little spoon-feeding now and then. Getting angry at us when we don't want to 'challenge ourselves' is a failure to recognize a cry for academic, or personal, help. All together, now: 1, 2, 3...HELP!
6. "This is great preparation for the real world." No, this is the real world. I've said this before, and I'll say it again. You don't tell a 5-year-old that learning to write is super easy, so why are they stressing? You don't tell them that a playground fight is no big deal. No, you help them with their writing, even if it takes you three hours, and you clean the wounds from the fight while trying to figure out what's going on with your kids. Here's a secret: medical students are just 5-year-olds who are older. So please accept the fact that for us, life is actually difficult, the demands on our time are perhaps more than we have the skills to deal with, and that yes -- when we're 50 it might be easier for us, but we're still LEARNING. That's why it's called school. So please be patient instead of dismissive when we're stressed or overwhelmed. Of course, that is never an excuse for us to act mean or rude. But realize we're learning more than how to use an iphone app. Some of us are still learning how to keep ourselves clean and clothed.
7. "We have an integrated curriculum." No, we have three arms of the curriculum -- clinical skills, master's thesis, and PBL. They are all vying for our attention (which is very flattering, by the way). They're all useful and exciting. However, they are not integrated. Each arm rarely can describe what's going on with the other two. All of them tend to demand a lot of time and effort. Please don't pretend that you've integrated the curriculum -- you've presented the curriculum to your students, who are integrating it in their studies. But we may as well be taking three entirely different classes in three different departments on three different campuses, because that's how much logistical coordination and effort is required to pull it off. And THAT'S OK. But let's be honest.
8. "We know what you're going through." I appreciate this as what it's meant to be -- a genuine expression of empathy. However, rarely does someone use this when they actually know what I'm going through. Unless you have individually met with a student and figured out how they learn, their academic history, what their home life is like, their level of fatigue, their morals and values, and their other commitments -- then no, you have very little idea of what they're going through. This just sounds dismissive. See #6, above.
9. "Everyone needs a therapist." No. Everyone needs more sleep. Everyone needs food and water and shelter from precipitation in freezing weather. But everyone does not need a therapist. If YOU need a therapist, that's absolutely fine. I like therapists. Hell, I even let them use my bathroom! (That was a joke. Joke. Joke.) But my point is, please, please, please stop telling me I need a therapist. If I've offended you, I'm sorry. Otherwise -- huh? Stress is okay. Sadness is normal. If I feel like I'm sliding, I'll go to a therapist. But it's just rude to assume you know what someone else needs unless you're deliberately trying to stage an intervention. I realize the point of this is to emphasize that MANY medical students go through depression or have other mental health needs, and I think that needs recognition. I just don't need to find a therapist myself to recognize that others might want one! I SUPPORT YOUR DECISION TO GO TO THERAPY. I SUPPORT YOUR DECISION TO GO TO THERAPY. I SUPPORT YOUR DECISION TO GO TO THERAPY. Ahhhh.
10. "If a student doesn't do well on this exam/thesis/final/oral/preceptorship, it must be that there's something wrong in the student's personal life." This is actually not a bad assumption for a professor to make, but it would be a lot easier if they also understood something else: I care about your subject very much. I do not deliberately want to blow it off. But I'm juggling, and sometimes, I cannot prioritize your subject/ball. Sometimes your subject/ball will drop on the ground. I will pick it up, dust it off, and continue to juggle. But until I'm a master juggler, balls are gonna drop. If it belonged to you, I'm truly sorry and will try to do better. But it's really not personal -- it's not about you, and it's not about my personal life. It's purely about my juggling ability.
Wow, that was cathartic. Okay, back to my real life. Which right now involves an emergency nap (we had an exam this morning).
P.S. I just want to say that you rock. That's right, YOU -- mom, dad, brother, friend, partner, unsung professor who really gets it, loved-one-in-some capacity -- you are people I care about, look up to, and try to do well for. Thank you for being there.
First, I'm exhausted so please take this post, if you happen to be reading it at the moment, with a grain of salt.
To reiterate: please take this post with a grain of salt. None of these generalizations are subscribed to by everyone, professors and students, in the JMP -- in fact, I think only a few individuals actually believe them. But they have somehow become acceptable to say. I debunk them below.
Top Ten Myths Passed Around the JMP
1. "Don't worry now -- after all, the boards/thesis/exams/wards are a long way away. The best preparation is lots of fun and sleep." This is not true. I cannot even tell you how many times people (including professors) brushed me off instead of helping me find the tools to really learn and make myself a better student. Now, in my 3rd year, I find myself having to correct mid-course. Sleep is important, obviously. But so is taking your work seriously! You're not paying $30,000/year to scrape by.
2. "Oh, whatever -- I barely studied. Who cares, anyway? Screw it." This attitude is addictive. I know I've gotten sucked into it. But really, people? This is not middle school, it's medical school. I realize they both begin with M. But you're still too cool for school?
3. "You'll never know everything, so don't worry about it. Just enjoy it the first time around, it'll be back." Yes, but if you never take the time to understand it when it's fresh and exciting, it'll always be a mystery and eventually you'll develop a mental block, whether it's EKGs, ABG's, or other acronyms that scare you. Better advice would be, "There is a lot to learn, but don't feel anxious. Just take it one step at a time and focus on the task at hand."
4. "Medicine keeps changing. Don't bother to memorize anything." This is something I've heard again and again and again, and truly it does students a disservice. Memorization helps you remember things so that you can understand them the second time around. And glycolysis hasn't changed in my lifetime (or yours, either)! Anatomy? Still the same (evolution isn't that fast). Normal vital signs? Very crucial. So ditch the hippie attitude. It is important and we do need to know it by heart. When it changes, we'll have a basis to understand the change.
5. "In PBL, students call the shots and can learn whatever they want, however they want to learn it." Again, not true. There are standards, they are simply not published. So please, please ditch this myth and the passive-aggressiveness it generates. If you want us to learn something specific, don't use the unit exam to tell us this -- just tell us! Believe me, we won't be offended or crippled by a little spoon-feeding now and then. Getting angry at us when we don't want to 'challenge ourselves' is a failure to recognize a cry for academic, or personal, help. All together, now: 1, 2, 3...HELP!
6. "This is great preparation for the real world." No, this is the real world. I've said this before, and I'll say it again. You don't tell a 5-year-old that learning to write is super easy, so why are they stressing? You don't tell them that a playground fight is no big deal. No, you help them with their writing, even if it takes you three hours, and you clean the wounds from the fight while trying to figure out what's going on with your kids. Here's a secret: medical students are just 5-year-olds who are older. So please accept the fact that for us, life is actually difficult, the demands on our time are perhaps more than we have the skills to deal with, and that yes -- when we're 50 it might be easier for us, but we're still LEARNING. That's why it's called school. So please be patient instead of dismissive when we're stressed or overwhelmed. Of course, that is never an excuse for us to act mean or rude. But realize we're learning more than how to use an iphone app. Some of us are still learning how to keep ourselves clean and clothed.
7. "We have an integrated curriculum." No, we have three arms of the curriculum -- clinical skills, master's thesis, and PBL. They are all vying for our attention (which is very flattering, by the way). They're all useful and exciting. However, they are not integrated. Each arm rarely can describe what's going on with the other two. All of them tend to demand a lot of time and effort. Please don't pretend that you've integrated the curriculum -- you've presented the curriculum to your students, who are integrating it in their studies. But we may as well be taking three entirely different classes in three different departments on three different campuses, because that's how much logistical coordination and effort is required to pull it off. And THAT'S OK. But let's be honest.
8. "We know what you're going through." I appreciate this as what it's meant to be -- a genuine expression of empathy. However, rarely does someone use this when they actually know what I'm going through. Unless you have individually met with a student and figured out how they learn, their academic history, what their home life is like, their level of fatigue, their morals and values, and their other commitments -- then no, you have very little idea of what they're going through. This just sounds dismissive. See #6, above.
9. "Everyone needs a therapist." No. Everyone needs more sleep. Everyone needs food and water and shelter from precipitation in freezing weather. But everyone does not need a therapist. If YOU need a therapist, that's absolutely fine. I like therapists. Hell, I even let them use my bathroom! (That was a joke. Joke. Joke.) But my point is, please, please, please stop telling me I need a therapist. If I've offended you, I'm sorry. Otherwise -- huh? Stress is okay. Sadness is normal. If I feel like I'm sliding, I'll go to a therapist. But it's just rude to assume you know what someone else needs unless you're deliberately trying to stage an intervention. I realize the point of this is to emphasize that MANY medical students go through depression or have other mental health needs, and I think that needs recognition. I just don't need to find a therapist myself to recognize that others might want one! I SUPPORT YOUR DECISION TO GO TO THERAPY. I SUPPORT YOUR DECISION TO GO TO THERAPY. I SUPPORT YOUR DECISION TO GO TO THERAPY. Ahhhh.
10. "If a student doesn't do well on this exam/thesis/final/oral/preceptorship, it must be that there's something wrong in the student's personal life." This is actually not a bad assumption for a professor to make, but it would be a lot easier if they also understood something else: I care about your subject very much. I do not deliberately want to blow it off. But I'm juggling, and sometimes, I cannot prioritize your subject/ball. Sometimes your subject/ball will drop on the ground. I will pick it up, dust it off, and continue to juggle. But until I'm a master juggler, balls are gonna drop. If it belonged to you, I'm truly sorry and will try to do better. But it's really not personal -- it's not about you, and it's not about my personal life. It's purely about my juggling ability.
Wow, that was cathartic. Okay, back to my real life. Which right now involves an emergency nap (we had an exam this morning).
P.S. I just want to say that you rock. That's right, YOU -- mom, dad, brother, friend, partner, unsung professor who really gets it, loved-one-in-some capacity -- you are people I care about, look up to, and try to do well for. Thank you for being there.
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