Applying, applying...

When I started this blog, I intended to update every week, but I found myself so busy with things that life seems to be sweeping me off my feet. This post might be more of a 'random update' that'll count for the past few weeks....Many people may not understand the difficulty in applying to medical school unless they go through it themself. I am personally going through applying to 20 medical schools...Crunch the numbers:

20 total: 5 through TMDSAS (Texas medical schools), 5 through AMCAS (national medical schools), 10 through AACOM (osteopathic physicians)...that's a total of 3 applications which are very extensive and thorough, with 20 secondary applications, one for each school.

One thing I noticed was how each med school app clearly reiterates that all activities written are to be "since high school". It makes me realize how much we all get a clean slate when we go to college. I couldn't even use any of my high school and middle school recommendations, though I had worked hard for them. Like a Catch-22, high school information and recommendations would harm my application more than harm it.

I feel like warning the younger generation the importance of staying active in college. I can surely name off a few people who were involved in their high school years in things like HOSA, NHS, and Student Congress, but when they get to college, they fail to continue showing their leadership. My little brother and sister already know about it: I've told them how we all get a clean slate (for the most part) at each stage. I can only be glad that I've kept up my part since my high school years, or else I wouldn't have anything to put on my application.

In closing, I don't mind doing multiple applications because I know it's something that we just have to push through, much like a means to an end. I have the attitude of "just get 'er done" and accomplish what I want to do. Sometimes we also feel like we're uncertain of our future. I am one of those people. My thoughts are set on getting into medical school, but the reality remains true for all of us applying: if there's only a few of us getting in, then who's not going to get in? We need to just put our best foot forward and wait for the sunshine after the storm- our acceptance letters. I find life like a tornado: we're whirled around and just sped through it until it's all calm.

Criminal or patient?

Shadowing today at the clinic reminded me of a case a few months ago. A prisoner came in from juvenile detention. I thought to myself, "Wow, this guy probably got into some pretty deep stuff there" and proceeded to the exam room at the county health clinic. The patient was described as "high priority" because of the possibility of gang activity in the area and had been brought in earlier than the usual clinic time to maintain privacy. The prison called the previous day, and said the prisoner complained of problems. He claimed he needed to be seen immediately because he was having problems with urination.

There were Waco police officers posted at each door, and I feared what I would find inside. Opening the door, I found a scrawny African American male in his mid-teens sitting on the exam table with tattoos scribbled all over his arms. When his handcuffs came off for the exam, I could have sworn I saw a glimpse of a smirk on his face. The nurse continued to examine him, but he looked generally asymptomatic. Blood tests were drawn, and handcuffs were placed back on his wrists and ankles after the exam. The prisoner left, and the nurses and I discussed whether he really was having problems or just wanted to be free for awhile.

Sure, sometimes problems can come and go, much like taking a car to a mechanic and turning it on-- only to realize that nothing wrong is happening. "I saw it fuming and making noise!" you say, but the mechanic only shakes his head in disbelief. Should we treat the patient fairly and care for him as any other? Or should we have seen him as using his clinic visit as a "get out of jail for a day" card and dismissed him?

Of course I would hope we can all have the mindset of the former, but I myself have my doubts (as I'm sure others do as well). I feel in practice, we must clinically treat every patient the same, regardless of race, socioeconomic status, or even criminal background. The lingering doubt will, of course, always be in my mind, but I know I must control it and treat equally in practice.

Zombies at the Family Health Center?...

I thought my time at the Family Health Center would be a very simple rotation earlier this spring, but it actually started off in a very odd way... When I first got to the FHC around 8:55am, I was let in through a back entrance by a random woman who pointed me in the direction of the outpatient clinic. I walked alone through the hallways, which made me feel like a rat in a maze with similar walls at every turn. Somehow I ended up at the outpatient clinic, and to my dismay, the entire area was deserted. I felt completely confused as to why the clinic (which was supposed to open in 5 minutes) was completely empty. It was as if everyone had cleared out and disappeared into nowhere. Sweaters hung on the back of seats, and monitors and computers were up and running. It really felt like those zombie movies that start out in a deserted hospital where zombies eat everyone. You know, kind of like those Resident Evil movies that start out like that.

There was not a soul in sight, so I also figured, "Perhaps I walked into a bomb code and the place got evacuated." After about 10 minutes of walking around and yelling into nowhere, I finally found my way to an auditorium where literally everybody in the hospital was in a massive staff meeting and was about to let out. I eventually found my place, and felt relieved that I wasn't the only one who had survived a zombie apocalypse.

I enjoyed the outpatient clinic the most because I saw a large variety of patients in this rotation. Dr. Katie Vick showed me a lot about pediatric care and about the importance of knowing even basic Spanish. Her conjugations weren't perfect, but I found myself at least able to stumble along. Dr. Vick, a great and kind doctor, was pregnant, like Dr. McCurley who I had shadowed earlier in the semester. Her medical team threw her a baby shower, and I got to enjoy some cake and cookies before starting the day.

The first patient I saw taught the importance of speaking and understanding Spanish. In broken Spanglish, Dr. Vick explained to the patient, a 35 year old female, that she had a badly sprained ankle. She was prescribed mobic, a stronger anti-inflammatory than motrin, and was placed in an ankle brace. Dr. Vick even spoke to the patient's friend in Spanish about the discharge instructions. I guess I should brush up on my Spanish too. I also got to see a newborn exam on a 2 week old baby girl. She was completely normal and had all perfectly reflexes. I learned about how infants also can get a linea negra, and about the Morrow reflex. Dr. Vick also demonstrated the grip reflex on the hands and the toes.

Seeing the third patient taught me that sometimes, we, as physicians, must stay out of domestic disputes and remember that we are there to advocate and care primarily for our patients, not their parents or relatives. The patient was a 4 year old girl who was overweight. Both parents argued over what the child could do and how she constantly had "accidents" while sleeping. Apparently the father believed it had to do with her watching "too much Scooby Doo" and he felt he needed to take that away from her. Dr. Vick dealt with it by diverting the parents' attention to the fact that the girl is only supposed to watch about 30 minutes of media time and get at least 10 hours of sleep. This situation showed me that physicians should stay on the clinical side of things and avoid potential problems like domestic disputes because it could be counterproductive to the patient's care.

On a side note, the CDC has recognized the possibility of a zombie apocalypse. I knew those zombies were real! Check it out here:

Essential Closure

Sometimes when I see patients, I feel I want to know what becomes of them, similar to Kim's desire for closure for a patient's care. I remember when I was doing a rotation in high school at a nursing home for my CNA license and found myself attached to the very first patient I had ever cared for in my life. Half awake, I was buzzed into Life Care Center of Plano on a cold and cloudy morning and was only told to go down hallway D to find the CNA on duty, Rosie. Rosie hurriedly handed me a gait belt and asked me if I had ever helped a resident before, and told me my resident needed help to get ready. Before I had time to answer, she hurried away and left me at my patient’s door, Mr. IR. I walked into the darkened room and tried to quietly awaken Mr. R, who got up upon seeing me.

His paper-thin pale skin felt like it would shred on my touch, and as I put his clothes on him, he complied without saying a word, as if he had done this routine time and again. I was amazed at his complete trust in me, a student working with meticulous care because I was afraid his arm would randomly fall off due to his fragility. I grew to see Mr. R and bring him food every day. He recognized me and was always compliant, quite unlike some other patients I would eventually see on my other rotations.

I remembered we were told not to bond too closely to the patients because we would be saddened when it came our time to go after graduation, but I did not let that stop me from becoming Mr. R’s friend and talking to him about school and family, among other things. The very last day of my rotation there, Mr. R laid in bed sound asleep. I learned he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a few weeks prior, and not really knowing if he would recognize me before I left, I let him rest. I spoke softly and said my goodbye, leaving him a card as a token of my appreciation. As I shut his door behind me, I felt a sense of closure and hope for him. I wanted to keep him close in my heart, and I prayed a silent prayer for guidance over him.

While we as physicians cannot do that for every patient because of time constraints, we can at least learn to provide the best care for each patient and always keep him or her in mind when we make our decisions. It may not be common practice to get the same sense of closure for every patient, but I feel it gave me a morale boost in preparation for other patients I would see in later cases.

Rotations of Life

Life can pull us in so many directions at once that it is actually a miracle we end up in one piece whenever we reach a goal we have set. Goals like getting into college, landing my first job, and completing the application into medical school seem to drift away after we have completed them, and a new goal always arises to take us to the next step through life.

Getting into Baylor and taking classes here was a goal I reached, and now I am moving on to other, bigger things. Applying to medical school is my next hurdle, and many things, like shadowing and learning, go into the process. Shadowing is a more complex "job" than most people think. Sure, for the most part, shadowing means that we only exist as a mere "shadow" of the physician, who walks ahead of us in experience and in sheer knowledge. Our job as students is to be in the shadow, but also to absorb whatever we can from our surroundings, like a plant reaching out its fibrous roots into the surrounding soil.

My memories of my journey through this wondrous, yet stressful, time in life will be imprinted on this blog. Every week will be a recount of patients I've seen, lessons I've learned, and hardships I've faced. Please feel free to join and invite, and comment on my posts. I'll be posting and reading your posts, so enjoy the journey with me as we walk through this time together!