Adventures from the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine
Seven medical students shuffle through the narrow doorway. One of my classmates steps forward and addresses the patient. “Hello, Mr. M. How are you doing this morning?” Mr. M. does not respond. “Mr. M.? Mr. M.?” The student shakes the patient’s shoulder vigorously. The student feels for a pulse. “I have a pulse, and I(...)
No one prepares you for listening to a lecture about how your mother died. Medical students are trained to recognize grief and distress in patients and invite them to talk about it. We are taught the complex molecular physiology behind diseases common and rare, minor and terminal. But we are not trained to see our(...)
In Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell observes that in many different fields, it seems to require roughly 10,000 hours of deliberate practice to become an expert. By my most conservative estimate, Willard Standiford has spent 119,250 hours practicing medicine. He retired at the end of 2016, 50 years after beginning his career as a pediatrician. I met(...)
The day after my cardiology exam, my grandfather had a heart attack. Heart attack — what a terrifying phrase. The heart transcends normal anatomical description. It is the seat of love, the essence of a person. And my grandfather’s was attacked. When I first learned the news, the Hollywood portrayal of a heart attack flashed(...)
The first time, you don’t realize how warm his body will be. On some level, you knew the patient’s temperature would be in the range of 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit; his skin, just a few degrees below that. But somehow that information never registered with your fingertips. As you feel the tissue around his wound, palpating(...)