Adventures from the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine
I sat, enveloped by the clinic’s dusty walls and chalky smell. It felt as if a fog of gray haze had descended over the building and muted the surrounding colors. Two plastic chairs were positioned next to the door, with one single picture of skeletal anatomy hanging above them, forcing the makeshift closet to resemble(...)
I finished my first marathon last week, a personal mental marathon that took hundreds of hours to complete—my first year of medical school. Our last lecture on that final Friday afternoon was followed by a barrage of claps, applause, cheers, celebratory pictures for Facebook and Instagram photos, and a general sense of urgency to leave(...)
(Disclaimers: Although much of the following comes from my medical education, it should not be generalized to all medical students. Certain details — name, identifiers, complaints — have been modified for privacy reasons.) 7:59 p.m. I am standing outside the patient’s room in the hospital. She has just been transferred from the emergency department (ED).(...)
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(...)
I am no stranger to medical institutions. I’ve spent time in hospitals and clinics all throughout my life — shadowing physicians, working in the operating room as an administrative intern and now as a first-year medical student. However, while walking through the busy corridors of The Johns Hopkins Hospital, I feel distinctly different. Of course,(...)