Countdown Begins

May 28, 2010

10… 9… 8 more days until my Step 1 exam!  Do I feel ready?  Um… NO!  Do I feel nervous?  Gulp!

Step 1 is so expansive, I’m not sure I could feel ready.  I can quantify the past 3 weeks with about 125 hours of studying, 3 blue highlighters, 200 note-cards, and one afternoon off.  My husband has taken over all domestic duties.  Thank goodness!  I have gone over everything, and now am going back over everything again… and again.  I’m trying to memorize and learn more details about mechanisms, enzyme names, pathways, drugs, etc.  I am afraid that every piece of new information that goes inside my brain will knock something else out.  And my practice “Q-bank” is down to only a few hundred unused questions.

I’m not sure how I hoped to feel before my test.  Mainly I wanted to feel confident that I know a majority of the material really well.  At this point, at least I feel like I will pass the exam.  I’m not sure if I am satisfied because there is still a part of me that wants to do a lot better than that (215-230 to be exact).   After so much studying, I hope this hard work pays off!

Last Friday night, I had sushi with a classmate who had just taken her exam.  She had a glow of happiness, which gave me something to look forward to.  Completing the Boards is a big accomplishment, and there will be satisfaction just from pushing myself to a new limit.  Hopefully in a few more days I can feel the afterglow too.

After all this hard work, everything comes down to whether or not it will be “a good multiple-choice day.”  I know I’ve put as much effort into studying as I can.  So, my performance will be a mixture of knowledge, specific test questions, anxiety, energy level, and comfort at the testing center.  I’m hoping for a combination that helps me do my best.  As I’m counting down, please send “good multiple-choice” vibes my way.

My updated study schedule.


Step 1

May 17, 2010

“Step 1,” “Boards,” “USMLE,” “US Medical Licensing Exam Step 1,” or whatever you want to call it… is dominating my life right now.  If you prefer not to hear about it, then skip this post (and probably the next few as well).

I’ve informally polled my resident and young doctor friends about medical school, and it seems most agree that the Step 1 exam was their lowest point in medical school.  Also, most say they would gladly repeat 3rd-4th year, but  NOT 1st-2nd year.  A high school classmate who is now an OBGYN resident wrote, “Good luck! I have some of the worst memories studying for Step 1, it’s truly the worst Step! Remember, it only gets better after this…”  *sigh* I am at this low point, but have lots to look forward to.

I wish I could tell you more about the history of the USMLE Step exams, but I obviously do not have time for that right now.  I do know at some point, it became mandatory that every 2nd year medical student in the USA pass this exam before beginning third year, including me, of course!  Over the course of this year, I have slowly come to terms with the horrific tests that await me, including my current buddy, “Step 1.”  Now that my test date is less than 3 weeks away, I can tell you all the basics.

The exam is an 8-hour, multiple choice test (seven 1-hour blocks with 48 mixed-topic questions plus 1 hour break).  It is administered by our favorite company, Prometric, who brings us great joys, such as the MCAT, SAT, ACT, LSAT, etc.  The Step 1 exam costs $505, but the real cost is more like $1,000-1,500, once you include the study materials and access to online practice questions.  There is no option to retake this exam, unless one fails it.  In which case, one must retake the exam until a passing grade is achieved.  Each exam is recorded on the medical transcript.

Basically, the score is out of 326 (possible points= # exam questions).  The national average is 215, and the average scores of residents in different areas of medicine vary drastically.  As the deans at my medical school said, “some residency programs are more boards oriented,” meaning they consider board scores to be as important, or more important, than character evaluations or clinical performance.  These areas include Dermatology, Anesthesiology, Radiation Oncology, to name a few.  It is rumored that some of these residency programs do not even look at applicants who score less than 240 or 250 on their Boards.  Fortunately, I don’t believe these professions embody my callings in medicine.

Yet, like all my fellow 2nd year students, I still feel tremendous pressure to do well on the exam.  On my future residency application, this exam score will weigh-in more than my entire performance during 1st and 2nd years.  Given that I don’t know which residency programs I want, or where my husband and I hope to live, I want to keep my options open.  And, most of all, I want to avoid any future disappointments and regrets.  I am humbled by the fact that I have never felt that a standardized test score truly represented my gifts.

At the moment, my mood fluctuates between feeling like “this isn’t so bad, I will  do great,” and feeling like a total impostor to medicine.  Since my last exam ended a week ago, I have been studying around the clock, 7-10 hours of study time daily.  For me, this is the most I’ve ever studied in my life, and it requires mental discipline and stamina.  At first, I thought I was going crazy (feeling anxious, tired, upset, hungry, and restless), but thankfully the human body is quick to adapt.  Today I remembered that it is important for me to avoid total isolation (which is tempting), and hence here is a blog update.

My evolving study schedule I made with sticky-notes, so I can move things around (another student's idea). As you can see, next week is mostly empty.


Two Different Shoes

May 11, 2010

One of my classmates and faithful readers (thank you Ilana!) reminded me that my description of Physical Diagnosis cannot be complete without telling you about one of my funniest days in medical school.  And I’m positive you would rather read an entertaining story than read about my final exams.  Plus I need a mental break from Boards, so here goes…

That Wednesday it was a dark, rainy morning, especially dark considering it was 5:30am.  I got dressed as usual, trying to turn-on as few lights as possible, so my husband could keep sleeping.  I put on brown slacks, and gathered my white coat and medical tools.  Ready!

It was pouring while I walked to the subway, so I was trying to stay dry.  I commuted by subway 45 minutes to get to my bus.  I picked up my usual Chinese milk-tea and almond bun on the way.  We had the spacious bus that day, so I had a seat to myself, where I could relax and put my feet up.  And as I was doing so, I gasped.  I was wearing two different shoes!

Two very different shoes: different shapes, styles and colors.  One was brown and the other was black.  One was pointed, the other was round.  One was Clarks, the other Ecco.  How could I not notice earlier?!  In fact, they suddenly felt different on my feet too!  Apparently I was more exhausted than I thought.  I’m pretty sure I’ve dreamt a similar scenario, but I always woke up thinking, “Thank god that was only a dream!”  That morning there was nothing I could do.  Home was hours away, and nobody packs extra shoes for the hospital.

So, I was stuck with one brown and one black shoe all day.  The first thing I decided to do was tell my classmates because I knew somebody would notice eventually.  Besides, it was pretty hilarious, and an honest mistake anybody could have made in the early morning hours.

Everybody did find it pretty funny.  After a round of “Let me see!” and giggling, one person suggested I could snag a walking boot at the hospital, take off one shoe, and pretend like I injured that foot.  Fortunately my patient was a 6-month old baby.  He didn’t care about my shoes.  In fact, despite being sick, he was cheerfully cooing and grabbing his feet.  Infants and young children can be so refreshing when they don’t have societal qualms that we do.  His mom noticed at one point- at least I saw her look at my feet, then look up, then scan back down quickly.  I wished I could have tuned in to her thoughts, which probably began, “Wait, are those… YES they are…”

In the afternoon, I was assigned to give my oral presentation to the head of the pediatrics department, a tall fellow who takes things very seriously.  As you can imagine, I felt about 2 inches tall while giving my presentation.  I stayed seated, with my legs crossed (hoping to make my feet less noticeable). But, he didn’t seem to care, and if he did, he never said anything.  Therefore, I made it through a whole day with two different shoes, one of the most embarrassing things I could do to myself, and I survived!

In the future l will be checking my shoes very carefully, especially next year during surgery when I have to get up in darkness daily.  Now, however, I feel more prepared for future embarrassments.   At least I know I can make it through a normal day, even if I look weird.  Most people really don’t notice the things that we feel the most self-conscious about, or if they do, they don’t really care as much as we think they will.  So maybe someday I’ll see a medical student with two different shoes, earrings, socks, or a shirt on inside-out, and I’ll understand.


Physical Diagnosis

April 26, 2010

6 weeks until my Board Exam!  Between studying and family visitors, this week has been fun and busy.  Wednesday will be my last weekly Physical Diagnosis class at the hospital, and I want to commemorate the occasion by describing this experience, which has been the highlight of my semester.

For the past 14 weeks, each Wednesday I have gotten up at 5:15am to commute to school, then ride a bus 1.5 hours west, and spend a day at a large regional hospital to learn Physical Diagnosis skills.  I travelled with 17 other students to participate in interactive lectures, and practice history and exam skills with in-patients at the hospital.  The day was organized so we had one hour of lecture, two hours with a patient for a complete history and exam, lunch with another lecturer, and then time to present our patient to a physician and revisit the patient.  Each week we were expected to write a complete report and submit it by e-mail for feedback.

I was worried about being exhausted (waking up at 5:15am  and commuting 1.5 hours each way), but every Wednesday I’ve felt so excited.  Rather than our typical medical lectures, which are focused around organs, these lectures were organized around symptoms, such as “dizziness” and “fever.”  My classmates and I were challenged by real patient cases, including one memorable autobiographical story that our favorite physician lecturer shared to introduce the topic of “headaches.”  He told a dramatic story about driving to work at the hospital, going 70 mph on the highway, when suddenly he felt a “pop” and experienced the worst headache of his life.  He instantly knew the diagnosis, which he described as “the most awesome diagnosis I ever made in my life.”

Any thoughts?  That’s how each day began, brainstorming, guessing and creating what is called a “differential diagnosis.”  We were encouraged to separate the “common” and “lethal” causes.  Along the way, we also learned about physical exam tests, such as the Dix-Hallpike maneuver (an exam to diagnose benign positional vertigo, a type of dizziness).  We also sharpened exam skills that we already covered, such as the eye exam.

Most importantly, we had a lot of time devoted to each patient.  I introduced myself, taking care to clarify that I am a second year medical student practicing my physical exam skills.  I saw patients from 6-months to 86 years-old, in Spanish and English, and suffering from a variety of ailments: a 22 year-old with septic bacteremia (from an infected pimple), a pregnant woman who had been vomiting blood for 2 weeks, a homeless man who had been admitted 22 times in the past year, a diabetic man who confessed he ate a Big Mac and large fries daily, and multiple chronic smokers who had not stopped smoking despite severe COPD (lung damage resulting in less ability for oxygen intake).

Often I felt overcome by gratitude for these patients who were willing to share stories, and let a fledgling examine them.  Although I came to medicine because I wanted to serve people, I usually feel that people are serving me.  I can only hope that by compassionate attention and listening, I provided some sort of healing service that complimented their care.  However, at times I wasn’t sure of this, especially when I was told to wake up patients who seemed exhausted.

I wish there were some way to thank these patients, and convey how much it means to have these experiences.  Each new patient who I meet with a certain condition becomes forever engraved in my mind with that illness.  They give me a face and meaning, and help the massive amounts of information begin to stick to something more substantial than a pneumonic or acronym.

No doubt this class was my favorite, and also the most valuable learning experience in medical school so far.  There were many visible improvements, such as increasing comfort while performing exams and asking questions, less pauses during my oral presentations and less time to type my reports.  This weekly experience will soon be my daily experience as I start my 3rd year in a few months, and frankly I cannot wait.


Getting My Wisdom Tooth Pulled

April 3, 2010

RIP tooth #16.

Now that I am a medical student, it feels stranger than ever before to be a patient.  I have a new awareness of how the clinician perceives the interaction, as well as lots of new medical facts floating around in my head.  I want to be concise and concrete when I explain myself, and ask questions to learn relevant information.  I want to know the medical language.  In short, I want to make a memorable scientific experiment of my own body.

This week I needed a tooth extraction, which is the first “medical” procedure (besides routine exams, blood draws or vaccines) that I’ve had as a medical student.  My upper left wisdom tooth #16 had descended into my mouth- so far down that it was creating what I coined the “space of doom.”  I thought about putting off the extraction until after my Board exam in June, but in January I got a tooth ache and it was clear that the root might be partially exposed.  So, I decided to schedule it sooner.

I got ready.  I reviewed the head and neck anatomy, and followed the branches of the trigeminal nerve that would need to be numbed.  I reviewed the “caine” family of drugs, their mechanisms and side effects.  I examined my own digital copy of dental x-rays that I had requested.  I went over numbering the teeth.

I sat in the chair, and set my watch to time the procedure- exactly 35 minutes from first injection to walking out the door.  When I started to become numb, I touched my face in different areas to try to figure out if any of the superficial sensory branches had gotten blocked too, and which ones.  Then the dentist came, and I asked him questions about the x-ray.  What did they show about the root?  What did it mean?

He asked me if I had any questions about the consent form, and naturally I did.  Was he going to give me any prescriptions?  Were antibiotics really necessary?  And then, the actual procedure of removing my tooth came, and I paid attention to how he did it.  He asked for a smaller tool, but then as soon as the assistant left the room, he got my tooth out.  Immediately I wanted to see it.

The dentist obliged to my curiosity.  He explained what he was doing (I like that).  He pressed on my gum afterwards and told me that he was pushing the buccal bone in because it is so thin it tends to stretch outward during this extraction.  Who knew bones stretched?

Then, he even talked to me for a little while about my missing baby teeth (hypodontia).  He showed me the letter scheme for baby teeth to go along with the number scheme for adult teeth.  He arranged for me to pick up my tooth on Monday after it is autoclaved (a new safety precaution to sterilize teeth before patients can take them home).

And as I laid down at home, dreams of clotting factors began to dance in my head.  The epithelial damage of the tiny blood vessels around my tooth, the intrinsic and extrinsic factors, and the fibrin cross-linking to form a meshwork.  Then I began to think of the transient bacteremia in my body, and all my immune cells springing into action!  I have such appreciation for a successful medical procedure, and one that taught me a few memorable things too.  Sometimes it is good to be the patient, and be reminded of the natural feelings like fear and curiosity that go along with the experience.


Starting to Study for Step 1

April 3, 2010

Sea turtle I painted in Akumal, Mexico.

“Welcome back from your LAST spring break ever!”  This was the greeting I got from my Physical Diagnosis instructor this week.  Indeed I returned from my last official “spring break,” and I feel like I made the best of it.   I had a relaxing time with my husband’s parents in Akumal, Mexico where I celebrated my 29th birthday, practiced Spanish, swam with turtles and even did some watercolor painting.  Lovely!

In fact, it was so lovely that a part of me did not want to come back to school this week and face the challenges before me.  Mainly, it’s time to start studying for my Board exam (9 weeks away as of this morning).  I started my penultimate unit, Endocrinology, and additionally I am trying to begin a new combination of Board studying mixed with class preparation.

How does this work?  Well, it consists of spending time with the book, First Aid for USMLE Step 1, which is probably purchased by almost every medical student preparing for the Boards.  I am currently making a list of Q&A about important facts from First Aid.  Then, I’ve been listening to this nutty Oklahoma State professor, Edward Goljan.  His lectures are the cult classic of Board preparation.  My former college classmate is at OK State and has him as a professor now… lucky!  He is the best professor I’ve never had!  He has a wonderful way of focussing on clinical aspects, and an amazing laugh.

In addition to that, there is the USMLE Q-bank, which I purchased and activated recently.  It’s recommended to complete the 2,000 Q-bank practice questions before taking the Boards.  I have completed a pitiful 8% so far with dismal scores.  A typical session on tutor mode takes me several hours because I take notes on the questions I get wrong.  When my summary page comes up, I usually feel my heart sink.  These questions are the closest thing to real Board Exam questions, and they feel tough right now.  I think only twice I have taken practice test that went better (by that I mean I actually get over 50%), and I feel like maybe I’m on the right track.

I have other resources too- Lippincott’s pharmacology flash cards, Goljan’s Pathology Rapid Review, and a couple other books I bought for my classes.  I haven’t had time to incorporate them all yet, but I’m slowly working everything into my routine.  I’ve started with my most dreaded subjects, Hemetology-Oncology and Biochemistry, as my goal for the next few weeks. Wish me well!


Medical School Miracles

March 15, 2010

I missed my weekly mark without any good excuse.  The past two weeks have been eventful, and I find myself with more thoughts than I  have time to write (which I am sure will become a common theme as I enter my clinical years).  I am not sure what to tell you about first.

I finished studying the heart, the highlight of which was re-adorning myself with scrubs and returning to the anatomy lab to see my school’s “heart collection.”  The experience included conversing with the pathologists, and holding over 35 hearts donated by families, some which had been preserved since the 1960′s.  There were  many infarcts (heart attacks), septal defects, and tiny baby hearts with anomalies incompatible with life.  I was fascinated to insert my finger through bovine and mechanical valves, hold a heart as big as my head (from a patient who had hypertrophic cardiomyopathy where the muscle fibers had grown like a haystack rather than in a row), and finally feel the tough fibrous walls of a patient’s heart with scleroderma.  There was one normal heart amidst them all, and cradling the small organ in my hand reminded me of my friend Will’s recent blog entry about miracles.  He writes that a miracle is “not in the event, but in standing in the place where we can see the wonder that underlies it.”  Holding this tiny healthy pump and feeling my own heartbeat was a miracle.

The second major event happened during one of my weekly visits to the hospital where I finally understood the eye exam.  If you have never used an opthalmascope, imagine closing one eye, holding a tiny flashlight, and trying to look into a room through a 2mm keyhole.  Top that challenge with the fact that this room is inside the face of a stranger, and to accomplish it all you have to get uncomfortably close.  While I had seen glimpses of vessels and what I thought to be the lighter fundus (where the nerve attaches to the back of the eye), I had never seen the entire picture- the fundus with vessels splaying outward like a deep sea creature.  After dedicating a long (blinding) time with some student friends, I finally saw the whole room.  What an exciting moment!  From now on, the eyes will never be the same- another miracle.

The third exciting event is that I started studying for my Board Exam last week (miracle #3!?).  I activated my 90-day “Q-bank,” and began writing notes in my copy of First Aid (the resource book used by almost every medical student I know).  I am attempting to balance studying for the Boards and my classes simultaneously, and so far I am not sure if my efforts are in concert.  I am still daunted by the task of Board preparation, but at least I have the materials I need and understand the reality of the work that needs to be done.   I am starting with the things that worry me the most right now- biochemistry and hematology/oncology.

More excitement- I submitted my rotation schedule for next year!  My preferred order is: Pediatrics, Medicine, OBGYN, Psychiatry, and Surgery, but I have no idea if I will get this choice.  Overall my favorite days are spent practicing Physical Diagnosis at the hospital, which has included visiting Spanish-speaking patients.  At some point, I will dedicate an entire entry to my hospital experiences because they give me many memorable thoughts.

Finally, I am in the midst of studying the gastrointestinal tract.  Today’s lectures included liver function tests, viral hepatitis, pancreatitis, diarrhea, and a board review about skin cancers.   My 29th birthday is this Thursday, the night before our final exam, and I am grateful that the end of the week will bring some time for celebration-and  spring break, miracle #4!


I Published a Children’s Book!

February 26, 2010

During my freshman year at college, I made a list of general life goals.  At the time, I thought I could accomplish them all before I hit 30 (which seemed a world away at the time)!  Reduce suffering in the world.  Become a mom.  Visit every continent, including Antarctica.  Live in another culture.  Watch a sea turtle nest hatch.  Grow my own garden.  Publish a book.  Now that 30 is just around the corner, I realize that my time frame must expand.  However, this week I can check off one more unexpected goal.  I became a published author of a children’s book, Karen’s Epilepsy.

As a second year medical student, publishing a book was not the first thing on my mind.  However, I had already written the story with black and white illustrations as a combined high school project for an art class and my Girl Scout Gold Award.  As a child with epilepsy (which I discussed in a previous blog entry here), I had noticed the lack of children’s books about seizures.  I also noted whenever epilepsy was mentioned, it usually was in the context of generalized seizures (somebody falling and shaking).  I had complex partial seizures, which are more common but less recognized.  Thus, the idea for an educational and entertaining children’s book emerged.

As a high school student, I got a small grant from Parke Davis drug company to fund a limited self-publication.  My “self-publication” consisted of photo-copying pages on thick white paper and binding them in a plastic coil!  In hindsight, I do feel a bit mixed for allowing the owners of several brand name epilepsy drugs to sponsor my book.  Yet I am still grateful, and hope my feelings will not lead me to become a biased physician in the future.

I distributed my plastic-bound “ghetto” version of Karen’s Epilepsy to local schools and libraries in my town.  Still, my dream was to make it available to children with epilepsy through the Epilepsy Foundation of America’s bookstore.  I hoped that it would be inspiring for children to know that somebody with epilepsy wrote a book from their own experiences.  Additionally, I felt the shame and stigma associated with epilepsy in our culture, and I wanted to help promote the idea that people with seizures often are normal.

Now, skip ahead 10 years.  Several children’s books have been published recently about epilepsy, but to my knowledge none are about complex partial seizures, or written by a person with epilepsy.  Through personal connections I got an e-mail from WriteLife, a non-profit publisher, about my book project.  Perhaps it was still not too late to make Karen’s Epilepsy a real book.

I met with Cindy, the managing director, last May, and was surprised by the friendly encouragement she provided from WriteLife.  This would be their first full-color children’s book, and as a mother herself, she thought it would be great.  She was understanding of my being in medical school, and was willing to work on the project without giving me any deadlines.  All I needed to do was change the illustrations to color, which was a task that ended up taking me until November!  When I sent the drawings at last, I thought it would still take AT LEAST half a year to become published, and probably more.  So, you can imagine my surprise when I got the proofs in January!

Since then, I’ve been e-mailing back and forth with WriteLife to edit the layout, which included a long internal debate about whether to add that I was a medical student to my biography (my dad convinced me to do it in the end).  While nothing is perfect, especially looking back on a book I made when I was 17, I am thrilled that I can hold the story – now a real and charming little book- in my hands.  I hope this will not be my only publication, nor my greatest publication for that matter.  But, I am excited to imagine my book in the hands of another child who can relate to Karen’s emotions.

The story itself is a bit autobiographical.  Karen is unhappy when her family moves to a new town until something unexpected happens at school.  My family moved many times, and it was always hard to move to a new place where nobody would be familiar with my epilepsy. Despite the challenges, there were many interesting coincidences.  I learned that my first grade teacher had epilepsy, and a middle school classmate who made fun of me later had a seizure himself at school!

Karen’s Epilepsy will eventually be available on Amazon, Barnes & Nobles, and I hope the Epilepsy Foundation of America, but it will take some time to organize the connections.  I’m not sure how this book will influence my medical training, but there is an obvious medical connection in the story, and I hope it will be a positive asset.


Breast and Pelvic Session

February 10, 2010

My hospital day was cancelled today due to a impending snowstorm.  I don’t have time to be disappointed since I have a final exam on the lungs, a.k.a. “pulmonary,” Friday morning.  I’m home studying in my favorite spot (the couch), and it’s time for an update about something exciting… pelvic and breast exams!

Last week we had a special 4-hour evening session for Physical Diagnosis entitled “Breast and Pelvic.”  Like many PD sessions, we weren’t given a lot of information ahead of time.  We were asked to sign-up in groups, and then sent a reminder e-mail with two bullet points.

*Professional dress, white coat and name tag are required.  You will be given a syllabus at the orientation…

*Personal appearance and demeanor are important.  A pleasant appearance and polite approach demonstrate respect for the patient and encourage trust.  Careful consideration should be given to grooming, with special attention to hands and nails… Examine hand jewelry for risk of injury to the patient or risk of exposure to the examiner through puncture of a protective glove.

Needless to say, my classmates and I were wondering what would happen.  I did not feel nervous since I already assisted with many papanicolaou smears and three male GU (genito-urinary) exams.  Also, I have experience as patient, having received annual pelvic and breast exams.  These exams are not only important, but they are especially sensitive for women, so learning warranted a specialized session.

I was surprised to discover that the male exam was not covered in this session, and we will not have a dedicated session for males.  This means that I will have to learn on the plastic models or by following doctors’ examples, and reading texts.  While the male exam is supposedly “easier,” I have reservations about my first attempt at any procedure being in an exam room with a real patient.

I am reminded of a family friend whose daughter had brain surgery as a toddler, and the surgeon allowed a rotating medical student to do part of the suturing.  When she lifted up her hair to show me the scar, I immediately knew which side the medical student sutured.  It makes me cringe to think that I could be that medical student whose first attempts could figuratively or literally leave patients scarred for life.  I would rather have good practice before I’m asked to do something, so I can proceed without as much fear and worry.

Therefore, I was thrilled with the woman who helped us learn the pelvic exam.  I’ll never forget her.  She was bubbly, talkative, and natural about the entire process. She was a good teacher who knew how to keep the atmosphere relaxed while giving us straight-forward instructions and feedback.  I also appreciated that she had us help and observe one another since team-work is such an important, and often overlooked, lesson of medical training.

The breast and pelvic exam we were taught included more than I have witnessed or experienced before.  Step 1 was the vaginal exam with a speculum.  This included going slowly, using proper draping, helping the patient get into the right position, and explaining my movements.  “You will feel my hand on your thigh.  Now I’m examining the mons, labia… everything looks healthy.  Now I’m going to insert the speculum.”  It’s important to know how to hold the speculum, so it won’t pinch the skin, and insert it at a downward angle away from the urethra and clitoris.  Then, once inside it hits resistance, and then is pulled back a little before opening slowly.  Ideally, I would open it and the cervix, like a little mini-donut, would be right there, but often the cervix is at a different angle or to the left/ right.  Then, on the way out the walls of the vagina are observed.

Step 2 was the bi-manual exam.  This is where you put one or two fingers inside the vagina, then twist and press up on the bottom of the cervix.  With your other hand, you feel the abdomen to locate the uterus and ovaries.  For me, this was the trickiest part of the entire exam.

Step 3 was the vaginal-rectal exam.  This is the part that I have never seen or experienced before.  Apparently it is part of the “normal” exam, but it seems not many doctors actually do it unless they suspect a problem with the rectal wall.  In this exam, the index finger is inserted in the vagina and the middle finger in the rectum.  Those two fingers are swept left and right to feel for polyps or prolapses.

Then there is the breast exam.  Like many physical exams, I was taught to observe first.   We were told to ask the patient to raise their arms, then put them on their hips and move their shoulders forward.  Then the patient lies down and we have to properly place a pillow to make them comfortable.  With one arm raised, we palpate all the breast tissue using the preferred “lawn-mower” (I’d rather say “ zig-zag”) technique.  And for bonus points, we should ask the patient about self breast exams.

When my group was almost complete with the session, one male classmate was left to finish the breast exam.  He gave our standardized patient instructions to raise her hands, and then without thinking he said “Awesome.”  She immediately told him that one should never say “awesome” during the breast exam.   We all had a good laugh!  Additionally we were told to stay away from phrases including “touch,” “feel,” “rub,” “stick” and “put.”

One of my favorite parts of medical school training has been working with standardized patients.  I was astounded by how well this patient knew her body.  Equipped with only a small mirror, she told us detailed information about where to look and what to see.   I also have access to a skills center with large “life-like,” anatomical, blinking, and talking manikins, but nothing is more helpful for practicing procedures than a real human being.  And nothing is better than an educated standardized patient who can make an awkward situation seem relaxed and even, dare I say it, “awesome.”


Thoughts After a Weekend Skiing

February 2, 2010

It’s late Sunday night, and I’ve spent the weekend in a cabin with a group of 30ish folk on a ski trip. The skiing wasn’t that great this year because it didn’t snow as much so the paths were icy. Yet I still enjoyed being in the woods, and having a mini-retreat with people my age (none of whom are studying medicine). This trip reminded me of the contrast between the life of a med-student and the lives of most people my age.

A few years ago before I started medical school, one of my husband’s friends was dating a girl who was in her second year at medical school. At the time I was taking post-bac classes and involved in the application process, so I enjoyed hearing about her experiences. But there was one night when we were together with several friends in a hot tub. Clearly the other people in the hot tub were not as interested in her classes or the stresses of medical school life, but she couldn’t seem to steer away from that topic.

I am afraid that I am becoming that girl. Or at least I am a lot more like her than the other people on our ski trip. I observed that I was one of the first people to go to bed this year, and I was certainly the first person awake. Only one other person brought a stack of reading (she’s a PhD student in a lab that works with cholera), but admittedly she didn’t read most of it. I read my entire stack of papers about the lungs (my new organ of focus). Many of my conversations revolved around medical topics with people, including questions about individual health concerns. I also enjoyed fielding questions about school- of course. And I even dreamed about school and let my mind wonder about the patients I saw this week.

Most people in the house played video games, or board games. Some people read pleasure books, People magazine, and watched movies or sports on TV. Those who didn’t ski were happy to say they were busy “doing nothing” or “holding down the couches.” Surrounded by these voices, I felt different. I managed to have many conversations filled with depth and laughter- that I enjoy as much as anything in the world. I still played some games, and even tried “Beatles Rock Band” (a new Wii game). But, I recognized that I don’t get that much enjoyment from these activities which satisfy so many people I know.  Rather than spending my time with a screen, I would rather study my lecture notes.

Does this make me officially lame and boring? Am I that girl?! I hope I am keeping a balance of both a studious and fun. I wish there was some type of external meter to let me know for sure. At the same time, I see that I must love the path I’m on to be so excited about learning and talking about the body- even more than playing Wii. And the truth is I do– I do love the knowledge, the conversations, the new ideas, and even the challenges. Maybe I am that girl, but I hope that at least sometimes I let people forget that I’m a medical student, including myself.