Peds review
Well it's pretty late and almost exam time but I can't sleep, so what's a guy to do....
I meant to do a review of my Ob/Gyn rotation 6 weeks ago, but I figured it would be a hateful tirade denouncing hypocrisy and the downsides of working long hours with negative people who themselves work too many hours. At what point in your life should you get tired of getting called into work at 3am whenever some bastard kid decides it is time to drop?
Anyhow, tomorrow is my last day of Pediatrics and I've had a bit more of a positive experience. It appears to be a field of moms...just friendly women who enjoy kids, and that tends to yield a less stressful learning environment. Sure, you get your share of screaming kids with ear infections, and moms who don't know what pediatricians are (seriously) because they themselves are only 14 or 15. And you get the people who bring their kids to clinic with "Move Bitch" written on their t-shirts, or who blind you with their gold fronts, or whose 4 year olds don't really talk because no one at home cares if they achieve anything, but welcome to Baltimore. These things you're prepared for going in.
It's the other things that will last more in memory. I spent my first 3 weeks on the inpatient pediatric hematology/oncology service. Kids with cancer. Kids beating cancer. Kids dying with cancer. Kids who don't know yet what's going to happen. And very quickly you accidentally grab onto their and their parents' coattails and wish and pray for it to all end well, looking for someone to tell you that things are going to be alright. Except while you're looking around, they're looking at you.
I made a friend there. She's 14. She went through all the treatment. It went away. They rejoiced. A year later, it's come back worse than ever and resistant to treatment. She will all but assuredly die soon from cancer. And I never could find a tactful way of imposing enough so to figure out if she even really understands. Where my role in that situation could have or should have been, I'll never really know. But I listened. Listened about happy times with her family, about her friends, about what she likes or does not. But never about what she wanted from her life. So I guess at the very least, she gets it deep down. Death is an ugly thing for a child to have to face all alone.
On my last night, a girl came into the ER. She was 18 and depressed to the point of total shutdown. Didn't want to talk. Didn't want to be there. Didn't want to leave. A year into a new onset disease process that caused her red blood cells to break down, she was the model of self-pity. 5 hours later, admitted onto the H/O floor, she was still the same, and I was going home. I walked past her room, stopped, didn't know. I could have been wrong. I feared I'd somehow make things worse. But moreso, I feared that not trying because it was easier not to care would lead me down a worse road. So I entered. Talked to her (or rather, at her) about the hardships of handling what you're dealt, about being sad, about bad relationships with those you love, about becoming an adult, about being happy. That everyone deserves it, even when you may have never been there, or when others may feel you shouldn't be. That being an adult gives you the freedom to find what makes you happy and cut out whatever tries to get in your way. And I told her I wasn't there as a doctor or a student or a friend. That she'd never see me again and could take my advice or brush me off, because as an adult, that's her prerogative. I wished her well and stood to go home, unsure if I'd helped or not. I walked away and she said, "Thank you". I turned. She smiled at me.
I walked home to Christine. The weather was perfect. The walk home was never sweeter. It was one year to the day before our wedding, and this Peds thing seemed alright.
I meant to do a review of my Ob/Gyn rotation 6 weeks ago, but I figured it would be a hateful tirade denouncing hypocrisy and the downsides of working long hours with negative people who themselves work too many hours. At what point in your life should you get tired of getting called into work at 3am whenever some bastard kid decides it is time to drop?
Anyhow, tomorrow is my last day of Pediatrics and I've had a bit more of a positive experience. It appears to be a field of moms...just friendly women who enjoy kids, and that tends to yield a less stressful learning environment. Sure, you get your share of screaming kids with ear infections, and moms who don't know what pediatricians are (seriously) because they themselves are only 14 or 15. And you get the people who bring their kids to clinic with "Move Bitch" written on their t-shirts, or who blind you with their gold fronts, or whose 4 year olds don't really talk because no one at home cares if they achieve anything, but welcome to Baltimore. These things you're prepared for going in.
It's the other things that will last more in memory. I spent my first 3 weeks on the inpatient pediatric hematology/oncology service. Kids with cancer. Kids beating cancer. Kids dying with cancer. Kids who don't know yet what's going to happen. And very quickly you accidentally grab onto their and their parents' coattails and wish and pray for it to all end well, looking for someone to tell you that things are going to be alright. Except while you're looking around, they're looking at you.
I made a friend there. She's 14. She went through all the treatment. It went away. They rejoiced. A year later, it's come back worse than ever and resistant to treatment. She will all but assuredly die soon from cancer. And I never could find a tactful way of imposing enough so to figure out if she even really understands. Where my role in that situation could have or should have been, I'll never really know. But I listened. Listened about happy times with her family, about her friends, about what she likes or does not. But never about what she wanted from her life. So I guess at the very least, she gets it deep down. Death is an ugly thing for a child to have to face all alone.
On my last night, a girl came into the ER. She was 18 and depressed to the point of total shutdown. Didn't want to talk. Didn't want to be there. Didn't want to leave. A year into a new onset disease process that caused her red blood cells to break down, she was the model of self-pity. 5 hours later, admitted onto the H/O floor, she was still the same, and I was going home. I walked past her room, stopped, didn't know. I could have been wrong. I feared I'd somehow make things worse. But moreso, I feared that not trying because it was easier not to care would lead me down a worse road. So I entered. Talked to her (or rather, at her) about the hardships of handling what you're dealt, about being sad, about bad relationships with those you love, about becoming an adult, about being happy. That everyone deserves it, even when you may have never been there, or when others may feel you shouldn't be. That being an adult gives you the freedom to find what makes you happy and cut out whatever tries to get in your way. And I told her I wasn't there as a doctor or a student or a friend. That she'd never see me again and could take my advice or brush me off, because as an adult, that's her prerogative. I wished her well and stood to go home, unsure if I'd helped or not. I walked away and she said, "Thank you". I turned. She smiled at me.
I walked home to Christine. The weather was perfect. The walk home was never sweeter. It was one year to the day before our wedding, and this Peds thing seemed alright.
posted by jerm at 01:57
2 Comments:
not quite sure how the first comments pertain to the blog. but very nice, heart felt, doogie howser moment.
*tear*
jeremy - you really have a way with words. makes me kinda jealous that i have not had any touching moments in my first rotation ... only embaressing ones.
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