My last admission on my last call day of the year; only one patient stands between me and freedom. Freedom from the endless calls. Freedom from self-doubt and anxiety. Freedom.
I’m supposed to be able to explain this. / The details to paint a picture. / But it’s too much, and I don’t want to relive it.
On July 26, President Donald Trump released another polemic tweet informing the public that “the United States Government will not accept or allow Transgender individuals to serve in any capacity in the US military,” citing the “tremendous medical costs” that transgender individuals pose to the health system.
I work at one of several hospitals in the country whose security force is staffed by law enforcement personnel. It’s also one of the 52 percent of hospitals nationwide whose security guards are armed with handguns.
A graphic medicine comic on wellness and lessons learned in the first year of family medicine residency.
The House-approved American Health Care Act of 2017 (AHCA) and the proposed Senate Better Care Reconciliation Act (BCRA) would approve cuts to Medicaid that hurt Iowans.
When do-sed dram or weigh-ted dusts / no remedy impart
Join me as I reflect on the challenges and joys of being a family medicine resident physician through the pages of my personal journal.
My early idea of what it meant to be a intern came from a combination of pop culture physician idols (i.e. ER) and a handful of actual medical experiences. A dive headfirst from a shopping cart at young age earned me my first trip to the emergency room.
“Daddy, time to wake up! It is morning time!” I open my eyes to our four-year-old daughter at the foot of the bed smiling, her hair meticulously braided. I get up and wake her younger brother from his crib and carry him downstairs. The baby is still sleeping.
I knew what was coming before it happened. She was looking up at the ring of white coats encircling her hospital bed, eyes darting from side to side to follow the sequence of their voices when suddenly, her lower lip began to quiver. And with her quivering lip, her breaths came faster and she sucked in deep gulps of air between her pleading questions. But soon the pack was headed on to the next patient on rounds. She was left alone, and the tears rolled freely.
Ana sits on the exam table in front of me explaining how, in three short weeks, her mother will evict her from her childhood home. She is eight months pregnant and is studying night courses to become a paralegal. As her prenatal provider and primary care physician, I have been sending referrals to numerous community agencies in hopes of securing housing at the local YWCA.