Family Doc Diary: January 26, 2017
Join me as I reflect on the challenges and joys of being a family medicine resident physician through the pages of my personal journal.
Join me as I reflect on the challenges and joys of being a family medicine resident physician through the pages of my personal journal.
“Direct Admit: bounceback 72M recurrent pleural effusion, new diplopia,” my pager beeped with our new admission. As a “bounceback” admission, this 72-year-old male would be returning to our service after recently discharging from the hospital. This type of admission often indicates that a problem recurred or an issue was not fully addressed during the most recent hospitalization.
As I contemplate the future of our country, the future of medicine and the future of reproductive health and justice, I am truly frightened of what is to come. Since our president appears to base his desires on what makes him popular, I fear that he will gut Planned Parenthood, turn over Roe v Wade, and make it even more difficult for women to afford and access care, all in the name of ego.
We are in the thick of winter and URI season is upon us. Since a few of the older providers have been out for the holidays, I have been seeing their patients for same-day sick visits. It can get tedious after a morning of telling patients why I’m not giving them antibiotics. And very easily, one can fall into a “well bias” trap where you assume everyone is fine.
My name is Phyllis, more recently known as Dr. Ying. I am a newly-minted family medicine resident and I love my job. Within these pages, I hope to share with you some of the highs and lows of residency, along with a snapshot of the breadth of patients and disease that I see as a family med doc.
I remember ranting to a friend one night about the terminology, lingo and semantics that run through medicine. When I started studying medicine, I found the language fascinating. Most physicians seem to appreciate the language of medicine because truly understanding it is proof that after years of studying, working, and putting nose to grindstone, you made it in to the exclusive club that utilizes this jargon.
The novelty of becoming an intern has worn off, the fresh sheen of excitement on each shift, the crampy belly pain as I walk into a critical patient’s room, the rush of adrenaline as I try to intervene on a patient slowly or rapidly dying in front of me. Get up, go work, and sleep. And not much more.
The first time I performed CPR — that is, literally kept a human alive by the very force of my hands — I was a third-year medical student. In other words, I was a book-smart twenty-something with two years of multiple-choice medical knowledge and a single four-hour course on ACLS under my belt.
You’ve seen Mr. H before. He comes in occasionally, usually at the end of the month, when his Social Security money runs out. He’s homeless, has no family to speak of, and his success in the community is tenuous, effectively measured by how many dollars of disability money he has saved.
The message, like all earth-shattering pronouncements, came with the softest of dings. As I was walking out from my house into the cold December air for a morning shift in the emergency department, my parents messaged me about the passing of my grandfather.
Double-booking. Concurrent surgery. Procedural overlap. However it is named, the once clandestine practice is now under public scrutiny.
A specialty known for its brevity, emergency medicine can be appropriately summed up in haiku form. This is a collection of haikus about life in the emergency department.