Resident Physician Contributing Writer
NOSM University
Hi! My name is Tahereh Haji, but most of my friends call me Tati. I was born and raised on the Canadian Prairies. I did my training at the University of Saskatchewan, starting with my Honours and Master’s degrees in Biochemistry. While in grad school, I met my partner and subsequently followed her to Ottawa, Ontario, for her residency before coming back to Saskatchewan to complete my medical training. There, I fell in love with pediatrics, and I am now a fourth year pediatrics resident at NOSM University, splitting my time between beautiful northern Ontario and Ottawa. When I am not at the hospital, I love spending my time outdoors with my partner and dog, camping and hiking, and reflecting on the experiences I am having as a young doctor.
When was it that the newest woke thing to do was to ask for pronouns? In the queer communities in which I have been a member, it has been fairly common parlance to do so — but in regular life, I can’t place when it happened.
Let’s start with a very brief introduction: Hello! My name is Aline, and I am an international medical graduate (IMG) from Germany. I used to work in Germany in internal medicine, where I have completed four out of five years of training. I would like to share my experiences, thoughts, and later also some of the processes and steps that got me here over the course of this new column.
The rapid introduction of revolutionary technologies like minimally invasive robotic-assisted surgeries will exponentially increase complexity in medicine, law, education and ethics. Roboethics deals with the code of conduct that robotic engineers must implement in the artificial intelligence of a robot. Through this kind of ethics, roboticists must guarantee that autonomous systems will exhibit ethically acceptable behavior in situations in which robots interact with patients.
It feels odd to have family members in the hospital regularly again. My patient’s wife approaches cautiously; for a second I pretend not to see her. She looks like she wants to talk and I’m afraid she wants good news I can’t give, promises I can’t make, and time I don’t feel like I have. She wants time to tell me her loved one’s stories.
Her grip on my hand is tight. Almost as tight as the elastic on the oxygen mask stretched across her face, digging furrows into her thin, sallow skin.
“Every one of these patients should terrify you,” the fellow said. I thought he was just being dramatic.
Thinking back to January 2020, I recalled the whispers throughout the hospital of the first confirmed case of COVID-19 in the United States, mere minutes from my home institution. Aside from my perspective as a pediatrician, I was also forced to confront my own anxieties regarding exposure to this virus as an adult living with repaired congenital heart disease.
The novel coronavirus pandemic (COVID-19) has drastically increased the number of critically ill and dying patients presenting for hospitalized management of dyspnea, acute respiratory failure and other serious complications. The emergence and spread of SARS-CoV-2 has created unprecedented demands on all avenues of inpatient hospitalist medicine. One of the many services in high demand includes palliative care, with increased need for complex end of life planning.
On the morning of January 6, I awoke ecstatic to the news of Reverend Raphael Warnock and Jon Ossoff’s predicted wins in the Georgia run-off elections. To be frank, I have become hesitant to hope while inured by the near-daily attacks on civil rights by the Trump administration via executive orders and federal policies. Over the past four years, I witnessed with pride — but also fear — as community activists tirelessly organized to combat racist policies.
Above all else, do no harm. This is a basic tenet of a physician’s oath, but this oath does not always align with the religious and cultural beliefs of each patient. In cases where beliefs of faith, salvation or religion play a major factor in a patient’s desire to commit suicide, it can be difficult to draw the line between the traditional ethical guidelines of patient autonomy and non-maleficence.
In my home city of Washington, D.C., citizens have taken the changes brought on by COVID-19 very seriously; social distancing, masking and frequent hand hygiene are now routine. These days, I am startled when I see the bottom half of someone’s face out in public. Our homes have become our sanctuaries. In the hospital, however, much of our work continues unabated. Orders are written, notes are signed, lab work is drawn, imaging is performed. Housestaff are on the front lines with nurses, respiratory therapists and patient care technicians taking care of the sickest patients day-in, day-out.
Earlier in February of this year, before COVID-19’s onslaught in London, UK, I was covering service on a respiratory ward when a young medical student made herself known to the physician’s office. “Could I borrow your stethoscope? I’m here to practice my respiratory examinations.”
Fellow Physician Contributing Writer
Junior Clinical Fellow in London
Grace is a UK-qualified physician and holds honours degrees in both pharmacy and medicine. She has worked as a research scientist in the fields of drug delivery, gastroenterology and hepatology; runs two organisations pertaining to sustainability in healthcare; and holds fellowships with both the NHS Clinical Entrepreneur Programme and the Royal Society of Arts. In spite of all of this, she still can't afford London house prices. It's a mad world.
