Reflections of a Grady Doctor

Okay. I am having a bit of writer's block-ito. So here's a lovely check in from my class of 2011 student advisees who are all hard at work in their internships. (Antoinette is missing from this post--she is graduating this year and starts internship next year! Stay tuned for match day -- coming up this week!!)

And away we go. . . .


Sweet Alanna hard at work in San Francisco. That smile on her face? It's because she's doing something she's been waiting a long time to do.



Well. Talk about full circle. Dougie happens to be an intern on my team this month and let me tell you. . .it's an interesting experience. I liken it to having your own son. . or rather nephew. . .on your team for a month. Weird. . .but in a good way.

Man. Remember when I went to his wedding and cried like a baby? Man. Seems like yesterday.

See, I've known Doug since his very first day of medical school. I mean from the very, very first day. Hell, I've known all of them since then. But this month I'm literally his attending. And he is my intern. So this is kind of crazy for me to see.

Crazy, yes.

But also? Majorly pride-inducing. He is a kick-ass intern and you know? I can't even front like I don't feel like I had something to do with that. Ha! Mostly I'm proud to see him growing up. I'm more proud of that than of me for being there for the ride.


Hreemy! Oh, how I miss her! Chicago seems to be treating her well. I'm so glad I will officially have an ophthalmologist in the family. Lord knows with these eyes I need it!


She passed through town a few weeks ago and we had breakfast. I'm so glad that with one day in town she wanted to meet with me. That was really touching to me.



Jin sent this super funny snap this week of her on call. Looks like she was well stocked up on caffeine! I just hope she had a catheter in her bladder, too! :)  Jin is up in D.C. taking care of America's heroes. She's as awesome as she looks in this picture.



Yes. Tony is as funny as he seems on this picture. I wish I could copy and paste some of the hilarious and tearjerking emails and messages he has sent me chronicling his internship so far. It's just too much to put here. But let me tell you-- he calls me and writes me and he shares those moments on my voice and e- mail. And I deeply appreciate it that he does.



And this guy. Sigh. I've always called him Sparky (a nickname he got after a particularly . . .interesting. . .haircut he once arrived at small group with) but the name has stuck. At least for me. He is the most stoic of my group but has always been the one who could make me cry on the drop of a dime.

Case in point:


*clutching chest*

And this is why I have the very best job in the entire world. Yes, I do.

***
Happy Sunday.


Bonus snap:  Me and fellow Grady doctor Danielle J. in a pic taken today-- after working at Grady all weekend! We are pouting but right before this photo we were both talking about how awesome it is to watch our learners grow.


(By the way:  I met Danielle J. on her first day of internship. And. I was her ward attending during her residency. Now here we are as colleagues pseudo-lamenting about working on a cloudless weekend in Atlanta. )

On the first day of medical school, they had us all sitting in a lecture hall perched on the edges of our chairs at rapt attention.  Okay, maybe not everyone was "perched on the edges" but I can at least say we were engaged.

Because this was the start of the show. The lights were down and the curtain was up and finally the spotlight was on us.  This was it. That point where you officially get to transition from saying, "Yeah, I think I'm going to go to medical school someday" to a sho' nuff and bona fide declaration-- "I am a medical student." And it's kind of a big deal.

I remember that first day in an unusual amount of high def and detail.  A sage senior physician paced back and forth in front of the room.  His heavily starched and blindingly white coat had pristine cloth balls for button closures and his name was embroidered in an elaborate cursive above the left chest. His pockets were flat and empty with the exception of the one that held a fancy ink pen; it was as if everything he needed to know was stored perfectly in his brain. Finally, he stopped, freezing us all to stone statues like Medusa with his steely gaze. You could hear a pin drop.

"Your lives will never be the same." He spoke in this strong and deliberate tone; confident and with intention. Every syllable was enunciated as if a person on the front row needed to read his lips to get the message.  He pointed at all of us with his long index finger. "YOU are the result of what was, for many, a dream deferred. You. You are the result of hard work, you are the promise of what can be, and yes, you are the very definition of what will be. So, you see, young people. . . you owe it to more than yourselves to be excellent. You owe it to all of us and. . .  all of them."



Damn.

"Them." You know. . ."them." The "them" that couldn't go to medical school even if they wanted to or who were told that they'd never succeed if they did. Or even the "them" that did go to medical school, perhaps, but were treated unfairly by colleagues or who ironically died of blood loss after dedicating an entire career to the invention of the blood transfusion. Yep, "them."  The same "them" that had to eat in the kitchen or back on the porch when company came, and the very "them" that only counted as only 2/3 of a person for an embarrassingly long time in history. "Them." This was a lot of pressure to put on a twenty-one year old sorority girl. It's the first day of medical school and I already have to worry about not letting "them" down?

Damn. 

I guess I should share that I attended Meharry Medical College--one of the oldest historically African-American medical education institutions in the country. What this means is that, with very few exceptions, that message was being delivered to a group of promising young medical students of African descent.  For this reason, I think that senior physician with his perfectly pronounced words and with his espresso-colored complexion spoke so passionately because he'd been to the mountain top already and probably felt like he was looking into a back-to-the-future mirror.  And you know what? I remembered his speech from that day. It resonated with me because he was right. For many, this was the result of countless dreams deferred.  And I did owe it to myself and "them."

It's funny. For the last ten years, I have worked with medical students of every imaginable ethnicity. One thing I have learned for sure is that even though that message was being directed at a roomful of black future doctors, the lessons are both timeless and applicable to anyone of any race. Getting to the point of medical school, no matter who you are, is a dream come true for someone somewhere. And just like he said--yes, it is the result of some elbow grease and is swirling with promises for a future that someone somewhere only wishes they could know.



And so. This is how I approach all of the medical students with whom I work. Whether they are black, white, blue, green, short, tall, straight, gay, born here, born there, really young, really seasoned, outgoing, introverted, amazingly tri-lingual, or hopelessly uni-lingual. . . .  I tell them words quite similar to the ones I heard on my opening day.  . . .because we all have a "them."  I remind them that yes, this is a big deal, you being in medical school and yes, you do owe it to more than just you to make the most of it.

Oh yeah, I also say that even if your mama and your daddy are doctors, this medical education is yours, not theirs. You need to be the one handling it with care and you are only entitled to what you do from here forward. Not what they did. (But that doesn't mean you shouldn't let their expectation motivate you.)

Anyways.

Yesterday was the first day of school for our Class of 2015 (!) medical students. There they sat. . .  in a similar setting to me on my first day with the brightest of eyes and the bushiest of tails.  And sure, a few things were slightly different than ours back in June of 1992. . . . but those same truths were still self evident nearly twenty years later.

"You are the result of what was for many a dream deferred. You are the result of hard work, the promise of what can be, and the definition of what will be. So, you see, young people. . . you owe it to more than yourselves to be excellent. You owe it to all of us and all of them."

 In other words, rise.





 ***
Happy Wednesday.

This made me cry this morning when I watched it. . . .now playing on my mental iPod.

To employment! (That's cider for me--I had to go back to finish rounding.)

Today was match day. The day where all of the fourth year medical students all over the country rip open envelopes that determine where they will be doing their residencies. A day full of angst--the sonic boom heard all over America after a nearly four year drum roll toward being a doctor.

Today was that day.

Emory School of Medicine, today as I crossed the street

For the nonmedical folks reading this. . . .here's how it all works:

You decide on a specialty after doing all of your clinical rotations.
You make sure that your choice of specialty matches up with your performance in med school.
(Certain specialties require otherworldly board scores and grades, etc.)
You gather your letters of recommendation.
You apply through the computer application system.
You wait to hear from programs and if you're lucky, you get a bunch of interviews.
You interview.
You fret about which programs in which cities you liked the most.
You fret some more.
You pray, if you're into that. (I am.)
You rank the programs in order of where you want to go.
(Little do you know that the programs are fretting, too.)
The program puts in their lists in order of who they want.
You hope and pray that the folks who you liked like you back.
On Match Day, you rip open an envelope and find out.

My Match Day Moment, March 20, 1996

Yeah. That's pretty much how it works in a nutshell. I remember that day for me. I was so freakin' happy. Like so happy. My first choice of programs wanted me, too. And most importantly, as my father quickly reminded me, I was gainfully employed.

Yay.

I am doubting that this was cider (but don't worry-- I didn't have to go back to round!)

We had a big ol' party where we signed each other's scrubs, toasted a few too many times, and graffiti'd our names all over a giant map with our residency locations. That day was awesome. And as you can see above. . . . I sho' nuff celebrated.

So with that said. . .even though I always have enjoyed coming to Match Day at Emory each year, never has it ever even come close to the enjoyment I had on my own Match Day. Not even close.

That is. . . . until today.

*Gasp* 

 I can't believe I'm saying it. . .but it's true. This year was the best Match Day ever.

***

Quick background: In 2007 our School of Medicine overhauled its curriculum. The remix included sixteen faculty members appointed to advise small groups of medical students and teach them over a longitudinal experience for all four years. I was one of those lucky sixteen faculty members.

So in July of 2007, I met these seven students who, along with many other students in the class, I came to know and love very well. The nature of the curriculum created these family ties in our small groups that leaped above and beyond any teaching experiences I'd ever had. And it trickled from one small group to the next, like neighbors standing on porches handing cups of borrowed sugar to other peoples' children. All for a cake that in the end everyone would be invited to come over to enjoy.

Yeah. Like that.

I'd advised students before, yes. I've taught students, too. But this? This was different.

Never have I known learners so well.
Never have I been so invested.


That's why match day this year destroyed my careful application of drugstore mascara. Yes. Completely annihilated it--and any chance of anyone ever using the word "stoic" to describe me--all with what bordered on "the ugly cry."

I told one of the students today:

And so. Here is your Thursday top ten. . . .the top ten reasons (in no certain order) why this was the best Match Day ever. . . .

. . . . and why I now know for sure that I am walking in my purpose.

***


#10 The Excitement.


It's impossible to describe the excitement of the day.  You can see it in these faces, though.

#9 The Anticipation



They can't legally release the results until noon on Match Day. Here's a few shots of people waiting with baited breath. . . .

That clock is for the countdown. . .

Preclinical onlookers: "We got next."

#8 The Moment.

Some times a bunch of words just don't suffice.

a nervous student

a proud mother

a dream realized

first choices aligned again

Another proud "mama": Dr. B., one of the head advisors.

In the presence of two gentlemen both headed to Harvard for residency. . . !

Disbelief by some, relief by most, pride by all.

Over the moon

A job with benefits, too!

Words from the wise.

It's a family affair.