Orly Farber is a medical student who blogs at Scope.
Ironically, his fingers looked like cigarette butts. They were black and chalky at the tips and then tan through his knuckles to his hands. A couple was capped by long yellow fingernails, shooting out like stalks of hay, bending in different directions.
A few other fingertips had already fallen off, leaving behind stumps he could barely flex or wave.
I sat down and asked what he knew about his disease.
“I’ve Googled it,” …
I’m a third-year medical student, but my medical education, as I knew it, is currently on hold due to the coronavirus pandemic.
Stanford has pulled its students from hospitals and clinics for the time being, following recommendations from the Association for American Medical Colleges (AAMC).
Our pre-clinical students, first and second-years, have transitioned to remote learning. Fourth-years, who have mostly completed their required rotations and have already Read more…
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
It’s a question I frequently hear from physicians on my clinical rotations. Phrased somewhat tongue-in-cheek, the wording allows me to answer either in jest or in earnest.
“An astronaut,” I sometimes say, hoping for laughs and no follow-up. Other times, I try out different responses like Halloween costumes: a critical care specialist, an emergency physician, a surgeon. If I want the questioner’s …
The first time a woman went into the final stage of labor, I watched from a corner of the room. As a third-year medical student, I was on my six-week clinical rotation in obstetrics and gynecology, and it was day one of the two-week portion on the labor and delivery floor. As a loudspeaker announcement projected over the woman’s screams, and nurses and doctors rushed in response, I instinctively clasped …
A couple weeks ago, I called up my family and non-med-school friends: “For the next couple months, pretend like I’m backpacking in the Himalayas,” I said. Pretend, I stressed, because, in reality, I don’t even intend to leave Palo Alto much in the coming months.
I’ve now entered one of the most-dreaded phases of med school: preparing for the first licensing exam, Step 1. During this time — which can last as long …
I’ve finally stopped thinking about the process of getting into medical school. But with friends going through the application cycle, waiting on and making decisions, I’ve been reflecting on my process and remembering just how terrible the whole thing felt. To offer some support to those going through it, I wanted to confess a few things. These confessions feel silly and small in retrospect, but I hope they’ll help at least one …
A face feels nothing like a frozen pig’s foot, I thought, as I guided a curved needle into the woman’s cheek, drawing the absorbable thread across her still-bleeding wound. Two wraps around the needle driver and I pulled the nearly invisible thread through, bringing the edges of her skin back together, securing my first knot.
“Hey, have you ever sutured?” the ER doctor had asked, just minutes before.
“Only in class,” I replied, …
“Check it out,” my boyfriend said, angling his rash-covered arms in front of the camera. Despite his best precautions, after a day of yard work, he was covered in poison ivy. Over video chat, he showed off the pustules that had erupted on his feet; I cringed.
“It’s fine,” he said, wincing while putting his socks back on. “I’m glad to know how awful it feels. I’ve seen a bunch of …
I left the library at 10 p.m. the night before the last exam of my first year of med school. As I hopped on my bike, I took comfort in my typical pre-test refrain: I’m done studying. I did everything I could. Of course, I’m not really done studying: I still have three years of school left packed with end-of-block finals, end-of-rotation exams, and the behemoths of the medical testing world, …
I’m a default crier. I happy-cry, stress-cry, romantic-comedy-cry, regular-comedy-cry and, apparently, I even doctor-in-training-cry.
Crying is a tough response, especially for someone who wants to take care of sick patients. My default reaction poses challenges for my future career. I had my first taste of this when a patient actor brought me to tears. An actor? That’s ridiculous, you might think. It was all pretend and yet, I broke down. I’m …
Greetings from the library. I’m writing to you through caffeine jitters, wrapped in a scarf that doubles as a blanket. I’ve marked my territory with my things: several Apple products, remnants of oatmeal in a mason jar, a sketchbook exhibiting my best attempt drawing the inside of a skull, and the most-essential item: my planner, detailing all the tasks I now avoid.
I’m in the midst of my first round of …
Breathing is different when you know what your lungs look like.
I first realized this during a meditation session at Stanford’s Windhover building. The space — a large, subdivided room — is a self-described sanctuary in the heart of campus. The walls are mostly glass, broken up by long, clay-colored steel beams. Natural light, filtered through the surrounding trees, streams in to illuminate five larger-than-life paintings — a series called “The …
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