3/12/2023 0 Comments The MatchmakerMarch Madness begins this week. Perhaps, you have meticulously crafted your bracket or could care less about collegiate basketball. While most people will be hyper-focused on the victories and defeats on the court, my mind will be fixated on “Match Madness” this week as I learn where I will complete my residency training in emergency medicine.
I like the phrase “Match Madness” because the past few years of exams, clinical rotations, numerous applications, and months of interviewing will climax with the infamous Match Week – the most anticipated week of medical school. Tomorrow morning (Monday), I will learn if I have matched into an emergency medicine residency program. If there is a match, I will have to wait until Friday afternoon to discover the location of my residency program. The road to Match Week has been rather complex, so I believe it is easier to think of this process in terms of dating that leads to an arranged marriage. This may sound weird, but just humor me as we go dancing through this analogy. Phase 1: Flirting The initial phase began when I applied to thirty emergency medicine residency programs. Each program received an extensive application about my education, hobbies, intriguing personal factoids, character evaluations, and a personal statement. Imagine the most detailed dating profile ever; that was my application. This was the inaugural year for the emergency medicine application process to utilize a feature called program signaling, which pretty much means I could give “winks” to five programs to indicate my sincere desire to get to know them better. The caveat to this feature is that I could not signal places where I had done audition rotations – West Virginia University, Eastern Virginia Medical Center, or The Medical University of South Carolina. After submitting thirty applications, sending five signals, and completing three audition rotations, I held my breath and waited for programs to reciprocate interest. Phase 2: Mutual Interest Slowly yet steadily, the interview invitations began to trickle into my email inbox with affectionate lingo as the wooing process unfolded. Each program’s interview invitation included links to recruitment videos, professionally designed websites, resident biographies, and information about financial benefits. Some programs even mailed program merchandise: shirts, coffee mugs, stress balls, food vouchers, water bottles, and even chocolate! Phase 3: The First Date After the mutual connections were established, the virtual interview season began. Almost every virtual interview began with the automatic phrase, “Tell me about yourself.” From there, the conversations drifted into predicted topics: strengths, weaknesses, where I see myself in five years, etc. The most memorable interviews included personal yet pointed questions: how would your family describe you, what was your most eye-opening travel experience, what are you reading, what has been your most memorable patient encounter, and how do you balance being introverted and being a leader? When conversations had depth yet felt effortless, I began to develop an affinity for certain programs, prompting me to want a “second date.” Phase 4: The Second Date As the interview season concluded, I wanted to go deeper with several programs that had left me with a favorable impression. Some programs hosted “second look” events where applicants could tour hospitals, meet program leadership, and enjoy dinner with current residents. I capitalized on the opportunity to visit Cincinnati several days before Christmas, explore Charlotte while on the way to visit family in Atlanta, and visit Charlottesville on an unusually warm winter weekend. Each trip greatly influenced my opinions – sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse. I am also incredibly grateful to WVU alumni at several programs whose emails, phone calls, and text messages were invaluable to my decision-making. Phase 5: The Engagement The most anxiety-inducing aspect of this process was making my rank list (analogous to popping the question). I had to choose one program to become my number one rank, indicating it as my top preference among the twenty programs under my consideration. I then sequentially ranked the remaining programs from two to twenty in order of my preferences. On the flip side, each residency program numerically ranks all its applicants. Then, the Match algorithm works its magic! Basically, the algorithm will attempt to find an optimal match between an applicant and a residency program. If I do not match at my top program, then the algorithm will attempt to match me with my second rank, then third rank, then fourth rank, etc. until a match is eventually established. While this process sounds highly calculated (and it is to an extent), there are people with lives, feelings, families, and emotions on both sides of the Match. Ultimately, I made my rank list after lengthy heartfelt discussions with the people in my inner circle. I also prayed that God would not let me slam shut any doors that He had opened but also grant me the wisdom to make a rank list that would afford me peace, and He did just that. Phase 6: The Wedding This is the current phase – Match Week. There is no time for cold feet because my match will be unveiled this Friday afternoon. I will dress to the nines and attend a ceremony where each WVU medical student will walk up on stage one by one, receive an envelope, and then share the name of their matched residency program with a room of more than 300 audience members. Upon reading the name of my match, nobody can object because it is a legally binding agreement. For better or worse, the name of the program in my envelope is where I will learn the art of emergency medicine. I have no doubt that my heart will be racing, my hands will be sweating, and my voice will be shaking as this fraught yet riveting process reaches its ceremonious conclusion.
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10/6/2022 3 Comments Special Moments and My SpecialtyFlashbulb memories are “memories for the circumstances in which one first learned of a very surprising and consequential (or emotionally arousing) event.” Psychologists Roger Brown and James Kulik coined this term in 1977, a time when the assassination of President John F. Kennedy was the prototypal example.
In the years since the devising of this term, flashbulb memories have been etched into billions of minds for other notable incidents: the jaw-dropping death of Princess Diana, the September 11th terrorist attacks that upended America’s security, Hurricane Katrina’s inundation of Gulf Coast communities, mass workplace and school closings in March 2020 as the world grappled with an uncertain pandemic, the blitz Russian invasion of Ukraine that prompted the largest European exodus since World War II, and the announcement that Queen Elizabeth had passed away after a record-breaking seventy-year reign. As you recount these events, it is nearly impossible for your mind not to recall with vivid clarity your personal circumstances surrounding each of these weighty moments. These descriptors evoke memories of the places, people, weather, and even smells that defined your circumstances during these pivotal moments. While most flashbulb memories center around societal milestones, each person’s brain houses personally significant flashbulb memories: the moment you met your spouse, attaining a coveted award or title, the initial melodious wail of your firstborn, leaving home for the first time, an inexplicable spiritual encounter, or witnessing a loved one take their final breath. Perhaps, these emotionally charged descriptors stir up pleasant, painful, or perplexing memories for you. As I was deciding on my future medical specialty, I realized that I wanted to be an actor in the flashbulb memories that are integral to my patients' life stories. After much prayer and thoughtful consideration, it became evident that emergency medicine is the specialty that will afford me the privilege to be intimately involved in moments that become enduring memories for my patients. Last week, I submitted applications to thirty emergency medicine residency programs across the United States. Each residency training program requested a personal statement that answers why I desire to become an emergency medicine doctor. The following essay is the product of countless revisions and much introspection, but this is the exact personal statement that residency program directors across the country are currently reading as they consider hiring me to train in their emergency medicine programs. The elderly cancer patient’s sunken, caramel-brown eyes peered at me from beneath the brim of a baseball cap that read “US Air Force.” He had been frightened by a bloody bowel movement earlier in the evening, and he rushed to the emergency department. His downcast gaze brightened when I asked him if he had served in the military. He shook his head from side to side but proudly explained that his granddaughter serves in the Air Force, and he was anxiously awaiting her return home from Syria in just three months – three months that felt like an eternity. At that moment, I no longer saw an elderly man with metastatic cancer. I saw the heart of a loving grandfather who reminded me of my first patient, the patient who inspired my career in medicine, the patient who I proudly called “grandpa.” One week before meeting this kind gentleman in the emergency department, I stood by my grandpa’s bedside as he valiantly finished his eight-year battle with colorectal cancer. Throughout these years, the emergency department was our gateway to care during moments of crisis: surgical complications, kidney infections, and episodes of severe pain. As I progressed through medical school, I became the person in my family who knew which questions to ask, the potential side effects of his numerous medications, and when it was time to go to the emergency department – the place where physicians’ kindness met us in our most worrisome moments. Forever shaped by these personal experiences, I view the emergency department as a civic cathedral – a sacred place filled with people from all walks of life. In my 25 years, I have visited several sacrosanct places: Oxford University where I studied humanitarian crises, the Temple Mount in Jerusalem where I stood among believers of diverse faiths, and the White House where I discussed the opioid epidemic with top-level federal officials. Whenever I walk into the emergency department, I am filled with the same humbling sense that I am in a hallowed place with significance beyond any individual; it is a microcosm of society. I also gravitate toward emergency medicine because it will empower me to continue to pursue my passion for global health. Before the COVID-19 pandemic, many people – including my mother – questioned why an international affairs major would attend medical school. As an undergraduate, my research interests were at the crux of medicine and international affairs. I researched the role of women in the West African Ebola Outbreak, the historical implications of yellow fever, and sustainable development strategies in Tanzania. As the public health patterns that I had researched began to unfold on the global stage in 2020, I admired frontline emergency medicine physicians who epitomized sacrificial leadership during much uncertainty. Following in the footsteps of these great physician leaders, I will build upon the formative leadership lessons that I have learned while serving as the class president of my high school, student body president of my university, and class president of my medical school. Each of these positions provided me with a platform to elevate others’ voices as I have advocated for the expansion of mental health resources on my universities’ campuses, lobbied the state legislature to maintain stringent childhood vaccination policies, and coordinated forums for Appalachian health care leaders. Emergency medicine is the field that will refine me as a leader because I will be surrounded by mentors who continue to lead on the frontlines as the state of the pandemic evolves and new healthcare concerns emerge. Whether I am serving local communities or communities abroad, I desire to be a physician who not only epitomizes sacrificial leadership but also genuine kindness because each patient is somebody’s son, daughter, partner, friend, or even the person someone calls “grandpa.” **Disclaimer: Please note that some details have been changed to protect patient confidentiality. 10/24/2021 2 Comments My Heaven on EarthZigzags of violet lightning danced across the hazy night sky and bullet-shaped raindrops pelted the airplane’s oval windows, as my flight began its descent into Norfolk International Airport – the airport closest to my destination of Pine Island, North Carolina. The monsoon raging outside the plane’s oval peepholes was the antithesis of the 100-degree daily low temperatures that I had become acclimated to during the past week in Rancho Mirage, California, while at a training program for medical students. In contrast to Norfolk’s voluminous precipitation, Rancho Mirage is a place where umbrellas are about as common as Republicans.
Having the aisle seat, I could only sneak glimpses through the water-speckled windows as the plane approached the neon-dotted runways. The airliner’s turbulent jolts unnerved some passengers, but most seemed more preoccupied about stowing away electronics into their overstuffed carry-ons and receiving the okay to switch their phones off airplane mode. The middle-aged African American woman sitting by the window seemed to ignore Mother Nature’s fury as her tired eyes fought an uphill battle with gravity. The empty seat in between us afforded me some personal space, which had been nonexistent on my previous flight as elderly snowbirds from New Jersey pointedly bickered with each other in a manner that seemed more ritualistic than original – a sign of a long marriage. Preferring my current flight’s physical turbulence to the emotional turbulence on my previous flight, I relished the final moments to reflect on the past two years – the time since my family had last vacationed at Pine Island. The first half of 2019 was one of the high points of my life: ringing the new year in from a hotel rooftop in Israel, sightseeing in Nashville with my best friends, winning a speech championship in Germany, exploring Iceland’s majestic wonders, competing in speech and debate nationals in southern California, concluding my term as student body president, speaking at graduation before thousands of people, and then celebrating the conclusion of four amazing years that gave me so much more than a university degree. This time was euphoric. The thrill of jetting from place to place and my chronic jet lag was simultaneously thrilling and exhausting. My inner nomad reveled in living out of a suitcase and doing most of my schoolwork from hotel lobbies and airport lounges. The exclamation mark on these phenomenal experiences was my family’s trip to Pine Island – a week where we spent most days rotating between the beach, pool, and kitchen. Then, the second half of 2019 hit me like a ton of bricks. I said goodbye to my best friends from college. I had no upcoming trips to exotic destinations. I exchanged the constant social atmosphere of a college dorm for a grownup apartment (with grownup bills). I had to learn how to drive rather than rely on my short but speedy legs. I had to prepare for intense medical school courses after not having any science classes in over one year. I had to signup for loans for dollar amounts with too many zeroes. Looking back, I think was simultaneously in withdrawal from a dream-like phase of life and in shock from such change. While I tried to adjust to the seemingly ever-increasing entropy, the relentless pace of medical school and my self-imposed high expectations amplified my stress. While I could attempt to detail the disenchantment that swirled through my brain, I believe Dr. Kathryn Butler best echoes my sentiments in her devotional that I mentioned in my previous blog. During those years before hospital training, my goals in doctoring seemed uprooted. Yet as I drowned in the deluge of material to commit to memory and panicked at my own failings, I also slid into idolatry. I, too, obsessed about test scores. How can I have a mediocre performance on a test, and then expect to save a life? I worried. In my desperation, I sacrificed fellowship with loved ones for more study time. I sought out research positions to check off a box. I didn’t worry about my service to God, but about whether or not I could make the cut into a specialty that would achieve the elusive, revered “happiness” — a happiness directed inward. A joy arising not from Christ, but from the meager accomplishments of my own mortal hands. Accomplishments that would pass away. A chasing after the wind (Ecclesiastes 2:26). As I eventually settled into the rhythm of medical school and developed healthy outlets for work-life-balance (church, gym, friendships, and family time), I also looked ahead to my family’s next trip to Pine Island as the metaphorical lighthouse at the end of the turbulent waters of the preclinical years. Fast-forwarding through the monotony of the preclinical years and to the summer of 2021, I was more than ready for a vacation, specifically a Pine Island vacation; all my family needed this trip. Medical school had been ten times more difficult than I had imagined. A pandemic wreaked havoc on the world. Walker missed a year of high school and a promising soccer season. Pap was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer (but you’d never know it by looking at him), and Mommom had a few health scares, too. Half of my family, including myself, had minor bouts with Covid. Therefore, when my plane landed in Norfolk and I walked through the doors of the arrival gate to meet my family, I felt immensely blessed that all of us were going to be together again at our heaven on earth. Where is this heavenly place? Pine Island, North Carolina, is a sliver of land that is sandwiched between the Atlantic Ocean and the Currituck Sound, creating panoramic views of the waters around the barrier islands. This less than a mile-long stretch of land in the northern Outer Banks is between the more popular tourist destinations of Corolla and Duck. Of all the places I have traveled to, why is Pine Island so special? My family and I have been going here since 1999, after some family friends clued us into this once-hidden gem. It is where I have some of my fondest memories from splashing in the pool all day as a little kid to playing whiffle ball games during sunsets that paint mosaics across the white-capped waves of the Atlantic. While we have stayed in various homes over the years, I feel an emotional bond to this place because it is home to cherished memories: deep conversations with my grandma during walks on the beach, fishing trips where Pap always catches the biggest one, precious time spent with great-grandparents, witnessing little cousins fall in love with trips to the “beach house,” marveling at the bonds formed between the kids as they enjoy camping out in the theater room, sharing laughs during cooking challenges while I try not to catch anything on fire, and drives along the beach road where a few resilient homes have weathered hurricanes and nor’easters over the years. Retreating with nearly 20 family members to Pine Island over the past two decades has been such a blessing. My family is large, loud, and loving – qualities that make our beach vacations even more special (and a little crazy). This year, we stayed at an aptly named home – Carpe Beachum, which is a pun for a Latin phrase, meaning “seize the day.” We did exactly that. We lived in the moment, laughed until our ribs were sore, and loved creating more memories and even stronger bonds with each other. Indeed, we seized every day. 9/6/2021 0 Comments Words of WisdomAt the top of my computer screen, I keep a few bookmarks: the link to my online grades, the link to a question bank with thousands of practice questions, and the link to a devotional titled “God Desires Your Heart, Not Your Degree.” This devotional, written by trauma surgeon Dr. Kathryn Butler, does not sugarcoat readers with cozy words of affirmation; instead, she writes about why she applied to medical school, disillusionment during her preclinical education, and faith that has been refined under fire. In her devotional that I have read numerous times and shared with friends, Dr. Butler explores a few simple yet essential truths: school is not heaven, identification of whom do we strive for, and God is sovereign over your studies.
During a four-part blog series, I will reflect on the past year while delving into each of these tenets of Dr. Butler’s devotional. For now, please read Dr. Butler’s devotional that she published in June of 2017. If you’d like to know more information about Dr. Butler, keep reading. Link to Devotional: https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/god-desires-your-heart-not-your-degree Dr. Butler’s Personal Blog: https://oceansrisesite.blog/ Here is some background on Dr. Butler and why her words resonate with me. She had ascended the ranks of academia with a prestigious medical degree under her belt and a job at Harvard’s teaching hospital. She appeared to have reached the pinnacle of medicine in a beeline – a star pupil among outstanding students. While her accolades accumulated, however, her faith diminished. Exhaustion, agony, and numbness seemingly became omnipresent while God receded into the background, leading her to self-identify as agnostic. Describing a tipping point, Dr. Butler recounts a nightmarish night in the emergency department that brought her to the point of questioning how God – if he even exists – could allow such gut-wrenching suffering. My eyes darted to the tracing on the cardiac monitor. The gaps between my patient’s heartbeats lengthened. The plodding rhythm meant that blood, oozing from beneath his fractured skull, was crowding out his brain. He was 22, and someone had bludgeoned him with a baseball bat in his sleep. His wife, lying beside him, died during the assault. His four-year-old son witnessed everything. I thrived on the urgency of the emergency room—the chaos, the opportunities to reach people in dire moments. Yet as I placed my patient’s central venous line, I struggled to focus. I thought of his four-year-old son in footed pajamas, and the images of brutality he might never forget. As I wrestled with these thoughts, paramedics rushed in with a 15-year-old boy dying from a gunshot wound. They were performing compressions to force oxygen-rich blood to his brain. In a blur of adrenaline, I grasped a scalpel and surgically explored his chest. I cupped his still heart and searched its borders with trembling fingers. When my hand plunged into a yawning hole, I caught my breath. The bullet had torn open his aorta. We could not save him. As I fought tears, my trauma pager blared yet again. Another 15-year-old boy. Another gunshot wound. This time, the bullet had struck the boy’s head. I tried to compose myself. The least I could do, I thought, was to mend his wound, clean him, and give his family a final glimpse of the boy they loved. Midway through my work, the door opened. I raised my eyes in time to see his mother walk into the room. She froze, howled, and crumpled to the floor. I tugged the bloodied gloves from my hands, rushed from the room, and hid my face as I cried. Acknowledging the likelihood of a higher power yet unsure of its identity, Dr. Butler felt an expanse between her seemingly accomplished life and the God she had heard about as a child. Then, through the unwavering faith of a patient’s family and the newfound faith of her husband, she began to entertain the idea of Jesus. Her conversion was not instantaneous – prayer felt awkward, worship felt detached, and faith seemed like wishful thinking. Nevertheless, she kept searching and seeking. I started with the Gospels, then continued with Romans. The words felt familiar, but with my newly opened heart, the reading unveiled Christ’s love in brushstrokes I had never fathomed. The agony he suffered for our sake left me breathless. He, too, had endured heartache and had confronted the face of evil. And he bore such affliction—our affliction—for us. Romans 5:1–8 revealed the awesome magnitude of God’s love for us. He knows suffering. During her nearly 20-year career, Dr. Butler has still encountered suffering – a lot of it. Now, she experiences suffering beyond empathy; she sees it through the eyes of Jesus - the same Jesus who wept upon seeing Mary and the Jews consumed with grief when Lazarus died, the same Jesus who told a widow not to weep when her only son died and then restored life to his limp corpse, and the same Jesus who had compassion on helpless multitudes whose lives lacked direction. Equipped with a refined faith and God-given medical talent, Dr. Butler has worked in emergency departments and ICUs in Boston – the city she calls home. At the peak of her career and in an unexpected turn of events, Dr. Butler indefinitely put down her scalpel to care for her son with special needs. Dr. Butler, however, returned to the corridors of the hospital when her city needed her, most notably the Boston Marathon Bombing in 2013 and the COVID-19 pandemic that currently grips our world. With this background information in mind, I now view Dr. Butler’s devotional as carrying more gravity – it is real and relatable. Her life has not been predictable, and she authentically acknowledges that the path to becoming a physician and the subsequent career are a far cry from glamorous, but this exhausting path allows medical students and doctors to emulate grace and compassion to the people in front of us who need more than medications and surgeries; they need grace and compassion just like you and I do. 7/6/2020 0 Comments My Future PlansAs of today, I do not know my future medical specialty. Fortunately, I still have over two years to make this decision. Since I am still shadowing doctors in many specialties and learning about the workplace culture of each specialty, I am keeping an open mind.
One of my favorite aspects of blogging is reading my older blog posts, which give me insight into my state of mind at the time I wrote each blog. Thus, I am going to list the five specialties that are my current frontrunners. In two years, it will be interesting to see if I end up pursuing one of these specialties or a specialty that has not even crossed my mind yet. As of now, I think my ideal specialty will include large amounts of in-person interaction as well as treating patients with acute health concerns. Emergency Medicine Training: 3-year emergency medicine residency Total Training Time: 3 years Reason for Interest: I have heard ER doctors describe the emergency department as a microcosm of society, where people from all walks of life seek urgent medical care. There is never a typical day in the ER, which helps makes each day feel like a new adventure instead of a monotonous career. Also, ER doctors are well-versed across multiple specialties because they never know what type of injuries or diseases may come through the emergency department doors. Emergency medicine is also an ideal specialty for mission work and serving communities affected by natural disasters. Pediatric Emergency Medicine Training: 3-year emergency medicine residency or 3-year pediatrics residency; an additional 3-year fellowship in pediatric emergency medicine Total Training Time: 6 years Reason for Interest: In addition to the reasons for my interest in emergency medicine, I am interested in working in a pediatric emergency department because communication is essential when working with pediatric patients with acute injuries. Pediatric ER doctors must work rapidly while listening to both young patients and their guardians, which requires diverse communication styles in an already tense atmosphere. Neonatology Training: 3-year pediatrics residency; an additional 3-year neonatology fellowship Total Training Time: 6 years Reason for Interest: From the moment of conception to delivery, the human body undergoes mind-boggling embryological development. While most babies are born in relatively good health, some are less fortunate and require intensive care to help them survive some of the most critical days, weeks, and months in their young lives. Neonatologists spend much time with worried families and some of the most fragile yet resilient patients. Pediatric Oncology Training: 3-year pediatrics residency; an additional 3-year pediatric oncology fellowship Total Training Time: 6 years Reason for Interest: A pediatric oncologist at Ruby told a group of students that his job allows him to see the best of humanity where communities rally around young patients in their fight against one of the most frightening categories of disease – cancer. Furthermore, pediatric oncology is a specialty that involves international collaboration between physicians from around the world who specialize in different forms of cancer. Thus, a doctor in Morgantown may work with specialists in Germany and France to develop a strategic treatment plan for a local patient. Critical Care Medicine Training: 3-year internal medicine residency or 4-year anesthesiology residency; an additional 2-year fellowship in critical care Total Training Time: 5 or 6 years Reason for Interest: The ICU is home to some of the most severe injuries in a hospital. From a patient who is clinging to life after a car accident to patients who have suffered debilitating strokes, critical care physicians (also known as intensivists) help these patients as they teeter on the verge of life and death. These doctors must possess a mental fortitude as well as a transparent communication style to advise patients and families of their options in incredibly difficult circumstances. All of these specialties have pros and cons. Factors in my eventual decision will include work-life balance, the culture in each specialty, role models whom I meet, opportunities for patient advocacy beyond the hospital, and ultimately God’s intentions for my career. As a friend from my Bible study has reminded me, God has never failed those who devote their lives to His plans, and it is incredibly comforting to know that my future medical specialty is not my decision, and God already knows His plans for me in medicine and beyond the medical field. International Affairs majors are mavericks in medical school. There is this notion in higher education that social science and STEM fields are mutually exclusive. Simplistically, political science majors go to law school, biology majors go to medical school, and business majors pursue an MBA.
This mindset has resulted in trends that have weakened our country’s civic institutions. Medicine is one of the largest industries in the United States, yet medical school curriculum includes no information about basic economics, insurance, or finance. Furthermore, health care is the primary concern for most American voters, yet health professionals are far and few between in the halls of Washington and most statehouses while lawyers abound. The reality is that versatility is essential to a productive career in any of these fields because medicine, politics, and business are highly interconnected. While most prominent scholars and leaders passively acknowledged the interdependence of these fields, the COVID-19 pandemic was a shocking wake-up call for so-called “experts” who found themselves dumbfounded when the pandemic rattled the core of the medical, political, and business realms. Dr. Nikki LoCascio and Dr. Brian Hoey co-taught a course at Marshall for Yeager Scholars about the ramifications of diseases on society. In this course, I learned that the next pandemic would most likely manifest as a respiratory virus that is transmitted through small droplets, come out of Southeast Asia, and reach every country with major airports in a matter of days to weeks. Most importantly, this virus would test the integrity of governmental institutions, supply chains, and hospitals’ patient capacity. Thus, when I read a New York Times article in the first week of 2020 about clusters of people who were falling ill with a respiratory pathogen in Wuhan, China, I began to suspect that these initial cases could be a harbinger to the next global pandemic. My concern drastically heightened when China began to persecute its own citizens who sounded alarms about the virus. In fact, Chinese authorities arrested Dr. Li Wenliang – the first doctor who noticed a disproportionate surge of respiratory infections – because Dr. Wenliang was “spreading false rumors.” Dr. Wenliang died this past February from alleged COVID-19 complications. Over the next few weeks, cases soared in China, people began to fall ill in neighboring nations, and cruise ships became hot zones. At that point, I knew the virus was in the United States (and likely had been in the country for several weeks before the first positive tests on the West Coast). Given the high airline traffic in and out of the United States, I also knew the United States was on the verge of unprecedented times. If you ever doubt how interconnected the world is, my advice is to stand outside the arrival gate at any major airport in the United States. In one hour, you will watch passengers on planes from almost every continent exit U.S. Customs, collect their luggage, and then board some form of public transportation, which will take these passengers to neighborhoods across the country. Our globalized society is amazing yet a perfect recipe for a pandemic. When some state and local officials had overcome their denial that the virus was in certain regions of America, we found ourselves thrust into a “socially distanced” world: Zoom calls became classrooms, six feet became the most popular metric, and toilet paper became the hottest commodity. In the span of days, the United States closed its doors to our most trusted allies, declared a national emergency, and passed one of the most comprehensive stimulus packages in our nation’s history. While financial markets plummeted and fear skyrocketed, people also rallied together to support first responders, grocery store workers, truck drivers, and medical professionals whose selflessness ensured the continuity of our society. Then, medical school moved completely online in mid-March. While most lecture topics are amenable to online teaching, this is not the case for every subject. Learning how to conduct an HEENT exam and a neurological exam via a video call is less than ideal. Understanding the three-dimensional relationships of the brain is incredibly difficult when all images are presented through videos and 2D images. The confines of online medical school quickly transitioned from inconvenient to infuriating – emotions that most people developed as obligatory social distancing gave way to claustrophobia. As the vice president of my medical school class, I worked closely with administrators and professors to respond to the limitations of online classes and labs. In an environment where expectations are high for medical students, we reciprocated those expectations for the university after the initial shock of the pandemic. Fortunately, most administrators and professors positively responded to our expectations. One of the pediatricians at WVU who devotes much time to patient advocacy has an excellent saying: “If you are not at the table, you are on the menu.” Likewise, the class president and I made sure that my classmates’ interests were not on the menu because the quality of our education will ultimately influence the quality of our future patients’ health care. Thankfully, most administrators, professors, and students chose innovation over infuriation, camaraderie over chaos, and flexibility over frustration. This fall, medical school will most likely involve a hybrid model; there will be a combination of in-person and online classes. By 2021, I idealistically hope “social distancing” will become an antiquated term, sports will resume, kids will return to school, churches will overflow with congregants, and mask-wearing will only occur on Halloween. Looking to the near future, I hope this pandemic is a wake-up call for more people to embrace the glaring reality that medicine does not exist in a bubble; it is at the core of international affairs. 6/30/2020 0 Comments Searching for a Study StrategyI have changed my study strategy more than my underwear in medical school. Well, that is a bit of hyperbolic comment. Upperclassmen warned me that one of the hardest parts of medical school is finding a study method that is efficient and works. I tried typing my notes, writing my notes by hand, writing my notes on my iPad, and writing my notes on legal notepads. Believe it or not, I did not find a reliable study strategy until April!
Finally, I watched a YouTube video over spring break of a guy who would cram all of his notes from a lecture onto one typed page that may include some high-yield images from the lecture. Since this guy on the Internet claimed that this strategy helped him to learn EVERYTHING in medical school and I had no better option, I gave it a try......and it worked pretty well for me! Instead of feeling like I was trying to cram information into my brain, this new method allowed me not to feel overwhelmed by all of the information because each lecture was on one page (even if that required size 5 font). While this is probably more psychological than anything, it is much less intimidating to have 40 pages of 5-point font notes than to memorize over 1000-1500 slides per exam. After copying and pasting the text from the lecture slides into a Word document, I will listen to the pre-recorded lecture and fill in any additional information in my notes. Then, I change the font size to a very small size and put the notes into landscape orientation. Then, I send the notes to my iPad, which allows me to zoom in and highlight my notes in different colors. As a visual learner, I draw all over my notes to the point that it looks like a unicorn has vomited on my iPad. While this study strategy does not enable me to learn all of the information (which is nearly impossible), it has made the massive amounts of information much more digestible and less psychologically daunting. To any current medical student or future medical student who needs a better study method, perhaps this wacky approach might be helpful. 6/29/2020 1 Comment Anatomy LabWalking the gray corridors of the fourth floor of the WVU Health Sciences building, one cannot miss the overwhelming scent of formaldehyde, a chemical with a potent yet somewhat sweet odor. On the other side of double wooden doors, there are two large fluorescently lit rooms, which are home to the university’s cadaver lab.
Prior to entering the cadaver lab, Dr. Heather Billings – an anatomy professor – prefaced our entry into the lab by explaining that students have diverse reactions to dissecting human bodies. Some students easily adapt to the dissections. Other students feel repulsed, saddened, and sickened. Some students get sick. Some might even burst into tears. Entering the lab, I felt composed, not to be confused with indifference. Indifference is nearly impossible in such an environment, where tattoos, painted fingernails, and implanted medical devices are stark reminders that these bodies were the canvases for dynamic lives with stories my classmates and I will never know. The first day of anatomy lab involves extensive dissections, which seems paradoxical given the array of student reactions upon entering the lab. Prior to making the initial incision, there is a common feeling of uneasiness. Who will make the first incision? Will I make the incision correctly? Am I holding the scalpel correctly? All of these initial questions stem from reverence towards the people whose bodies will provide us with one of the most unique and personal educational experiences that one could fathom. For each practical exam, I had to learn the names of 300-500 structures in the body, and identification questions included all bodies in the anatomy lab, which was approximately 21 bodies. Every human body shares similar features, but there are vast differences in the sizes of these structures, how blood vessels and nerves branch off of each other, and the amount of connective tissue throughout the body. The complexity is overwhelming yet humbling. The intricate design points to a stunning architect whose engineering includes protective back-up mechanisms in blood flow and innervation, hundreds of bones that permit astonishing mobility with muscles to orchestrate these movements, and small organs that execute high level functions essential to each moment of life. In an unprecedented turn of events, the COVID-19 pandemic resulted in the transition to online anatomy lab. By this point in the semester, my classmates and I had dissected almost every part of the body. Despite anatomy lab coming to a screeching halt, this rite of passage in medical education magnified my appreciation and awe of the human body – the canvas for my future work. 6/26/2020 1 Comment Life Beyond SchoolComing into medical school, I made the conscious decision to eliminate some of my bad habits from high school and college – all-nighters, treating coffee as a staple, and taking my schoolwork to the gym (yes, I spent many hours studying in the Marshall Rec Center).
Shortly after moving to Morgantown, I joined the CrossFit Ridgeline gym. Like many people, I assumed CrossFit was the type of gym where ginormous bodybuilders would eat me for a protein snack. Fortunately, that has not been the case at all; I have not encountered any cannibals. The trainers at the gym have developed scaled exercises for people at all levels of physical fitness. Each class includes a wide variety of dynamic personalities – decorated veterans, college athletes, fellow medical students, people who are trying to lose weight, and pregnant moms. Despite our vast differences, there is a special camaraderie between the people in each class who encourage each other to keep pushing through workouts that leave us all sprawled on the floor in pools of sweat. CrossFit has been an excellent outlet from the inherent stress of medical school. After being hunched over my computer all day, I find it oddly therapeutic to attempt handstand pushups, power through the exercise bike, and thrust some wall balls into the air alongside people who share a similar drive and keep coming back despite the calluses on our hands, blisters on our feet, and aching muscles. While I have developed a sense of community at CrossFit, I spent half of my first semester in search of a spiritual community – a church with solid Biblical beliefs, a church that welcomed discussion, and a church with modern worship. Thus, like most people, I turned to Google for answers (and I definitely prayed about it). The first search result was for Mountain Heights Church, which meets at the Waterfront Marriot Hotel. Then, I looked at the church’s Facebook page and saw that two of my medical school classmates had “liked” the Facebook page, which helped to ease my mind that this church was not a cult. The next day, I attended my first service at the church. Nobody offered me Kool-Aid, so I took that as an optimistic sign. The pastor explained that Mountain Heights was a new church plant in Morgantown that had just started several weeks ago. Many of the church members were transplants to Morgantown from a sister church in Athens, Ohio. While visiting other churches, I had nearly perfected the skill of sliding into the back row and then leaving as soon as a pastor had said “amen” in the concluding prayer; however, my experience at Mountain Heights was different. Despite not having a built-in time “stand and greet time,” people at the church asked me my name, invited me to Bible studies, and encouraged me to come back the following Sunday. That same week, I attended a Bible study at the pastor’s home where I met many more people from the church. Like me, these people had just moved to Morgantown and were also searching for new friendships and a sense of community. Since that first Bible study, I have developed incredible friendships with people from my church. While medical school can dominate my schedule, I look forward to getting together with these friends every Tuesday night and sometimes multiple times per week for Bible studies, bonfires, and all type of celebrations. In addition to digging deeper into the Bible, I have developed many great memories with these friends – competing to see who could cram the most marshmallows in their mouths, socializing at bonfires (while listening to the neighbors’ blaring rock music), going for a hike, celebrating my 23rd birthday with a delicious chocolate cake, bonding over beefalo burgers, and early morning breakfasts. While these fond memories have been highlights of this past year, I also love that my church family has an undeniable love for Jesus and sharing the Gospel with many people from all walks of life who call Morgantown home. Even though time is the most limited and precious resource in medical school, I have learned that my physical and spiritual health are essential to my academic performance and overall wellbeing. Fortunately, CrossFit and my church have given me outlets to enjoy the race instead of just focusing on the finish line. 6/22/2020 1 Comment What is Medical School?Some people compare medical school to a marathon, but I think it is more a of fartlek. Now, you are probably wondering, “What the heck is a fartlek?” According to Wikipedia (an occasionally reliable source), “fartlek” is the Swedish word for “speed play.” This word is used to describe a training method that includes periods of fast running intermixed with periods of slower running over a long distance. Likewise, medical school is a long-distance race, but there are times when I have to make mental sprints to learn insane amounts of knowledge in a small window of time.
My medical school curriculum consists of four years. The first two years are almost entirely academic with minimal patient interaction. The third and fourth years are the clinical years in the hospital. The first year of the curriculum covers the intricacies of biochemistry, physiology, anatomy, histology (microscopic anatomy), and neuroscience. The second-year curriculum covers pathology, immunology, microbiology, and pharmacology. All of these courses will culminate in one large exam called Step 1, which most people contend is the most important test in medical school. If a student passes all of these classes with a 75% of higher, then he/she will enter the third-year clinical rotations in pediatrics, internal medicine, surgery, psychiatry, family medicine, and obstetrics/gynecology. Supposedly, the fourth year of medical school is most students’ favorite year because they can do clinical rotations in specialties of particular interest to them, such as emergency medicine, anesthesiology, neurosurgery, etc. Fourth year also involves traveling around the country to interview for residency programs, which involve at least three additional years of clinical training that every doctor must do before being able to practice as an independent physician. The first two years of medical school are the antithesis of your favorite medical TV show (personally, I am a fan of Code Black). I am not intubating patients, reviving patients after an hour of chest compressions, or delivering conjoined twins from the back of an ambulance. In reality, I spend most of my days taking notes on my computer and then highlighting my notes on my iPad. Since lectures are recorded, I watch most of the lectures from one of my favorite study spots – Star City McDonalds, the Ruby cafeteria, Terra Café, Barnes & Noble, and my kitchen table. I receive approximately three new hourlong lectures each weekday. Then, I have an exam about every three weeks. Each exam contains approximately 100 questions and can cover major themes or minute details from the lectures. Basically, I attempt to absorb every detail from the lectures while knowing that I will never be able to learn every detail in the limited time we have before each exam. Metaphorically speaking, learning the mass amount of information is akin to drinking out a firehose, but the fast pace and rigor become more bearable over time. After talking with several upperclassmen, the consensus is that the first two years are by far the most difficult years. While the third and fourth years are still highly challenging and involve strenuous days, these years are much more rewarding because there is a greater amount of patient interaction and opportunities to participate in hands-on learning. For the third and fourth years, approximately 50% of my class will complete those years in Morgantown, 40% in Charleston, and 10% in Martinsburg. My assigned campus is Morgantown, which means that I will remain close to home and not have to worry about moving to another city. After finishing my first year of medical school, I know there are still many long days of studying ahead and hundreds of lectures on the horizon, but I look forward to beginning my clinical education in almost one year. Until then, I will continue to run this mental fartlek. |
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