Below is a smattering of photos collected by M3 Anna Tarasidis depicting what her classmates carry in their white coat pockets. This Sunday is the Class of 2022’s White Coat Ceremony, in which they will receive their white coats and recite their Class of 2022 White Coat Oath for the first time together. With a careful balance of respect and celebration, this day is an important reminder of the magnitude of the profession of medicine. Continue Reading →
One thousand, three hundred and ninety-one days lie ahead of us as first-year medical students. These are days to which many forewarn – the compilation of immense stress, challenge, and fatigue that we have yet to experience. Yet as we begin this journey, there is the notion of hope. A hope that although what lies in front of us may be daunting, we will prevail as a new generation of patient-centered physicians.
Medicine is an art gallery- full of brilliant paintings that were each created to be appreciated, respected, and evaluated for her beauty and tale.
All the stories of unforgettable adventures, of newly kindled love, of inspiring realizations, and of tumultuous troubles are articulated from the various strokes and colors depicted upon each canvas.
I’ve been contributing to this blog for a few years now, and every entry seems to eventually come around to this one idea: how much I love being a medical student and how much deeper that feeling is each time I reflect upon it. My class’s 3rd year of medical school started in May 2017. In that month alone, I saw more patients than I had ever seen before, at least ten-fold. As suggested by an upperclassman, I kept a shorthand diary on patients who struck me academically, emotionally, or humorously. The joy of first learning inevitably fades with time, and this diary is my reminder.
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I feel immensely fortunate to be a student at USCSOMG. I have been placed in the company of people who care about the doctor that I become in the realm of my skills, knowledge and most importantly my humanity. I imagine after years of practice, it is easy to reduce a patient to their illness; stripping them of humanity, lessening them to a collection of symptoms. I am encouraged that this practice has been discouraged since my arrival here 10 short months ago. In our gross anatomy lab, the kind, selfless people who gave their bodies as tools of teaching are called, “Donors”. Annually, there is a Donor Ceremony in their honor. In their tribute, I penned a poem.
I grew up in a small town in South Carolina where everybody knew everybody. People I’d never spoken to knew my entire life story, and I knew the drama about their mama’s sister’s cousin. No matter where I was, I was surrounded by people who knew me. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. When I was in a car wreck, people stopped left and right to lend a hand. When I was out on a date, people were also there to call my mama and make sure she knew every detail. It was a small, tight-knit community, and it gave off the sense of family. We were there for each other, in all things. We knew who was sick, who had just received a difficult diagnosis, or who had a relative in the hospital. It was all common knowledge. It was just what we did.
An open thank you from a medical student to nursing staff (everywhere):
When I started as a nursing assistant, I had three goals: gaining clinical experience, seeing what doctors do on a day-to-day basis, and paying rent. While I did gain invaluable clinical experience, the revelation I had would shape me as a physician forever: nurses run the world. More specifically, nurses run the hospital floor. I very rarely had interactions with the physicians, but the knowledge that I gleaned from my nursing staff has benefited me as a medical student and I am confident that it will help me in the future as a physician.
Medicine is my dream. It puts you to the test, figuratively and literally. Being able to be in its presence is something that is earned and fought for. It’s like Mt. Everest- a long treacherous hike, full of obstacles, to get to the reward at the top. Medicine is not easy.
Here, at the end of didactic education, how do you say goodbye to the room you have spent every day of the last two years in?
The room where you learned to do a cardiac exam, where you had your inevitable final exam meltdowns, where you celebrated good test grades, and where you studied late nights and early mornings. The room that introduced you to the people who are now family.