I'm going to keep this brief (for real this time).
I just got home from my second exam in CSF, the completion of which marks the beginning of my two week winter vacation!!!! Now, I've obviously had breaks like this before; I've been through demanding courses, taken big exams. I've even had whole weeks of tests for undergraduate finals. Yet I can honestly say that I have NEVER felt this excited, grateful, and utterly RELIEVED to go on break before today. Like the almighty Atlas on the day the Earth comes to an end, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. These last few weeks in CSF have been long and exhausting. We started in on biochemistry during the latter portion of this block; while it was definitely nice to get back into familiar territory (this was the first time since the start of med. school that we have studied something that I have learned previously), the sheer extent of information was vastly overwhelming. The material that we covered during the first two days of the biochemistry section--that's a total of just eight hours of lecture--was literally equivalent to what I learned in an entire 10-week term during undergrad. And that was just two days. We had another week of biochemistry to follow, not to mention the week and a half of histology that we had already suffered through. My head has never felt so jam-packed with cell types, tissue features, enzyme reactions, etc.
...But it was fun. And I'm super excited to be studying biochemistry (which we will cover exclusively in this class from here on out). And so far, I've been impressed with how much I have forgotten, but ASTONISHED with how fast it has come back. Next block is going to be another intense one, but I'm looking forward to it. But for now, all I'm looking forward to is a wonderfully relaxing two weeks of relaxing, reading, snowboarding, eating, video games and family time. Speaking of family, I'm just about to kick it all off by heading over to Mom/Dad's for what will surely be an incredible movie night. Could this get any better? ...Wait, what? IT'S ALMOST CHRISTMAS?! Why, that's my favorite holiday! And you brought me eggnog? You shouldn't have! And, are those cookies I smell my roommate baking this very moment? They most certainly are! Man... Life. Is. Goooood.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
Life is Like a Box of Prostates...
We kicked off the new term in PCM last week learning how to perform breast, prostate and gynecological exams. They started off the class informing us that we would not, in fact, be practicing on each other as we had when learning previous physical examination skills (oh what a shame). Instead, we would use a series of very expensive, somewhat lifelike models.
As if performing these exams on lifeless, fleshy-plastic figurines wasn't weird enough, the models had a particular feature (or lack thereof) that made the experience even stranger: they were completely cut off both above the waist and below the knees, like some Old Navy commercial gone horribly wrong: "OK, Bill, put the cute dog with the Christmas sweater over there, aaaand let's go ahead and have the talking mannequins stand right over here, right next to the running wood chipper. Yeah, yeah, right there. Perfect.".
It was really quite the sight. The classroom was filled with these truncated teaching aids--dismembered, yet strangely anatomically correct--on which we spent the good part of an afternoon performing finger-orifice explorations. In addition to the models, we had some other fun learning aids as well. At one point we passed around a single, fleshy, lifelike breast in order to practicefeeling palpating ("now I'm going to feel your breast, ma'am") for lesions. There were six lesions total in this particular breast model; we were instructed to employ to the aptly named "lawnmower" pattern in order to ensure a thorough examination (gotta catch 'em all!).
But my favorite part of this is-this-seriously-happening-in-real-life? afternoon wasn't the shaming of pelvic amputees; nor was it the disembodied breast, the dangling testicles, or even the bag of scrotums (about which our professor actually said: "hey, you don't happen to have any scrotums over there, do you? Oh, you do? Great. Could you toss me one"). No, in thinking back, my favorite part of this laughably educational day was, without question, the box of prostates. It was a small, white box, housing six heart-shaped prostates of various sizes, colors and consistencies. At first glance, it might even have been mistaken for something one might receive as a Valentine's gift, or perhaps as a token of apology after a particularly distressing argument. In fact, the over-sized, discolored one (prostate #4, I believe) even had a light-brownish tint to it, giving it a distinct caramel-like appearance (dulce de próstata, anyone?).
They were arranged in neat little rows--the prostates, I mean--each more interesting than the last. And so we passed the box down the line, taking our turn at trying to commit to haptic memory the difference between the feel of spongy, healthy prostate from that of hypertrophied, tumorous one. And though I will likely soon forget these tactile distinctions, the memory of this ridiculously outlandish day will forever remain. In fact, I'm sure it has already been stored safely away in my memory vault--filed appropriately under "P", for prostate--right along with other favorites like M:milking bowels, D:disarticulated heads, and S:skullcap removals.
But never fear: I was sure to leave some room in the vault for the many more wacko, mysterious adventures that are surely to come. For if my medical education thus far has taught me anything, it's that life truly is like a box of [prostates]: ya really never know what you're gonna get.
Let's just hope it's not cancer. ...Or coconut.
As if performing these exams on lifeless, fleshy-plastic figurines wasn't weird enough, the models had a particular feature (or lack thereof) that made the experience even stranger: they were completely cut off both above the waist and below the knees, like some Old Navy commercial gone horribly wrong: "OK, Bill, put the cute dog with the Christmas sweater over there, aaaand let's go ahead and have the talking mannequins stand right over here, right next to the running wood chipper. Yeah, yeah, right there. Perfect.".
It was really quite the sight. The classroom was filled with these truncated teaching aids--dismembered, yet strangely anatomically correct--on which we spent the good part of an afternoon performing finger-orifice explorations. In addition to the models, we had some other fun learning aids as well. At one point we passed around a single, fleshy, lifelike breast in order to practice
But my favorite part of this is-this-seriously-happening-in-real-life? afternoon wasn't the shaming of pelvic amputees; nor was it the disembodied breast, the dangling testicles, or even the bag of scrotums (about which our professor actually said: "hey, you don't happen to have any scrotums over there, do you? Oh, you do? Great. Could you toss me one"). No, in thinking back, my favorite part of this laughably educational day was, without question, the box of prostates. It was a small, white box, housing six heart-shaped prostates of various sizes, colors and consistencies. At first glance, it might even have been mistaken for something one might receive as a Valentine's gift, or perhaps as a token of apology after a particularly distressing argument. In fact, the over-sized, discolored one (prostate #4, I believe) even had a light-brownish tint to it, giving it a distinct caramel-like appearance (dulce de próstata, anyone?).
They were arranged in neat little rows--the prostates, I mean--each more interesting than the last. And so we passed the box down the line, taking our turn at trying to commit to haptic memory the difference between the feel of spongy, healthy prostate from that of hypertrophied, tumorous one. And though I will likely soon forget these tactile distinctions, the memory of this ridiculously outlandish day will forever remain. In fact, I'm sure it has already been stored safely away in my memory vault--filed appropriately under "P", for prostate--right along with other favorites like M:milking bowels, D:disarticulated heads, and S:skullcap removals.
But never fear: I was sure to leave some room in the vault for the many more wacko, mysterious adventures that are surely to come. For if my medical education thus far has taught me anything, it's that life truly is like a box of [prostates]: ya really never know what you're gonna get.
Let's just hope it's not cancer. ...Or coconut.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Health Care Haiku #2
Haiku number two, for you (woo hoo!)...
Histology lab:
where else could you hear things like,
"Hey, hand me that (non-keratinized, stratified squamous epithelialized) skin"
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The Cut of His Jib
I know what you're thinking. And yes, I agree. I have been slacking off in my self-proclaimed duty to provide you, my readers, with unparalleled joy and entertainment in an otherwise mundane world. Believe me, I understand the melancholy you have felt while sitting at your computer, day after day, hour after hour, staring hopelessly at an ever-unchanging screen as you lackadaisically hit the refresh button, again and again, over and over to no avail. And for this, I am sorry. I have failed you as of late in my prolonged literary absence. And yet, I returned to you today in order to make amends, to rectify this injustice and to attempt to once again instill in you the sense of wonder and exultation that is my everyday life.
...Unfortunately, since I have just used virtually all of my oh-so limited time in composing the preface to my story--which was, dare I say, the literary equivalent to a finely-aged cheese (or, better yet, a properly cooked tuna melt)--I am going to have the keep this brief. So, here is an abridged summary of the last few weeks of my life. I apologize to those of you who have spoken with me recently: much of this will probably be old news (so hopefully you all find reviews as necessary, if not titillating, as I do).
Then came our final laboratory exam. As I'm sure you can imagine, after the final few days of dissection, identifying facial structures was no easy task. What we were left with hardly looked like anything, let alone a human face. I wish I could find the words to adequately describe the sheer mess that we were left with on exam day. Suffice it to say that the first step of every structural identification involved trying to find some sort of discernible landmark--a nose, a tongue, perhaps some teeth, if you were lucky--and ultimately guessing at how far the structure had been displaced from its proper place of origin.
And just like that, it was on to our next class: Cell Structure and Function (CSF)!
2. Well, since my first story got a bit out of hand, I'll try to keep the rest of these brief. Thus far, CSF has been an interesting change of pace. This class (along with all of my medical school classes from here on out) necessitates a completely different style of studying, a change which has been somewhat difficult to get used to. The material is just SO different. Not to mention the teaching styles, and even the course layout. For the first two blocks, we mostly focus on histology--the microscopic study of tissue. Although the lecture material is pretty dry, the labs have been fairly interesting. We are learning to identify different tissue/cell types under the microscope, which essentially comes down to trying to differentiate between a pinkish-purple blob and a purplish-pink dot. Simple, eh?
3. I got to play doctor during my first OSCE (Objective Structured Clinical Examination). OSCEs are once-a-term tests of clinical skills; they require us to take histories and perform physical examinations on various standardized patients. It's a pretty cool idea (they have an entire building setup for clinical practice and examinations), and was actually fairly fun, though one of my cases ended up going really poorly. I feel that we were not at all adequately prepared to deal with that particular case, so I'm still a bit frustrated about that. Oh well.
4. I start my new preceptorship next Tuesday. This time I will be working with a neurologist. I'm pretty excited to get started and see what will come of it.
That's it for now. Updates will be posted as they (and I) become available. In the meantime, I hope that I have temporarily satiated your lust for my written word. Adieu!
*To clear up any undesired confusion, "Disarticulated Head Day" does not in fact refer to some obscure national holiday, but rather to a previous blog post about one of my stranger experiences to date (see "An Ode to H.P. Lovecraft").
...Unfortunately, since I have just used virtually all of my oh-so limited time in composing the preface to my story--which was, dare I say, the literary equivalent to a finely-aged cheese (or, better yet, a properly cooked tuna melt)--I am going to have the keep this brief. So, here is an abridged summary of the last few weeks of my life. I apologize to those of you who have spoken with me recently: much of this will probably be old news (so hopefully you all find reviews as necessary, if not titillating, as I do).
1. Gross Imagining and Embryology, the first course of my medical career, came to an official end a few weeks back. I don't have too much else to say about this, though I would like to describe for you one final laboratory experience. As you will understand momentarily, failing to tell you this little anecdotal gem would be an absolute detriment to your personal well-being, an injustice for which I refuse be held accountable. As for those less fortunate individuals who, for whatever inexcusable reason, lack access to my blog, I can only pray that they take refuge in some other source of literary enlightenment.
...But again, I ramble. On to the story.
So, following Disarticulated Head Day*, we continued with the horror-fest some call learning anatomy. Being the sane people that I know you all are, you are probably wondering what further abhorrent experiences they could possibly subject us to now that the cadaver's head was practically detached from the body. Well, sanity, it seems, is not a prerequisite for medicine. We were next tasked with exposing the nasal cavities via a "bisection of the head." ...Let me elaborate. For this dissection, we split the cadaver's face in two with our choice of, and I quote, "a butcher’s saw" (I can't make this stuff up) or "a short bone saw." Now, for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of using a butcher's saw, let me describe it for you. It pretty much looks and functions just the way that it sounds: like a freakin' meat cleaver with teeth.
After selecting our weapon of choice (my group decided to go Paul Bunion style with the simple bone saw), we proceeded to cut through the face. Now, when I say cut, I don't mean cut as in using your steak knife to slice up a tasty summer sausage (an activity much better likened to our genitalia dissection), I'm talkin' 'bout 2-man, back-n-forth, heave-ho, jeans and plaid, lumberjack style sawing. Except, you know, through a human face.
After selecting our weapon of choice (my group decided to go Paul Bunion style with the simple bone saw), we proceeded to cut through the face. Now, when I say cut, I don't mean cut as in using your steak knife to slice up a tasty summer sausage (an activity much better likened to our genitalia dissection), I'm talkin' 'bout 2-man, back-n-forth, heave-ho, jeans and plaid, lumberjack style sawing. Except, you know, through a human face.
Then came our final laboratory exam. As I'm sure you can imagine, after the final few days of dissection, identifying facial structures was no easy task. What we were left with hardly looked like anything, let alone a human face. I wish I could find the words to adequately describe the sheer mess that we were left with on exam day. Suffice it to say that the first step of every structural identification involved trying to find some sort of discernible landmark--a nose, a tongue, perhaps some teeth, if you were lucky--and ultimately guessing at how far the structure had been displaced from its proper place of origin.
And just like that, it was on to our next class: Cell Structure and Function (CSF)!
2. Well, since my first story got a bit out of hand, I'll try to keep the rest of these brief. Thus far, CSF has been an interesting change of pace. This class (along with all of my medical school classes from here on out) necessitates a completely different style of studying, a change which has been somewhat difficult to get used to. The material is just SO different. Not to mention the teaching styles, and even the course layout. For the first two blocks, we mostly focus on histology--the microscopic study of tissue. Although the lecture material is pretty dry, the labs have been fairly interesting. We are learning to identify different tissue/cell types under the microscope, which essentially comes down to trying to differentiate between a pinkish-purple blob and a purplish-pink dot. Simple, eh?
3. I got to play doctor during my first OSCE (Objective Structured Clinical Examination). OSCEs are once-a-term tests of clinical skills; they require us to take histories and perform physical examinations on various standardized patients. It's a pretty cool idea (they have an entire building setup for clinical practice and examinations), and was actually fairly fun, though one of my cases ended up going really poorly. I feel that we were not at all adequately prepared to deal with that particular case, so I'm still a bit frustrated about that. Oh well.
4. I start my new preceptorship next Tuesday. This time I will be working with a neurologist. I'm pretty excited to get started and see what will come of it.
That's it for now. Updates will be posted as they (and I) become available. In the meantime, I hope that I have temporarily satiated your lust for my written word. Adieu!
*To clear up any undesired confusion, "Disarticulated Head Day" does not in fact refer to some obscure national holiday, but rather to a previous blog post about one of my stranger experiences to date (see "An Ode to H.P. Lovecraft").
Monday, November 1, 2010
An Ode to H. P. Lovecraft
Here is the actual text from the instructions for today's lab:
"Today there are two dissections. Most tables will dissect the suboccipital region - a few tables will detach the head from the vertebral column."
Ahem.
Only a few tables? Oh please, please, please, please!
*Dramatic pause...*
I'm happy to say that my table was indeed one of the few, the proud, the....macabre.
So, we started off the dissection by
...On second thought, this really needs no further explanation.
"Today there are two dissections. Most tables will dissect the suboccipital region - a few tables will detach the head from the vertebral column."
Ahem.
Only a few tables? Oh please, please, please, please!
*Dramatic pause...*
I'm happy to say that my table was indeed one of the few, the proud, the....macabre.
...On second thought, this really needs no further explanation.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Brains, Eyeballs & Mangled Faces: A Halloween-Themed Week in Med School
Those of you who read my previous post are privy to the fact that Tuesday's dissection was, well, epic. Human scalping (I actually forgot to mention this part), skull removal, brain adoration; essentially a day filled with revelry and stupefaction. After a day like that, the rest of the week must have been unbearably mundane, right? WRONG. Imagine my surprise when, upon arriving to lab on Thursday, I found myself in for yet another wonderful anatomical treat: the eye dissection.
Now, as many of you know, I absolutely LOVE the brain. Neuroscience was pretty much my passion during undergrad, and I continue to maintain an emphatic interest in the subject. However, I'd be outright lying if I said that the eye didn't have its own special place in my heart; if the brain is my high school sweetheart, the eye is my secret love affair. So although Thursday's dissection wasn't quite as thrilling (we don't have quite as much history together), it was still a remarkable experience. So here, back by popular demand, is another abridged* summary of lab-day events:
Step 1. Remove eyelids
Step 2. Deflate eyeball
Step 3. --
Step 4. Oh, yeah... It's probably going to squirt... Sorry about that.
Step 5. Remove Eyeball
Step 6. Check it out, man!
**Duh nuh nuh nuh! You've found a lens implant! These can be used to replace an old/faulty lens to correct for age-related vision loss. It has been added to your inventory.**
Step 7. Rejoice, marvel, revel, etc.
Awesome. End of story.
Story two: begin. We had the absolute COOLEST lecture on Friday. Throughout GIE, we will occasionally have guests give "Clinical Correlate" lectures, which are presentations that connect what we've been learning in anatomy to actual clinical medicine. This often includes surgeries/procedures that require the use of specific knowledge pertaining to the area we are studying at the time. Some past lectures have covered such topics as colorectal and urogenital surgeries, sports injury repairs, etc. Though these lectures have always been nice in that they provide a sense of context for the material, they haven't been particularly thrilling until now. But THIS week, oh man.
The lecturer this week, an absolutely hysterical, animated plastic surgeon, gave a halloween-themed presentation on facial reconstruction surgery. I have to say, the things these surgeons can do are absolutely unbelievable. He talked about reconstructing a patient's ear by tracing out a template and using cartilage from their ribs. He lectured on laparoscopic (minimally invasive surgery by camera) skull repairs. He described replacing a girl's scalp who had gotten her hair caught in farm machinery. He even told us about reconstructing AN ENTIRE FACE for a man who, in desperation, had shot himself with a shotgun. Un-be-lievable. And of course, along with the lecture, he provided us with ample, gruesome (perfectly appropriate for Halloween) pictures and videos of the procedures. What a perfect ending to a delightful week of fantastical anatomical exhibitions.
*NOTICE: Some artistic liberties have been taken. Events may have occurred slightly differently than portrayed.
Now, as many of you know, I absolutely LOVE the brain. Neuroscience was pretty much my passion during undergrad, and I continue to maintain an emphatic interest in the subject. However, I'd be outright lying if I said that the eye didn't have its own special place in my heart; if the brain is my high school sweetheart, the eye is my secret love affair. So although Thursday's dissection wasn't quite as thrilling (we don't have quite as much history together), it was still a remarkable experience. So here, back by popular demand, is another abridged* summary of lab-day events:
Step 1. Remove eyelids
Step 2. Deflate eyeball
Step 3. --
Step 4. Oh, yeah... It's probably going to squirt... Sorry about that.
Step 5. Remove Eyeball
Step 6. Check it out, man!
**Duh nuh nuh nuh! You've found a lens implant! These can be used to replace an old/faulty lens to correct for age-related vision loss. It has been added to your inventory.**
Step 7. Rejoice, marvel, revel, etc.
Awesome. End of story.
Story two: begin. We had the absolute COOLEST lecture on Friday. Throughout GIE, we will occasionally have guests give "Clinical Correlate" lectures, which are presentations that connect what we've been learning in anatomy to actual clinical medicine. This often includes surgeries/procedures that require the use of specific knowledge pertaining to the area we are studying at the time. Some past lectures have covered such topics as colorectal and urogenital surgeries, sports injury repairs, etc. Though these lectures have always been nice in that they provide a sense of context for the material, they haven't been particularly thrilling until now. But THIS week, oh man.
The lecturer this week, an absolutely hysterical, animated plastic surgeon, gave a halloween-themed presentation on facial reconstruction surgery. I have to say, the things these surgeons can do are absolutely unbelievable. He talked about reconstructing a patient's ear by tracing out a template and using cartilage from their ribs. He lectured on laparoscopic (minimally invasive surgery by camera) skull repairs. He described replacing a girl's scalp who had gotten her hair caught in farm machinery. He even told us about reconstructing AN ENTIRE FACE for a man who, in desperation, had shot himself with a shotgun. Un-be-lievable. And of course, along with the lecture, he provided us with ample, gruesome (perfectly appropriate for Halloween) pictures and videos of the procedures. What a perfect ending to a delightful week of fantastical anatomical exhibitions.
*NOTICE: Some artistic liberties have been taken. Events may have occurred slightly differently than portrayed.
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