It's so hard to say goodbye

There are a few things that I've started to adjust to during my 3rd year as a medical student.  A history and physical work-up for a consult may be as simple as listening to a patient's heart and lungs through their gown, and making sure they are conscious.  A full history and physical is almost never done, and there's no time even in an office appointment.  The part that bothers me the most in the hospital is how some of the doctors close their encounter with the patient.  They will get a focused history, do a basic physical, and then without a word they will leave the room in a walk as brisk as that of an incontinent rushing to the bathroom.  Occasionally, the doctors will finish their physical and linger to say "ok" before leaving the room.  Then, in the grand order of things the attending leaves the room, then the resident, then the intern, and me and the patient are left behind a little baffled about what the next plan of action is going to be.  Sometimes I feel obligated to linger and tell the patient, "You will be admitted to the floor upstairs soon.  The doctor will come by to see you tomorrow morning, goodbye."  Then I scurry off to catch up with the team.  

Am I missing something?  When does the patient get informed about what happens next?  Do the nurses tell them?  Has the emergency room doctor already explained to them that they will be admitted to the hospital?  Do the attendings come back around after team rounds to inform the patients about the care?  They don't even say goodbye, or we'll see you tomorrow, not even a ttyl.  Fortunately, it's not as bad in pediatrics because even the most socially inept doctor will understand a parent's need to be informed of their child's care.  I'm figuring out the doctors I respect the most always ask the patient if they have any questions at the end of the interview, and actually explain what drugs they will be getting while they are in the hospital (i.e. you're getting Vancomycin, a very potent antibiotic, instead of we will give you some medicine, and see how things go).  In the end, not many patients complain and everybody will get their questions answered eventually.  Though I still think many of these docs could use a review of the 2nd years FCP closing the interview lecture. 

Now for your enjoyment, the blast from the past that brought you the title of this post.  Four part harmony gets me every time.

--By Farrah, who actually likes pediatrics after HATING internal and family medicine.  I may just want to be a doctor after all.  

Careful, the beverage you're about to enjoy is extremely hot

Over the weekend, Mariam and I decided to go to the library.  Yes, you read that right, the library.  Only one person stopped me to tell me, "You're not a library person, what are you doing here?"  

I wouldn't go without a small dose of caffeine so we stopped at the local Biggby Coffee (formerly known as Beaners until they figured out that slang was not very nice, even this far from the border).  I go to that location of Biggby coffee pretty often as they're coffee doesn't taste burnt and the barista once told me (when I wasn't wearing any makeup and hadn't brushed my hair), "Oh my God, you're so pretty. I'm jealous."  

I instantly liked her, and she subsequently put fancy latte art in my small vanilla bean to go.  The same barista was there this weekend when Mariam and I went in for some coffee.  I ordered my regular latte, and Mariam ordered some tea to sooth the pharyngitis given to her by the evil sick children in pediatrics.  The barista put a heart in my latte, and I bragged to Mariam about how I'm special while I went to get a lid.  

The barista said, "I only give hearts to my special customers" as she handed Mariam her tea too aggressively because it splashed onto Mariam's wrist.  The barista then exclaimed, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, let's get it under cold water!"  

Mariam still in shock said, "It's okay" as the barista dragged her behind the counter to the sink.  Then Mariam's wrist started to hurt as the shock wore off.  Mariam ran off to the bathroom to get a paper towel.  The barista apologetically said, "Oh no, I give you a heart, and I burn your friend," but she then went to the back.  She never reemerged, and Mariam and I were left on out own to tend to her burn as it started to blister.  We got a cup of ice and paper towels, and wrapped Mariam's arm like a carpal tunnel victim.  

Mariam frantically said, "Should we go to the ER?"

I replied, "No, we'll just go to the pharmacy and get some silvedene," impressing myself with my knowledge of burn care.  

We went to Walmart (ugh), Mariam's dad talked to the pharmacist, and we finally made it to school where Mariam told everybody what the incompetent staff of Biggby did to her wrist.  

This whole ordeal reminds me of burns I would get when I was a kid.  The worst episode happened when I was around 10 years old.  I was watching my brother light smoke balls in the driveway around the 4th of July.  He wouldn't let me play with the matches or the smoke balls.  He would just throw them himself and expect me to be pleased by watching the colorful plumes of smoke without the joy of playing with fire.  He went inside when all the fireworks in the package were gone.  I searched the whole driveway for any firework left unlit.  I finally found a black smoke ball that looked intact.  I grasped my tiny hand around it as I realized it had been lit before and hadn't gone off.  I dropped it, but not before it left a burning red circle in my palm.  I ran screaming inside to my mom to take me to the doctor, anything to make it feel better.  This is when my mom went to her trusty home remedy that never made sense to any of us - toothpaste.  She slathered sticky, minty Colgate all over my hand.  I didn't really feel better, but I just sat on the front steps wishing the burning would stop, feeling sorry for myself.  Eventually, the burn calmed down and I didn't have a lasting scar (maybe there's something to this toothpaste thing).  Hopefully the same will happen for Mariam.  

--By Farrah, who wonders if she can ever go back to that Biggby Coffee now that Mariam has contacted the corporate office with her complaints

The Amazon Wish List

The days of getting crappy birthday presents that you have to trudge down to the mall and try to return are long gone. The Amazon.com wish list function has changed all of that. However, since becoming a popular trend amongst the Dream Team, I realized that a public wish list comes with its own baggage and potential for embarrassments.

I pride myself on my cultural pretensions - deeming myself a literary conossiuer. For example, I'd like to read about Sophia Hawthorne (Nathaniel's wife) and her sisters. This shows the world (i.e. people who stalk my wish list) that I am interested in American cultural history - I am no Joe Sixpack! But look a little closer, and one realizes that this book has been on my wish list since 2006, and the paperback version has been available for one year now.

Sometimes I look at my wish list and think of it as a work of art - a mix of eclectic and intellectual - not too geeky and not too mainstream. A great way for my future husband to look at the list and say, "Wow, Mariam seems very interesting. I'd really like to get to know a girl who wants to read a book entitled Heavy Metal Islam!"

That all changed yesterday. Sarah told me she had been stalking my wish list to find me birthday present.
"I found this wish list, and I was really confused - all the books were chick lit. I wasn't sure it was yours because it had books like In Your Shoes and Loose Lips."
As I stared at her in shock, Farrah helpfully added, "Maybe that was another Mariam Qureshi!"
"Yeah! There's a Maryam Qureshi right here in Toledo" I exclaimed. I'm a horrible liar so I mumbled, "Um I had different reading tastes back then."

When I got home, I typed in my name into the "Wish List search" box and sure enough, the embarrassing list that had 8 chick lit books from circa 2003 appeared. Teenager Mariam liked to read books with shoes and bows on them, books with little character development, a formulaic plot, and a saccharine romantic ending. And so, I did what any self-respecting, pretentious hipster who had a reputation to protect would do - I made that list private.

But then I realized we spend so much of our time ignoring the fact that we were geeks way back when. We weren't always the picture of the cool, self-assured future professional who likes NPR, Ethiopian food, and the complete works of Ian McEwan. At some point in our lives, all of us (with the exception of Gwenyth Paltrow) were nerdy 17 year-olds who read those dumb romance novels with the sad hope that we, too, could find love in the most unrealistic, unreasonable place imaginable. And then I had an epiphany - the fact that we were not always the epitome of cool was okay, and we should own our high school geekiness and blog about our embarrassments for the world.

Full disclosure: my current wish list
My wish list as a teenager

--By Mariam, who has to get up at 5:30 tomorrow so that she can vote. Who knew being a good citizen would require such grave sacrifice?