Simple gifts

Every now and then, you find something that you would totally buy for yourself if it weren't so perfect for someone else.

Today, I was browsing some holiday guides, trolling for The Perfect Gift, and then I found this website for string doll key chains...each with its own name and "superpower." And not only were they cute, they were pretty much so perfect, I couldn't imagine my friends without them.

For my friend Ankur, who loves The Simpsons, and sent everyone every single version of the SpiderPig song that he could find:

For my friend Amy who is an absolute dance STAR on stage (of course, I'd get it in the color green, not blue):

For my friend Jefferson, who reminds me of Paul Farmer, because he's going to save the world (and because he's Mormon):

For my little sister, who sits in her room with no lights on, and listens to angsty teen music:

And for my friend Jeff, who is happier being sad and moody than being happy (he and my sister would make a great couple):

For my best friend and roommate, Lisa, who not only has the best heart and intentions in the world, and also listens to all of my lovelorn problems and fixes them:

For my friend Rachel, who is Jewish, loves playing poker, but also could make a living out of playing soccer, I'd have to debate between these two:


And for my friend Neil, because his name is Neil (and I personally think this one is the cutest):

And then for Martin, as a thank you for dating someone who had an overactive pituitary gland as a child:

Too bad the price tag on these things isn't as adorable. Keep your fingers crossed for me that Cyber Monday will lead to a huge sale on these so that I can afford to stay in school and actually buy Christmas presents for my friends.

The Hokey Pokey (that's what it's all about)

There is a website where this guy will mail you stuff if you buy things from him. There's one where if you help pay for a trip to Japan, he'll mail you an envelope full of star sand. (There's a picture of the sand, and it really is quite beautiful since it's all made up of little tiny shells and pretty shaped things.)

There are empty envelopes for sale, one-of-a-kind pictures of the sky, lava rocks, etc. And I kind of want to donate to all of these things, because they're unique and interesting, and I want to feel like I do more than just sit in my room and study. How cool would it be to say that you funded a expedition to Iceland for lava rocks? Or a mission to Japan for star sand?

But I think the one thing for sale that appealed to me most was this one:
Seriously, how wonderful is that? To know that you're just giving away free cookies. You're gonna buy $30 worth of cookies and make that many people smile. It's something so simple, and yet, bound to make at least one person's day. I know if I got a free cookie, I would be ecstatic. I'd be so happy I might even clap my hands because I know it and I really ought to show it.

I almost clicked on that PayPal link. And I started fantasizing about what my bullet point would say. "Michelle purchased the giving away of cookies from Mrs. Fields' in Chicago, IL. The first cookie was given to a homeless man on Michigan Ave. and Erie, and the last one was given to a doorman at the Trump Tower."

And then I decided that I would make some cookies of my own, and hand them out. After all, it's not like I don't have two hands to bake with, or two legs to walk around with, or one mouth to yell out "Free COOKIES!" with. Maybe I'll hand them out in the Loop, or next to the beach, or maybe for all those shoppers on Michigan Ave.

'Tis the season, after all. I can't wait to make some people smile.

Damaged

** Sorry to renege on promises, but I'm recuperating from test-taking and the fantastic-ness of last night's Thanksgiving Eve dinner. And on that note, turkey in a bag works!

---

An old friend of mine called me up today out of the blue.

You won't believe who I just ran into on the street!

It was one of our former co-workers. He was kinda sleezy back then - proclaiming his love for Asian girls right and left, hoping his Southern accent would get him some tail, and declaring everything as "awesome."

Run into, or run over?

We laughed, moved on, and started reminiscing about that wonderful summer. We worked hard - who knew that faculty advising high schoolers would be so difficult? - but we definitely played harder. 3AM trips to the local UCLA pub, nightly Journey karaoke, trips to SF and Vegas. Summer '06 was a good one.

And then of course, that brought up the End of Cycle employee party. Akin to a normal office party, but with young sleep-deprived twenty-somethings, some pot, lots of alcohol, and a sleep pod.

I have to study, so I can't go into it...but check back Wednesday for the full story. I promise, it's a good one. There was lots of puking, lots of hooking up, and lots of damage that night. Damage to furniture and hearts.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Real or not, this is pretty hilarious. Don't honk at old people...they'll fight back!



Hee hee!

Buy you a drank

RF
Yo buddy! How's it going? How's the studying?

Me
Eh, can't wait for this unit to be over.

RF
Yeah? What's up dude??

Me
Haha, I'll tell you Wednesday when I come over to help cook turkey. Three hours of pure gossiping!

RF
Oh yeah!!

Me
I'll bring beer and whine.

Me
I meant to type "wine" but that is also strangely appropriate...

Girls just wanna have fun

It's one week until Thanksgiving!!

My friends and I are having a potluck thanksgiving, and of course, the task of cooking the actual bird fell to the ladies. Now, mind you, none of us have ever roasted a chicken, much less a turkey. But we have faith in ourselves. And very detailed step-by-step recipes.

So after much emailing back and forth about different recipes, which one did we choose?

Should we live out our Top Chef dreams and make a Tom Colicchio turkey? Or go with the tried and true Martha Stewart "Perfect Roast Turkey"? I mean, even Gwyneth Paltrow raves about it in her GOOP newsletter.

Well, we decided that for our very first turkey EVER, we were going to go with...

TURKEY IN A BAG!

Yeah I know. We're such food connoisseurs, can't you tell? Apparently it works like this:

Step 1: Put frozen turkey in oven bag.

Step 2: Put turkey in the oven bag into oven and forget about it for three hours as you play board games and drink cranberry champagne cocktails. Do not worry about plastic melting into your turkey.

Step 3: Remove turkey from bag, and enjoy!


Yeah, I'm a little skeptical, but apparently it's not that far out there. I mean, there are even Reynolds Oven Bags that are specifically TURKEY SIZE.

Who knew? Seriously! This is amazing. Put it in a bag, forget about it, and somehow it will be come out JUICIER and TASTIER than you ever imagined.

I'm kinda super duper excited. But just in case, I'm hoarding all the Domino's pizza coupons I can find. I mean, we have to feed people after all.

Silent sigh

Me
Oh my god. The guy next to me in the library keeps sighing like he has the entire weight of the world on his shoulders and he has no idea what to do. He's all like - SIGH. I hate life. SIGH.

RF
What? Seriously?

Me
Yeah. Freaking every five minutes. SIGH SIGH SIGH. You know, giant deep breaths in and then a long agonizing wail as it comes back out. That's what he sounds like. You know what's even better? Every so often, he'll mutter "oh God" or "whyyyyyyyy?"

RF
WTF.

Me
I know! I want to tap him on the shoulder and tell him to go take his suicidal ideation elsewhere because his whole 'woe is me' attitude is NOT GOOD FOR CONCENTRATING. That's so mean, huh?

RF
No, it's not mean. It's necessary. Do it.

Me
Okay.

RF
NO WAIT COME BACK - I WAS KIDDING!

Wordplay

I'm kinda awkward. I know it. We all know it. But that awkwardness probably stems from the fact that I don't know how to talk to strangers or a crowd of people that numbers above six. Don't tell me to take a stand and make an argument, when I'd much rather wax poetic. Because when it comes to making a point, I usually can't. Rambling - it's what I'm good at!

In my ethics class, we always meet all together, and some speaker will come in and present us with dilemmas and then the entire classroom will discuss what to do. Or rather, five very outgoing people in our class will make their arguments, and the other forty-five of us will sit there and nod our heads appreciatively when someone makes a good point.

My biggest fear is that one day I might get called on.

Thankfully that didn't happen today.

After our large class discussion, we break up into designated small groups for more focused discussion. There are twelve students in my group. Which is apparently the magic number for things to all go to hell, because there has not been a single time when I've been able to say something succinctly without ending on "so umm, yeah, you know?"

"So umm, yeah, you know?" is probably not a good way to get people to see your point.

Today we had a discussion about quality of life. And lots of people mentioned family and having fun with your friends and enjoying activities and having the ability to actually go out and do stuff and blah blah blah. It was all good stuff. Someone was talking about how dance is so important to them, and how if they lost the ability to dance, it would be devastating to them. And then, I felt the need to participate. Mind you, I wasn't called on or anything. I could have kept nodding my head if I wanted. But something moved me to participate.

Hey, guys - do you remember that one ethics activity we did, where we described our perfect child?

They didn't.

Oh, well...maybe it was just in my group. Well, we wrote down everything we wanted for our children. Ten toes. Ten fingers. Blue eyes. Tall. Athletic. Gregarious. And so on and so forth.

Still blank stares.

You know...and then we had to determine how many of those things we could take away before we decided we didn't want that child anymore. Before we would abort the baby instead. And we realized that the one thing we wanted for our children was happiness and joy. Who cares if they don't have ten toes or ten fingers? We just wanted them to be happy. Of course, there's that one callous person in my group who wanted his daughter to be drop-dead gorgeous or have the fetus aborted --

Here, someone stifled a laugh. Whether it was at me or at my terrible attempt of a joke, I don't know. Anyways, I decided to wrap it up.

But we just want our children to be happy. So um, yeah...you know?

Blank looks still. Actually, no, the looks were all, what the heck is she talking about? Looks that were all totally warranted, because I don't think I made my point very well. Which is that we defined quality of life for our children as joy and happiness. So why should it be any different for us? Who cares if we can no longer move around or whatever? We didn't care if our kids had ten toes or none at all, as long as they were happy, we clearly thought they should be born. As long as we're happy, I think our quality of life is pretty good.

Someone else piped up then with something completely different, and discussion and attention moved away from me, thank goodness.

Sometimes I feel like a complete idiot. And this is probably why I don't pipe up in discussion all that often. Because I don't feel I can make compelling arguments, even though I know that technically, at the root of the matter, my stories do make sense and my points are good.

(Man, even that last sentence was awfully wordy.)

But seriously, I don't know what's wrong with me. I get all self-conscious, and it probably doesn't help that only one person in my small group talks to me outside of class.

Ring the alarm

This is not the kind of news you want to wake up to. Especially when it involves the only home you've ever known.



So you know how on the news there's been all this talk about the California wildfires? Turns out I shouldn't have been so cavalier about it when the talk first started. My hometown was evacuated last Saturday night. And there are pictures everywhere of the hills surrounding my town going up in flames. Even amidst stories about "lulls in winds," there are pictures of what is essentially my backyard, filled with black toxic smoke. The picture on the front page of the LA times? That's the freeway exit to my house - merely two minutes away. And even the caption refers to the firefighters doing battle. Note: they are not "fighting flames," they are battling flames.

This is the map that scares the crap out of me though. I mean, look! All arrows point to Diamond Bar. And every time they update it, the flames are ever closer. The red area encroaches farther and farther in. But what can I do? Gotta just keep my fingers crossed, say my prayers, rain dance, and perform rituals for the Wind God. They say to assume the worst, and hope for the best, right? But I'm praying for miracles. Please please please - don't burn down, house. Don't burn away because you are all of my childhood memories wrapped up in four walls.

A big hearty thank you to all the firemen out there who are fighting to keep flames from engulfing my house. Huge hugs to those flying airplanes dropping fire retardant everywhere to keep my little town standing. Thank you to the visiting fire crews for driving all night from central California just to help out Los Angeles. Thank you for doing everything you can to save my home, my childhood. You truly are heroes.

Sure, it might look different when I finally go home - a little less green, a little less pretty - but honestly, I just want a place to go home to.

To my friends out there, stay safe! And please listen to authorities and evacuate if you have to!

Single ladies

This is freaking awesome. Wow wow wow.

Better off alone

There are some days when even I can't believe how amazingly awkward I can be.

(That's not a good thing.)

Being a second year med student sucks. The constant studying and no playing makes for a terrible schedule. And now that we're about three months in without a proper vacation, people are starting to burn out a little. Despair a little. Worry a lot.

One of my classmates wrote a blog about what she was feeling. Wrote about how she was feeling a little homesick. And a little bit sick of some of her self-centered classmates. But that at the end of the day, she had fabulous friends who could get her through anything.

I read her note and empathized. And I wanted to reach through my computer and give her a giant hug and let her know that she's not alone in feeling what she's feeling. Yeah, some of our classmates are a little full of it. Yeah, I'm feeling homesick too, wishing for my mommy's cooking and my dad's god-awful karaoke. But we're all gonna get through it. And if I could be of some comfort, I wanted to let her know that I would be there for her. If she needed me for anything.

That's what I wanted to say to her.

I guess I forgot that you never address the blogging world in the real world.

The next morning in class, I yelled out her name when I saw her walking to her seat. Jeanie! Jeanie! She turned awkwardly to look at me. After all, we might be on a first name basis, but we don't necessarily talk to each other. Much less about our dreams and fears.

Yeah?

Oh, so um, I read your blog post!

...oh, um...

Yeah, and uh, I just wanted to say that...your friends are great! And I'm glad someone brought you chicken soup when you were sick because you deserve that kind of kindness...

....oh. Um. Yeah. Thanks?

At this point, my inner voice was telling me to retreat. Yelling at me to wrap it up. I mean, seriously Michelle. This conversation is awkward. Stop prolonging the awkwardness!

But I ignored it and just kept going.

Jeanie had turned around by now. And for the life of me, I don't know why I did what I did, but instead of being a normal person and dropping the subject once and for all, I instead called out her name again.

Jeanie!

She turned reluctantly to face me.

Um, you know what's funny though? When you said that 24 was just around the corner, I thought you were talking about the show! You know, the one with Kiefer Sutherland? Man, that show is awesome.

She kinda smiled and laughed politely. Yeah, no...I was talking about my birthday.

Yeah, I know... I tried to reply. But she was done with this conversation, and rightly so, because who wants to prolong a date with Awkwardness? So she had turned back around and was readying herself to take lecture notes like a good student.

I had good intentions. And all I wanted was to convey positivity and friendliness, but instead I just came off as some strange girl who stalks her blog. I came off looking possibly like a girl who is severely socially stunted. Good one, Michelle. I don't understand why I couldn't just STOP TALKING. It was just word vomit. I knew I should have stopped, but it was like a car wreck. Everything slowed down, and while I could physically see the awkwardness happening, even if I reached out my hands, I couldn't stop it from happening - I couldn't stop the words from coming out of my mouth.

I cannot wait for Thanksgiving. Hopefully I'll talk to some people and figure out how to be normal again.

We go together

Featured on PassiveAggressiveNotes.com yesterday,

I shouldn't be laughing, but it's so true! And I came so close to living there in the Asian hall. Thank goodness for Kemper - also anti-social, but integrated, not segregated, baby.

Santa Claus is coming to town

This totally put a smile on my face.



I mean, how could it not? Good job to GAP on spreading the holiday cheer. I love it (and the cute sweater that Janelle Monae is wearing)!

Underneath your clothes (there's an endless story)

I've seen my fair share of naked patients.

I'm always very aware of how uncomfortable and unnerving it must be to the patient, but it's necessary for us to perform a thorough exam - to fully be able to palpate lymph nodes and feel for pulses. And so we ask patients to change into a hospital gown, with the ties in the back. Granted, most times the patients are never completely naked. We try to give them as much of their decency as we can allow - so underwear is allowed. Sometimes bras or undergarments. But essentially, if the patient doesn't take off all their clothes, we just work around it. I remember one patient who wore five sets of underwear. He had his briefs on over an ACE bandage, and then three - count them - three different pairs of boxers. By the way, he was in the hospital for viral gastroenteritis (in other words, something completely unrelated to his genitalia). And so, when it came time to examine his abdomen, which was being completely obscured by yards of fabric, we just peeled back enough of it so that we could listen and palpate.

Anyways, the point I'm trying to make is this. No patient ever has to go completely naked. Because we know that it's awkward and weird, and makes the patient feel totally self-conscious.

Yesterday night, I was sitting in the hospital lobby, next to the Starbucks, waiting for Martin to finish his shift so that we could go home and have dinner.

As I was sitting there studying, I heard a man's voice singing as he came down the escalator. And his song got louder as he headed towards Starbucks. So I looked up. And there was a patient. In a hospital gown. And then as he breezed by me, I realized that that was ALL that he was wearing. Just the hospital gown. Just a tent-like piece of fabric barely long enough to cover his naughty bits.

Our gowns come in only one size, and you can adjust how tightly you tie it in the back. The man was slightly obese. And so the ties were pretty loose.

So yeah, as he breezed by me, I also realized he wasn't wearing any underwear. And everything his momma had given him, was hanging out. His big beautiful and saggy butt was on full display.

Best part? He came and sat down on the couch across from mine while he was waiting for his coffee to finish brewing. So to my fellow students - avoid the couch facing the window next to the entrance. After all, no one knows how well or how often they sanitize the lobby furniture.

I would say it was awesome, but I'm still flabbergasted just thinking about it.

With love

It's been one week exactly. Let's not lose that lovin' feeling. No, let's stick together and make our nation great and truly indivisible. Let's pledge our allegiance to the flag and one another. Even amidst all of our economic woes and world troubles, it really is a great time to be an American. Because there's promise of a better tomorrow.

(For more awesome love letters, go to from52to48withlove.)

Up up and away

Because sometimes, you just wanna get away - away from the world and the terribleness that sometimes comes with it - without changing out of your pajamas.

...
I really wish I had some fifty million balloons right about now, too.

If the youtube link isn't working, the HD (ie, pretty! clear! reach out and touch it!) version is here.

Stuttering

My preceptor used to really like me.

Let's back up. So I've met with my preceptor five times now. The first time we met over coffee with her other med student, and then she showed me around the hospital. She asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and not being a total kiss-ass like the other student on my team (whom responded that he too wanted to be a hospitalist, just like her), I truthfully answered that I wanted to go into pediatrics. Her face changed slightly, and she kinda ignored me for the rest of the visit. But after that initial visit, I met with her on my own and I think I was starting to win her over. She told me my oral presentations were fantastic, and I had really good bedside manner. In fact, I know I was doing better, because for our last two visits, she bought me coffee. Starbucks coffee.

And then, I had to go and ruin all of that.

So today at preceptor, I had to perform a complete history and physical on a patient. My patient turned out to by a very opinionated, but very sweet old woman (who used to be a nun!). I asked my questions and did my little exams (observe, percuss, palpate, auscultate), and went back upstairs to see my preceptor so I could give my oral presentation.

I was all over the place.

"Miss McEntire is 72 years old female with a past medical history of diabetes, presenting today with abdominal pain and lots of vomiting and nausea - five episodes max. Oh and transient ischemic attacks - four of them in May 2004, September 2006, and August 2008 - oh sorry, that was part of her pertinent past medical history. Anyways, um, this started two days ago when she, um, woke up to sharp pain radiating down to all three lower quadrants. She claims no alleviating factors, but says that lying on her left side is aggravating. Oh and position and movement. And a hot - no, warm! - water bottle. Because that's what she used to self-treat, but it ended up hurting..."

Yeah, that look on your face right now? That what the heck is she talking about face?

Mirrored on my preceptor's.

It was pretty terrible. I seriously don't know what happened. I even wrote things out in an orderly manner. I particularly like how I mentioned there were four TIAs, but only gave dates for three. Oh, and you know how I said that they were part of her pertinent past medical history? They weren't pertinent at all.

Anyways, you'd think it couldn't get any worse, but it did. At the end of my convoluted mess, my preceptor asked me what I thought it was.

"Um...."

And there was silence. For a good thirty seconds. Uncomfortable, squirm in my seat, awkward silence.

"Um...well...um..."

Here, my preceptor tried to help me out and point me in the right direction: "She had abdominal tenderness. And what did her CT show?"

"Inflammation." Right on cue.

"Right, so now what's on your differential diagnosis?"

"...um....um....malabsorption syndrome?"

"..."

I said malabsorption syndrome! Which, to my credit, does present with inflammation. But if I were just to ask a random person, what causes extreme pain on your right abdominal side that could cause you to wake up in the middle of night and needs to be taken care of right away? you'd probably get the answer my preceptor was looking for.

Because that would be appendicitis.

Or even, just something simple like 'what causes stomach pain and vomiting?' would yield a better answer than malabsorption syndrome.

Cause that would be food poisoning.

But okay, so I'm a little slow when it comes to medical diagnoses. I know I'm not going to be the next Dr. House. That's fine. The thing that broke my heart was the way my preceptor looked at me. Like she suddenly realized that I was not the mentee she was hoping for. I didn't have the smarts or natural mental acuity to be the next her. I was suddenly, just another medical student, and she was disappointed in me. She snapped out of it quickly, stepped back into her teaching role, and took me down to see the patient. And elicited all the information she needed and performed a better physical exam in less than ten minutes, whereas I was with the patient for a little over two hours. And then, I was dismissed to go home. But instead of the "good job today" that I've come to expect, I merely got a cursory "see you in two weeks."

So since then, I've been a little crushed and a lot disappointed at myself today. Because I should have done better. I know I definitely could have done better.

She didn't buy me coffee today.

God bless the USA

Yes we can! Yes we can! And we DID.

America, we made history tonight, and I couldn't be prouder. Tonight is a truly amazing, truly historical, truly wonderful night.

I came home from the library at 7pm sharp, so I could watch all the poll results come rolling in. And since I hadn't scored a Golden Ticket for the Obama rally and the Boy was on call, I was glued to the TV. I switched between Anderson Cooper on CNN (they had cool fancy graphics, although I still don't know what to think of those holograms) and the regular networks all night. No commercials for me!

And let me tell you, I was nervous all night. I tried to eat dinner, but more food ended up in my lap than in my mouth. I gnawed a hole in my sleeve when the first poll results came in, and McCain was ahead. But as the night progressed, states slowly started to flip. Obama was painting the nation blue. And at 10PM Chicago-time, history was declared. America elected its very first African-American president.

But it goes so much farther than the color of his skin. This is a man who has truly energized the nation. He's inspiring and inspired, promising to unite our divided country and restore the American Dream, and I sincerely do believe that a change is going to come.

Yesterday - even just earlier today - I was glad that today was the end of the election. After all the fact checking and articles written by political pundits, I would finally be able to get back to my studies and not troll CNN.com's Political Ticker every five seconds. But as Obama said in his speech tonight, tonight is not the end. No, tonight is just the beginning.

Tonight, Obama pledged to be our president... the president for the "young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Latino, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled." We voted for change, but now we must all start our quest to make change happen. And while he said "the road will be long, and the climb will be steep," that is a journey I can't wait to take. That is a journey that leads us to a better American future.

Call me cynical, but I never thought I would see a black man become the President of the United States. And to have such history happen at my relatively young age, makes me wonder at the history that is bound to occur throughout the rest of my life. It's going to be an amazing. These next four years will be amazing. And I cannot wait to see all that we can accomplish. Because it's going to be extraordinary. It's going to be exciting. It's going to be historical.

A change is gonna come

I woke up today feeling giddy. Kind of like a five-year-old waking up on the day of their birthday party - excited and ready to rip open presents. My heart was pounding, and there was a huge grin on my face.

Today is election day!

I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but this is the first election where I've felt personally invested. This is the first election where I've actually cared. Bush and Gore? Why bother - clearly Gore was going to win. And Bush vs. Kerry? Sorry, I had midterms to take.

But this election year is a whole 'nother story. Because the next four years are going to be important for me. I am no longer going to be the perpetual student, shielded from the economy and wars by the three walls of my library cubicle desk. No, this election is going to affect my life, my work, my family. And best of all - after all these days of complaining about my health insurance, or rather, lack thereof, we are finally having an election where that was a major talking point. There's finally talk about withdrawing our troops, and I hope that there will soon be an end to the CNN articles that tell us about the daily Iraq death toll.

So yeah, I'm invested. Tonight I'll watch the poll results come in and be excited, instead of years past where I've always been disappointed that House was preempted for this presidential crap. No, I'll be excited, because today, America rewrites history. Today, we will find out who our next president will be. The first African American? The oldest president ever? Regardless, today America will decide a new path - a new destiny - for our truly wonderful nation.

And with the largest voter turnout ever predicted, today is guaranteed to be exciting. Historical. Nerve-wracking. And hopefully joyful.

See you on the other side.

Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts

Medical students just might have a superhero complex.

After all, for the most part, we all came to med school to save lives. We want to care for patients and make them feel better. Lessen pain. Even those who came for the fast cars and the easy money snapped to reality very quickly and either left or realized that they actually do want to help people.

And so we start school bright-eyed and excited. Hungry to be getting out there to make an impact in the world. I mean, most students can tell you everything about their first patient. First and last name, age, date of birth, what they presented with in the ER, the complete differential, and possibly even how many dogs and cats they have. It's because we're hungry to help, hungry to finally be able to touch someone's life. And so that first patient is super special, because it's validating. This is, after all, why we came to medical school. To care for patients.

What they don’t tell you is how absolutely and completely scared they are.

Yes, I remember the very first patient I saw. He had a foot infection secondary to lower extremity neuropathy, was fifty-seven years old, and a successful interior designer. And he has three cats named Fluffy, Mops, and Piglet.

I could rattle off his differential diagnosis (there were really only two possibilities), and impressed my preceptor with my detailed assessment and plan. We should start him on antibiotics and antifungals – perhaps a cephalosporin and nystatin? Oh, and let’s order a CBC to make sure his white blood count is okay so he can fight off this infection.

I might have sounded confident, but in reality, I was shaking in my Crocs when I walked in the door. After wanting to come to medical school for all the right reasons, I was now convinced that somehow or another I might accidentally kill the patient. What if I tripped over his IV line? What if he coded? I had no idea how to do anything, much less save a life. I was terrified - irrationally so, considering I was merely going to ask him a couple of questions, and while my mother always complained of it, I don’t think I could actually talk someone to death.

As medical students, we are obsessed with death. Our Type A personalities might have drawn us to medicine, but that same personality is what makes us equate death with failure. Yet, death is a very tangible thing in medicine. Medicine is a profession that constantly straddles the line between life and death, and the relationship between the two is pervasive and ever-present. A simple mistake or a wrong decision can have devastating results.

I am just starting to realize the amount of medical knowledge that exists out there, and how little I know of it. I am starting to realize that no matter how hard I try, I will inevitably kill someone. Sure, it’ll be accidental, due to an oversight, maybe because of a lack of knowledge. But I also know that I will be devastated. I will be devastated, because causing harm to a patient is to go against the very thing I came to medical school for.

But I will learn from it. Apologize to the family. Face the consequences. Figure out what went wrong, how it went wrong, and then move on. Patient deaths are part of the learning process, and in medicine, physicians are the perpetual student. We can never stop learning - not just because our field is ever-evolving, but also because that is what will ensure that we are the best possible physicians we can be.

In the end, I know what will carry me through such an experience is the fact that I am a good doctor. I’ve been trained well. In all the stories I’ve read about medical mistakes, there was always a very specific point where the doctor made a poor judgment call. A bad decision. But we are all human, which means we’re prone to make mistakes. We don’t have any control over that. What we do have control over is our relationships with our patients. How we treat them as patients – as people – will make a huge difference in their medical treatment. That is what will help us make the right judgment call. The right choice.

It's about having heart. And at the end of the day, I know that I have a good one. I care. That is ultimately what will make me a good doctor. And even good doctors can make mistakes.