I've never been very good at maintaining things like journals, but I'm starting this blog today with the hope that I will be able to track the next 3 years of my life as I go from newly minted MD to full fledged pediatrician. In the medical world, residency is considered some of the most trying years of a young doctor's life. It's the time that is always glorified on TV shows (Grey's anatomy, for instance) where residents work obscene hours, sleep when they can, eat when they can, sleep with co-residents in call rooms, perform solo surgeries as interns, date attendings, show up to work super hungerover and proceed to get IV fluids from a sympathetic chief resident, cut patient's LVAD wires to get them a heart transplant, etc. I'm interested in seeing how much truth there actually is to any of this TV ridiculousness (I'm guessing it's mostly the stuff about working obscene hours, sleeping when you can, eating when you can) and sharing these experiences with all of you. Even though I've got the MD after my name, I've got a TON to learn and I'm really excited to be finally starting this chapter of my life.
So, as my first entry, I'll just start with my first big life lesson as an MD--except that this time it comes from the other side--the patient's side. Four days after Match day, on March 21, my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer. BOOM. It felt like I was hit by a ton of bricks. Suddenly I was thanking my lucky stars that I had just finished my last rotation of medical school so that I could take him to all of his appointments--first, second, third opinions from surgeons and radiation oncologists. What's the prognosis? Who's the best surgeon? Should we do surgery or radiation? Should we have radiation tattoos marked incase we need it after surgery? Is the cancer confined to the prostate? Did it get into the capsule? So there is a 2% chance it could have spread to the lymph nodes? The questions were endless. The depression my family faced at this time was darker than I would wish upon anyone. Surgery was scheduled for May 31, one week after my graduation from medical school, and the date couldn't come fast enough. Every day was agony as we waited in anticipation for the surgery. The night before the surgery, my dad had a panic attack. Me, fearing the worst (likely influenced by knowing too much), was worried he was in a-fib because he kept saying he could feel his heart beat and it was strange. Here I was, sitting with my father, the man who had always been a strong, ruthless fighter for his family while he had a panic attack about his upcoming surgery and his prognosis.
The morning finally came, and we headed to the hospital. We stayed in the waiting room until he was whisked away by the surgical RNs and we were told we could wait in the family room and see him after surgery. Surprisingly, the 3 hours of surgery went by quickly and my mother, brother and I lept to our feet when dad's surgeon, Dr. C, came to the family waiting room with a big smile on his face. He took us to a private room next door and told us the surgery was a wonderful success--it was easy and everything looked wonderful, healthy and normal. We were told to not even worry about pathology and to just get dad better. A few hours later, dad was upstairs in his room watching the Miami-Dallas game and strolling through the hallways. We went home the next day after a wonderful staff of MDs and RNs cared for us and made sure we knew exactly what to do when we got home.
Three days later, on Friday, dad's surgeon called. The pathology reports were negative. Dad was cancer free.
And here I am, June 8. Yesterday we celebrated my dad's 63rd birthday. Less than 3 months between diagnosis and cure, but a lifetimes worth of grief, worry, agony and finally, RELIEF. While this experience was definitely challenging for my family, and will continue to be a challenge in the coming months as dad recovers, it was a very poignant reminder that each and every one of my patients is first and foremost a HUMAN BEING with a family who loves them and worries for them. It's with this recent experience that I begin my residency, very humbled by the power of medicine and the difference a real physician (who represents all that a doctor should--intelligence, compassion, empathy, kindness, confidence) can make in the life of a patient.
