Island Med Student

I just finished my first week of my third-year surgery rotation. I have no better words to describe it other than pure hell. I was unfortunately assigned to night call for my first week. For four nights I endured 16 to 18 hour shifts with no sleep, no food, only small sips of water, and no time to sit down. In addition to the grueling hours, I was subjected to the fierceness of our residents.

On my very first night call, the residents began rounding on the patients at around 6:30 a.m. I hadn’t slept or eaten in almost 24 hours. I was empty in both body and spirit. When the resident asked me about the ins and outs of one of my patients, I had to admit that I simply didn’t know. Not only had I not realized that I was supposed to be monitoring them, but I couldn’t even figure out how to answer his questions because I didn’t know how to use the electronic medical records system (we had received no training). He knew it was my first night of surgery night call. I admitted to him that I had not been trained on using the system, and that I was completely new to the hospital. But it made no difference to him. He laid into me so hard, that I felt like I was being physically ripped apart. I held back my tears and quietly told him that it wouldn’t happen again.

I’ve only experienced one other clinical rotation before surgery, and it was entirely different. In my psych rotation, I knew what the expectations were, and I was able to surpass them all. The hours were reasonable, and the residents and attendings were kind and understandable.

My first week of surgery has been the polar opposite. I’m starting to understand what sleep deprivation can do to my body and mind. I’ve realized that I simply lose the ability to think without sleep, food, or water for 24 hours. Every part of me begins to break down, and my defenses are lost. Welcome to medicine?

From what I can ascertain from my first week, med school rotations (and especially surgery) are very much like boot camp. You’re expected to challenge yourself physically and mentally in every way. You’re looked down upon if you complain. Failure is not acceptable.

A year ago, our very own Medscape editor, Christine Wiebe wrote an article on med student hazing, and I was very much interested in reading it at the time. However, now that I have walked a mile in the shoes of a lowly med student being yelled at by a so-called “teacher,” I understand all too well the devastating consequences of med student abuse.

At the end of only my first week of surgery, I feel like a shell of a person. I don’t have the energy to give 100% to my patients. I’ve lost all hope, and the first night I seriously considered running out of the hospital. I felt all my compassion exiting my body like the sweat rolling down my temples. I simply didn’t care.

I understand that medicine is a challenging field. I realize that the “weaklings” might not succeed. I understand that doctors are responsible for making life and death decisions, and hence should be held to the highest standard. But I can’t say that I agree with torture as a means of “weeding out” the weak ones. And I now realize why I’ve met so many less than compassionate physicians. I guess I just want to believe that there’s a better way.

Click Here To View the Original Post on Medscape