But for Rumnock, as for the students, there’s also more: a collision between performance and reality that surprises him.
Being an SP has awakened his inner hypochondriac: “Every time I do a diabetic,” he said, “I’m convinced I have diabetes.”
It has also changed how he regards the doctors he comes across in his own life. When a cousin was recently hospitalized, gravely ill with liver failure, Rumnock watched a physician stumble through a discussion of her care.
The doctor talked and talked, but it was clear to Rumnock that his cousin didn’t understand that she was dying — and that the doctor didn’t grasp that.
"We are so isolated," Rumnock reflected. "We don’t know how to communicate anymore."
At his cousin’s side, he started asking questions that steered the doctor toward spelling out the truth.
He tried to do it gently, the way the best medical students learn to do.
The white coat ceremony is a common practice at many American and European medical schools. Current justification for the ceremony is mainly based on the good will felt by participants and an assumed connection between the ceremony and encouraging humanistic values in medicine. Recent critiques of the ceremony faults its use of oaths, premature alignment of students and faculty, and the selective appropriation of meaning to the white coat itself. This paper responds to recent critiques by addressing their misconceptions and arguing that the white coat ceremony is a contemporary medical ritual with a key role for students and faculty in developing a professional identity.
Since its inception in 1993, the white coat ceremony (WCC) has become a national and international phenomenon. It is now practised at the beginning of the year at more than 100 American medical schools and is supported by foundation grants dedicated to endorsing and encouraging professional development and humanism in medicine.1 While some literature addresses the symbolism and history of the white coat itself, few sources consider the meaning of the ceremony.2–4 A common appeal is to the emotion and good will felt at the event.1,5 Although feelings are important, a deeper justification is called for.
Criticism of the WCC is more explicit, charging that the ceremony: (1) uses the Hippocratic Oath inappropriately or, at best, prematurely; (2) fosters improper student faculty relationships, and; (3) interprets the meaning of the white coat selectively.6,7 Critics suggest either that students not be asked to swear an oath together because it might conflict with personally held beliefs, or that students not be allowed to take the oath until they have demonstrated competence as physicians.6 Some also say that the WCC aligns students with faculty and against patients.6 The third category of criticism asserts that the historico-anthropological meaning of the white coat itself includes more than virtue and humanism and, in fact, represents an imbalance of power, separatism, entitlement, and paternalism in medicine.3,7 To address only the positive connotations of the white coat in a ceremony is deemed disingenuous.
Though critics have suggested that the WCC is misused, improper, an affront to professionalism, or even unethical, these objections have serious flaws of their own.6,7 I will examine three criticisms and, in response, offer an interpretation of the WCC as a contemporary medical ritual that holds a beneficial place in the professional development of a medical student.
Some quotes on the history of the White Coat Ceremony - it all started out to distill the values of compassion and ethics in medicine.
The involvement of The Arnold P. Gold Foundation in what we now call The White Coat Ceremony actually began at commencement exercises at Columbia University’s College of Physicians and Surgeons, where Dr. Arnold Gold has been a teacher and pediatric neurologist for more than forty years.
The Gold Foundation initiated commencement awards in 1991 for a faculty member and a student who best demonstrate both humanistic care and clinical excellence. In support of the awardees, Doctors Arnold and Sandra Gold regularly attended graduation exercises at Columbia where it is customary for medical students to recite the Hippocratic oath. This noble 2,500 year old tradition obligates new doctors to high professional standards for patient care and the practice of medicine.
Dr. Gold became aware, as he witnessed Columbia’s graduation ceremony each year, that the recitation of the Hippocratic Oath, when students accept the obligations of our profession comes four years too late. It is during medical school that students experience their initial contacts with patients and establish their professional orientation. The Foundation believes that medical students should be given well defined guidelines regarding the expectations and responsibilities appropriate for the medical profession prior to their first day of education and training. This is what inspired the Foundation to begin advocacy and sponsorship of what has become the “White Coat Ceremony.”
Providing a ritual to mark the passage of the student into our medical society is as old as the Hippocratic Oath itself. Hippocrates administered the oath to students before their medical studies began, not after they were completed.
The Arnold P. Gold Foundation designed the White Coat Ceremony to welcome entering medical students and help them to establish a psychological contract for the practice of medicine. The event emphasizes the importance of compassionate care for the patient as well as scientific proficiency and includes several elements:
- Welcome to the profession of medicine by the Dean and Faculty
- Recitation or discussion of an oath (such as the Hippocratic Oath or a student-written oath) which represents the public acknowledgment by the students of the responsibilities of the profession and their willingness to assume such obligations in the presence of family, friends, and faculty
- Cloaking of students in their first white coats
- An address by an eminent physician role model
- Celebration at a reception with students’ invited guestsThe White Coat Ceremony was initiated on August 20, 1993 at the Columbia University College of Physicians & Surgeons. Grants from the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation in 1996 and 1997 made future and widespread advocacy of this celebratory and solemn event possible. Currently, a White Coat Ceremony or similar rite of passage takes place at more than 90% of schools of medicine and osteopathy in the United States, as well as at all four medical schools in Israel.
The White Coat Ceremony was initiated on August 20, 1993 at the Columbia University College of Physicians & Surgeons. In 1994, New Jersey Medical School held its first annual White Coat Ceremony, becoming the nation’s second medical school to do so. Grants from the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation in 1996 and 1997 made widespread advocacy of this celebratory and solemn event possible. Currently, a White Coat Ceremony or similar rite of passage takes place at 96% of AAMC-accredited schools of medicine in the United States, as well as at osteopathic schools of medicine and at schools abroad in Antigua, Australia, Canada, The Dominican Republic, Grenada, Haiti, Israel, Japan, Lebanon, The Netherlands, Pakistan, Qatar, and South Korea.
At the ceremony, students are welcomed by their deans, the president of the hospital, or other respected leaders who represent the value system of the school and the new profession the students are about to enter. The cloaking with the white coat—the mantle of the medical profession—is a hands-on experience that underscores the bonding process. It is personally placed on each student’s shoulders by individuals who believe in the students’ ability to carry on the noble tradition of doctoring. It is a personally delivered gift of faith, confidence and compassion.
A taste of what’s coming up in the next issue of The Medical Chronicles. Reminder, you now have about a week until the deadline - December 11 (it can be extended a bit to Dec. 15, but that’s the latest, please).
Clumsy Medic submitted:
In his blog piece “Remember Why We Came,” Rick Pescatore, a medical student at Philadelphia College of Osteopathic Medicine, writes:
To some degree, depression and exhaustion are an almost expected result of the medical school journey. With constant pressure to pass exams, excel amongst the most talented of peers, and develop oneself as a competent future clinician, medical students often report alarming rates of dysthymia and depression. Anxiety during The Match, worry over board exams, and apprehension about one’s place in the crush of clinical academia become the constant progression, and students’ angst and unhappiness come to define their days.
When I am supposed to be cramming for all the exams that are drawing awefully close, I am reading this piece instead because I too am spending most of my free time worrying about where I will be in a year and a half. Will I even be able to make it, will I make a good doctor, do I even have what it takes?
All these worries haunt me. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with a feeling of hopelessness that’s impossible to push away. Other times, I tell myself that I am going to do whatever it takes, even if it kills me. And that does almost literally, kill me until I go into a low where I don’t do anything for days and just worry.
There’s another way, though. Hidden beneath the stacks of library books, nestled between the rooms of patients tucked away and stable for the night, we find the reasons we came to medical school: The older gentleman who shares amazing stories with you in the dead of your third call night in a row. The sick kid we’re able to make a difference for. The ailing individual who, returning from their darkest moments, brings you the brightest of yours.
I could have written the same thing but in different words:
And yes, I woke up at 3 in the morning trying to get some studying done and yes, when I enter the clinic at 8 AM it’s already been 5 hours since I woke up and I would love to just get to bed and never get out. But then I sit in my chair and this kid walks in holding his mother’s hand and smiles at me shyly. We chat about his school and his friends. When I take him in for a physical, he gets all quiet and scared. But then I tickle his tummy and start talking to him again and he starts giggling and telling me all about his day like we are long lost friends. And I forget that I am so exhausted or that I would kill for a cup of coffee, but can’t get one because of all the panic attacks, or that I am going to have to kill myself again when I get home, trying to study. At that moment, all I can feel is happiness.
The thing is, no matter what words we use to say it, at the end of the day, we all say it. We complain about the insane amount of work. Hell, there have been moments when I have (almost) seriously considered quitting. But most of us usually turn back. And we do that because deep inside, somewhere, we all know that we wouldn’t be able to live without the joy that fills us when we have been able to do something for a patient.
I think that’s what’s so incredible about being a medic—the community. No matter where we are and no matter how we are doing it, when you tell another medic that you go to med school too, they will smile that half-sympathrtic-half-understanding smile. We don’t need to explain to each other what we are going through. And I think the community acts as a support system like no other; when I am going insane, I come across a blog post of a fellow medic complaining about my problems and the feeling of hopelessness and it makes me feel less hopeless because I know that I’m not alone. Or I read a piece like this one which reminds me why I started this journey in the first place.
That’s why I think it’s so important to write, because what may seem like thoughtless rambling to you may help someone else in your place to make it through the day. Because no matter how bad a place one is in, one is never there on their own. There is always someone who has been there and made it through. And that knowledge somehow makes it easier.
I want to thank every medblr/blogger out there, anon or otherwise for writing, sharing their experiences, their miseries,and motivating those in need. I honestly don’t know how they did it in the pre-Tumblr/Blogspot/internet era.
Grades and exams do not define us, but are simply checks on clinical competence.
Reblog for relevance.
"A Muggle’s Guide to Med School" by ZDoggMD
It’s been clear for several years now that while aspiring doctors may start medical school as happy and as healthy as their non-doctoring peers, four years later they aren’t.
More than 20 percent end up with depression, more than half suffer from burnout, and in any given year, as many as 11 percent contemplate suicide. All of these statistics, of course, bode poorly for patients. Doctors who are burned out are more likely to make errors and to lose sight of the altruism that led them to go into medicine in the first place.
Dr. Pauline Chen on medical care.
Fortunately, the subtext of this growing body of data — that there is something toxic about the medical education process — has not been lost on the educators who run this country’s medical schools. Some have hired mental health experts for their institutions, created counseling centers and set up confidential Web sites and hot lines; others have developed elective courses in meditation and mindfulness, switched from letter grades to pass-fail systems and revamped class schedules to foster better work-life balance.
Despite the good intentions, their efforts continue to be stymied by one thing: Students aren’t participating. As one educator recently told me, “I keep seeing the same 10 students at all these events, and I’m not even sure they’re the ones we need to be reaching.”
But one medical school, Vanderbilt, in Nashville, appears to be succeeding, with a Student Wellness Program that includes activities like yoga classes, community service events, healthy cooking classes, forums on nutrition and sleep, and a mentoring program that pairs senior students with newer ones. The key to its success? Empowering and partnering with those who have the most at stake — the medical students themselves.
Aside from an annual daylong retreat and a weekly medical humanities course, “most of the ideas are generated by the students themselves,” said Dr. Scott M. Rodgers, the associate dean of medical student affairs, who started the program with a group of students six years ago and continues to be its guiding force. “We just try to come up with any necessary money.”
One example of this unique collaboration is the program’s college system, which assigns students to one of four “colleges,” each with its own set of faculty advisers. Instituted nearly five years ago and intended simply as an improvement over a traditional but more random advising program, the new system was also set up in a way that allowed Vanderbilt students to introduce innovations.
They ran with it. Drawing on cultural cues that resonated with their peers — in this case the Harry Potter stories — they took an active role in naming the colleges after former medical school deans and imbued each with a particular personality. Completing the picture were artfully designed crests, designated college colors and devised mottos in Latin that range from the more noble (“Primus Inter Pares,” or “First Among Equals”) to the tongue-in-cheek put-down (“Commodum Habitus Es,” or “You Have Just Been Owned”).
As college loyalties began to develop, students organized friendly competitions that promoted healthy habits and community service. These events culminated four years ago in the first College Cup, a now annual weekend affair where pride runs deep. Amid bagpipes and a marching band, colleges vie to outdo one another in events like a 5-K run, an “Iron Chef”-style cooking competition and a trivia contest.
“These programs keep you from putting your whole self-worth on the next exam,” said Kathleen Weber, a first-year student who was also quick to point out the superiority of her own college, Batson.
There are critics, however, who charge that with so much to learn in so little time, medical students — and their future patients — would be better served if they expended more, not less, effort on studies. Others have voiced concern that students end up feeling a “reverse pressure” to choose extracurricular activities over studying.
But proponents are quick to counter that medical students in general aren’t people who must be persuaded to study. What they need is encouragement to balance academic dedication with the self-care that will sustain them in the long run. “You can’t keep running on fumes,” said Dr. Johanna N. Riesel, a former medical student at Vanderbilt now in her second year of surgical training at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. “You have to learn how to maintain some sense of equilibrium and sanity in a relatively insane process.”
While no one yet knows the long-term effect of Vanderbilt’s innovations – or, for that matter, of any programs designed to promote “wellness” — Dr. Rodgers and his colleagues and students at Vanderbilt remain committed to their initiatives. For them, the implications of medical student depression and burnout are simply too important to ignore.
“It’s a challenge for anyone to stay healthy and happy,” Dr. Rodgers said. “But when doctors are able to stay healthy and happy, that means patients get physicians who are more compassionate and selfless. They end up with doctors who really have the energy to invest time in them.”
— Dr. Perri Klass, A Not Entirely Benign Procedure: Four Years as a Medical Student (via medicaljourney)
Each year hundreds of medical students think they have contracted the exact diseases they are studying. But they haven’t.
“Medical students’ disease” refers to the phenomenon in which medical students notice something innocuous about their health and then attach to it exaggerated significance. It often corresponds to a disease they have recently learned about in lectures or encountered on the wards.
We are at the start of a new academic year and close to 20,000 students are beginning medical school in the United States. How did medical students’ disease get discovered? And does it really exist? It was around when I was in medical school, in the 1980s. And in my own class, we experienced a surprising twist.
Medical students’ disease — which has also been called “nosophobia,” meaning “fear of disease” — first gained attention in the mid-1960s after the publication of two articles from prominent psychiatric departments. Researchers at McGill University reviewed records from the student health service and reported that 70 percent of medical students complained of symptoms of various illnesses they had studied. Typical was a student who decided he had schizophrenia during his psychiatry rotation but later changed his diagnosis to Meniere’s disease, an inner ear disorder. He had neither condition.
Meanwhile, investigators at the University of Southern California School of Medicine interviewed 33 senior medical students, finding that almost 80 percent had incorrectly given themselves diagnoses of diseases ranging from cancer to tuberculosis. The authors wrote that medical students’ disease was often met with “jocularity and humor,” but that it could also be a “signal of general emotional distress and conflict.”
As we marched through our syllabus, several of my classmates believed they had developed various diseases. Most common were apparent brain tumors when we learned neurology and angina during our lectures on the heart. Having been told that medical students were prone to hypochondriasis, we generally responded with eye-rolling.
But then something surprising happened. Two of us turned out to be seriously ill.
One of my classmates, Cam, had actually started feeling unwell the summer before medical school, noting that he could no longer lift as much weight as before. In addition, his vision was not quite right.
He saw a neuro-opthalmologist, a specialist in neurological diseases of the eye, before leaving for school. This doctor tentatively diagnosed myasthenia gravis, a neuromuscular disorder that causes weakness throughout the body, especially the eyes and eyelids.
But when Cam visited a neurologist during the first month of medical school, the doctor, likely having seen many imaginary illnesses among students, was, according to Cam, “a little dismissive.” Cam thought his symptoms were real, but also wondered if it might all be in his head. Fortunately, however, the neurologist sent him to see another neuro-ophthalmologist, who confirmed the original diagnosis.
To this day, Cam experiences periodic “low level eye weakness,” but it does not interfere with his ability to work as an infectious diseases specialist.
I was present the day, during our second year, when another of my classmates, Mike, first learned he might be ill. We were in hematology laboratory and learning how to check our red blood cell counts, also known as the hematocrit. We almost all had normal levels ranging between 35 and 50.
But Mike’s reading was only 27. Assuming that Mike had done the test incorrectly, our professor told him to repeat it and watched his technique, which was fine. It was 27 again. Mike was severely anemic. He remembers the teacher pulling him to the side and quietly advising him to go to student health.
In retrospect, Mike, an inveterate basketball player, realized he had been getting short of breath — a sign of anemia.
Further tests revealed that Mike had iron-deficiency anemia, meaning he was losing blood, most likely from his intestines. Yet numerous tests did not reveal the source of the bleeding.
Mike began to wonder about other possible causes of his condition. One classmate told him that the anemia was a result of Mike’s propensity for junk food.
Seemingly sick but without a diagnosis, Mike finished the semester. But only barely. He had developed a large mass in his abdomen. When his doctors performed a colonoscopy, the diagnosis became obvious: Mike had a colon cancer that had caused his intestine to ball up.
The news was jarring, to say the least — about as far from an imaginary diagnosis as any medical student could have. Surgeons removed part of Mike’s large intestine. Fortunately, the lymph nodes were negative and Mike survived. Today he is a general internist.
Cam and Mike were truly sick, but what about other medical students who only think they are? Is medical students’ disease really such a problem, borne from overly anxious and stressed future doctors?
A few more recent controlled studies — with better methodology than the older research — suggest that the answer is no. For example, medical students at Oxford University had similar “health anxiety” scores to control groups comprised of non-medical students and non-students. A study of four medical schools concurred and even found that first- and fourth-year medical students had lower anxiety and worry levels than other graduate students.
It appears, then, that while some medical students do falsely experience symptoms of diseases they have encountered, they are no more hypochondriacal than other students. So it is probably wrong to speak of a distinct entity known as medical students’ disease, even if the concept amuses more senior physicians. And when students, like Cam and Mike, really do not feel well, we should take their complaints seriously.
Barron H. Lerner, M.D., professor of medicine and population health at the New York University School of Medicine, is the author of “The Breast Cancer Wars,” “When Illness Goes Public” and the forthcoming “Two Doctors.”
Technology is becoming increasingly integrated in our every activity, including the practice of medicine. Nowadays, robots are capable of providing assistance in surgical procedures, they enable doctors to visit with patients remotely, and some are even starting to make diagnoses and treatment decisions. Such space age innovations raise the question: are actual doctors still necessary? As the current and former deans of Weill Cornell Medical College, we feel that the answer is a resounding yes. Nothing can replace the human interaction between a doctor and a patient.
Still, recent reports in the media have described a widespread problem of physician burnout. Faced with the complexities of our healthcare system, doctors are working longer hours, seeing more patients, and being overwhelmed with administrative paperwork. Emotionally and physically exhausted, they may not be able to empathize and provide the best care to each and every patient. Physician burnout is a serious issue that not only affects the medical care that people receive today, but it also contributes to an ongoing shortage of doctors that could have adverse consequences long into the future.
At Weill Cornell, we want our students to develop lifelong habits of empathy that will stay with them throughout their medical careers. Our goal is to produce doctors who are highly proficient in both the scientific and the humanistic aspects of medical practice, so that they remain focused on treating the whole person, not just the outward signs of their diseases.
In our experience, most young people aspire to become doctors because they truly want to help others. When students first start medical school, they are often very empathetic. They are idealistic and desire to become healers, caring for rich and poor alike. Sometimes, however, the ability to connect emotionally with patients decreases during medical school, residency, and on into a doctor’s career. One study has shown that empathy significantly declines in the third year of medical school, when extensive exposure to clinical settings typically first occurs.
Being able to connect emotionally with patients makes them feel supported and understood during what are often very stressful times in their lives. Having a compassionate doctor can also positively affect a person’s health. A recent study looked at diabetic patients and found that those who had physicians with higher empathy scores were more likely to have blood sugar and cholesterol levels that were under control. One explanation for this finding is that patients may be more likely to follow instructions if they trust their doctors and feel personally cared for. In another study, patients with colds were seen either by doctors in a standard visit or by doctors who had received special training to make direct eye contact, touch patients, and spend more time with them. The people who rated their doctors as the most empathetic recovered from their colds sooner than the rest of the group.
Some institutions have begun to offer empathy training for their clinicians. At Weill Cornell, we have a number of initiatives that aim to cultivate empathy and humanistic values in our students. Last year, we launched an innovative pilot program that will eventually give students the opportunity to follow one or more patients over the course of their entire four years of medical school. Currently, one first-year and one second-year student are paired together under the supervision of a faculty mentor. Students build relationships with patients by attending doctor’s appointments with them, contacting them regularly, and conducting an annual home visit to understand how their diseases impact their daily lives. Students are asked to keep a reflective journal about their experiences, and they participate in monthly mentoring sessions where they discuss psychosocial issues relevant to their patients. A major goal of the program is to prepare students to deliver empathetic, socially, and ethically responsible care by providing them with exposure to patients from the very beginning of their training.
Weill Cornell also has a longstanding Humanities and Medicine program that is designed to help students better understand patient experiences through literature, art, and music. We bring artists and writers to campus to speak to students, and we have electives that allow students to approach medicine through the study of art at a museum and by reading literary pieces. We recently introduced a third-year seminar on “Mindful Practice and the Art of Medicine” to encourage self-reflection. In addition, a group of medical students launched a journal last fall, called Ascensus, which explores the humanistic side of medicine through poems, art, prose pieces, and even a musical number contributed by members of our community.
Similarly, our Music and Medicine Initiative gives students the opportunity to continue pursuing their passion for music during their medical training. Each year a group of students performs at our commencement exercises at Carnegie Hall. Music and Medicine participants also perform at various benefit concerts at the medical college and for patients and families at our affiliate, NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital. We have partnered with The Juilliard School, which provides musical mentors for our students, and in return we offer specialized medical care to their musicians and organize seminars on performing arts medicine.
Another way to teach students to be open, respectful, and engaged with patients of every kind is to encourage international experiences, which help to broaden their experience of the world. At Weill Cornell, we have a very strong global health program, particularly in Qatar, Tanzania, and Haiti, where many of our students, faculty, and residents participate in educational exchange programs. Almost half of our students take international electives during the summer and have rich experiences seeing very different kinds of patients and health care facilities than they would normally be exposed to.
Our students have also started initiatives of their own, such as the Weill Cornell Community Clinic, which has provided free or low-cost primary medical care to uninsured patients since 2006. Under the supervision of an attending physician, students handle all medical and administrative responsibilities for about 350 patients each year. Another example is the Weill Cornell Center for Human Rights, which provides forensic medical evaluations to survivors of persecution seeking asylum in the United States. Founded in 2010, it is the first student-run asylum clinic at a US medical school. So far, 30 clients have gained asylum or another form of legal protection, and 187 students and physicians have been trained to conduct evaluations for people seeking asylum.
Educational programs and initiatives such as these underscore the fact that a person’s health is affected by a myriad of socioeconomic, cultural, and behavioral factors, in addition to biological ones. An increased awareness of the human and social components of health characterizes the current field of medical education in general. For example, the Medical College Admission Test (MCAT) is being revised so that the humanistic aspects of medicine will be addressed more directly. Beginning in 2015, students will have to answer questions in the behavioral and social sciences and the humanities. Major aims of the revised MCAT are to promote a more holistic understanding of health and to ensure that future doctors will be able to empathize with patients from a diversity of backgrounds. This approach represents a major shift in the test, which has traditionally focused almost exclusively on the physical and biological sciences.
As medical educators, the most important message that we can send to our students is this: “Keep the patient at the center of everything you do.” Patients visit doctors seeking help and hope. They are looking for guidance during difficult times, and they need to be treated with compassion and sensitivity. Technology—whether a robot or a DNA sequencer—can provide a lot of information and make our jobs easier, but there is no substitute for a caring relationship between a physician and a patient.
In the fifth century BC, Hippocrates wrote: “Where there is love of humanity there is also love for the art of medicine.” Our goal at Weill Cornell is to instill the art of medicine, not just the scientific method, in our students. We want our young physicians to be technically proficient, but perhaps more importantly, we want them to empathize and to heal.
"The median four-year cost to attend medical school — which includes outlays like living expenses and books — for the class of 2013 is $278,455 at private schools and $207,868 at public ones, according to the Association of American Medical Colleges, a nonprofit group of U.S. schools."
Medical educators have long understood that good doctoring, like ducks, elephants and obscenity, is easy to recognize but difficult to quantify. And nowhere is the need to catalog those qualities more explicit, and charged, than in the third year of medical school, when students leave the lecture halls and begin to work with patients and other clinicians in specialty-based courses referred to as “clerkships.” In these clerkships, students are evaluated by senior doctors and ranked on their nascent doctoring skills, with the highest-ranking students going on to the most competitive training programs and jobs.
A humor piece about life for a formula fed baby
So I’ve noticed on my blog and most of the other medblrs I follow that there have been a metric crapton (units= kg/crapⁿ, n=number of craps) of asks from concerned pre-meds about their grades. It’s the end of the year. You’re getting your grades. Activate freakout mode.
The Dedicated Doctor [infographic]
No doubt about it, becoming a physician is hard work and a long road. Healthcare reform is here so…
An inspirational infographic by the Alpha Infographicist thuc.
One not-so-inspiring comment, though: yes, more doctors are needed, yes, more spots are opening up in med schools, more jobs will be available for med school graduates, more patients are going to become insured under Obamacare — BUT since jack-squat is being done about proportionally improving reimbursement for all those doctors (new and old) and alleviating the massive debt which med students have to incur in order to become underpaid doctors, it’s still going to be tough to keep those doctors in business. Because it IS a business.