I loved OB/GYN while I was doing it, but after the fact, realized that I had completely given up my life. I hadn’t folded my laundry in 6 weeks†, hadn’t spent time with my family or friends, made my bed, etc. Which brings me to my story…

Obstetrics & Gynecology

Physicians often ask to be called in when a woman is dilated to 8 centimeters (delivery occurs at 10cm) so they can be present for the birth. Women who’ve had multiple births often deliver within minutes - or seconds - after hitting 8 though, so usually it’s a moot point.

One night in particular I vividly remember calling a doctor about his patient at 3:15 AM, only to have her deliver 2 minutes later. I called him back, because I knew he lived half an hour away. He decided he may as well still come… just to shake her hand. He showed up at 4AM and drove back home a short time after. I’m sure he went to work at 7 as well, because he was a hospital doc.

I’ve told this story to a few classmates and a few non-meddies. Most people think it’s an awesome, touching story. “What dedication!”, they cry. “How he must care for his patients!” Personally, I just try to imagine what his wife and kids think. I don’t know about everyone else out there, but I refuse to destroy my personal life. Maybe I’m too selfish… your thoughts?

†what else is new?

I’m not much of one to brag†, but today I feel justified. In the last 24 hours, I’ve felt like a total badass 3 separate times. Our internal medicine team was on call yesterday, which meant that we dealt with all the patients who coded overnight, and admitted anybody who needed to go to the ICU.

Badass Moment #1

Code pager on my belt, I sat down to lunch with my fellow med students. As we’re chatting, the overhead paging system begins calling the code team to the MRI machine… someone has stopped breathing in the scanner. With perfect, steely-eyed reserve and a battle-hardened set to my jaw††, I muttered “shit”, threw down my fork, and sprinted out of the room.

My white coat flowing behind me and my hair waving in the breeze, I ran through the halls; patients, nurses, techs, and doctors alike throwing me high-fives and looks of approval. The chief of cardiology himself nodded as I flew by him, as if to acknowledge the importance of my mission. Get there fast, save a life. Just another day… no need to thank me, ma’am, it’s my job†††.

Badass Moment #2

One of my patients was admitted to the ICU for worsening pneumonia, and had to be intubated because he could no longer breathe. Because of his tenuous hold on life, we decided to get an arterial line and a central (venous) line for better access. My residents on this rotation are awesome, and told me I could try placing the arterial line. Now, this was my first time, but I felt for the pulse in his wrist, sterilized the site… and then hit the artery on my first try. My residents both grinned and gave me the thumbs-up.

Badass Moment #3

My crazy lady was admitted for electrolyte imbalances. She has been ingesting nothing but bottles and bottles of mountain dew for a week straight - she claims it “helped her stay awake”. My attending yesterday gave us a whole lecture on correcting potassium imbalances, so this morning when I checked her labs and her K+ was only 3.1, I quickly calculated out an order for 40mEq of potassium, which should bring her back to normal by tomorrow. You (dear reader) may not find this a particularly badass moment, but it’s one of the first times I’ve felt confident prescribing a medication for someone that’s not a standardized dose.

†Silence, peanut gallery.
††I know at least one of the people who was there reads this blog. If you contradict anything I say, you’re out of the band.
†††Well… lets be real, I’m a med student. I was going to watch someone else do stuff. Turns out it was a fake code anyway and they were just testing the pager system. I still felt like kind of a badass, though.

“Today was the first day he didn’t recognize me,” his wife said, her bottom lip quivering a bit. “He thought I was his sister.”

My attending carefully explained how dementia progresses, and her white-haired husband nodded a bit, smiling as though we were delivering wonderful news. Almost as an afterthought, the doc asked him who the woman was sitting next to him.

“Oh, my sister Sally, of course!”
“Not your wife?”
“I’ve got a wife now? I don’t think so.” He looked at us with a hint of confusion in his eyes. As if for guidance - they’ve been married 60 years - he turned to his wife and said in a hesitant voice “you are my sister, right?”

She extended her hand and gently caressed the back of his neck. Tears gleamed in her eyes, but she smiled and said nothing. On her face was writ complete, beautiful, aching love. He turned back to the doctor, reassured. He smiled.