The bus rumbled along the City streets on its way to the VA Hospital. This was the first day of my medical school psychiatry rotation and I was filled with apprehension. Up until now, I had mastered the art of drawing blood and examining the abdomen, but now the rules were going to change. Now I would have to use my words rather than my hands to probe the deepest recesses of my patients’ lives. In order to help them I would have to talk about sensitive issues and open wounds that would probably best be left closed. To some degree, I would be forced to bring myself into their world, while maintaining enough distance to prevent myself from being consumed by the fires that burned within their minds.
The bus bounced in and out of a pothole as it entered the driveway of the hospital. With rounded windows and an aluminum facade, it felt like I was about to be swallowed up by a large spaceship. Indeed, I was about to enter a completely new world. In the lobby, I was greeted by my supervisor, Dr. Morehaus, a middle aged woman with wavy black hair and intense, green eyes that could probably pierce right through the thick fabric of my short, white jacket. On the way up to the floor, she revealed to me that her area of expertise was the sociopathic personality disorder. As she handed me my orientation booklet, she went on to explain that sociopaths are the same as psychopaths. The different terms reflects different opinions on whether the person’s defect, or pathology, came from society’s influence or the inherent derangement of their mind, or psyche.
After a brief orientation meeting, Dr. Morehaus walked me up to the floor. It was a locked unit, but the grey, metal entrance door with a small window of reinforced glass snapped welcomingly when she waved her ID in front of the scanner. We pushed through the heavy door into a quiet, dimly lit hallway. The drab color on the walls matched the drab color of the floors, which looked like they were recently shined. We passed a recreation room on the left, where two middle aged men with disheveled hair played checkers in their bathrobes. An old piano, which looked like it hadn’t been tuned in years, stood quietly in the corner. As I passed by, one of the men looked up from his game and stared me down. I quickly looked away. “That’s Jim”, my supervisor explained, sensing my discomfort. “He just came back from the Gulf War. Paranoid schizophrenia with suicidal ideations. He’s really a sweetheart when you get to know him.”
The noise in the hallway grew louder as we approached the nursing station. It was nine o’clock and all the patients were lining up for their morning meds, which they received in small, white paper cups. Most patients tossed them back dry, but some stopped at the water fountain to help swallow the array of brightly colored pills. Dr. Morehaus took me into the staff lounge for some final advice. “Now when you go into the room, don’t close the door behind you. And remember never to position the patient between you and the door. You need to have a way out … in case.” Her voice trailed off, and then quickly returned. “You have a very nice tie on, but take it off and don’t wear one again. Nothing should be around your neck. Oh, and while you’re at it, take the pen out of your front pocket. Your patient today is in room 215, just down the hall. Good luck.”
When I reached the room, I couldn’t help but think how easy it would have been to just turn around and head downstairs for some coffee. At first I knocked so lightly that I could barely hear it myself, so I decided to give it an authoritative double knock. I was relieved that nobody answered, but just as I turned around, a stern voice replied, “Yeah, who is it?” Lieutenant Colonel Robert “Bobby” Woods was a thin, unshaven man in his 40’s, wearing striped pajama pants and an off-white tank top undershirt. He was also a paranoid schizophrenic who had served in the Vietnam War and suffered from PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). I managed to introduce myself without letting my voice crack, but he continued to stare ahead into the distance. From the stockpile of food in the corner and military bumper stickers on the bed and walls, it appeared that he had been here for a while. “Sit down”, he ordered and I quickly occupied the only available seat in the room. With the agility of a panther, he pulled his chair in front of mine, and suddenly I realized that he was positioned between me and the door.
Bobby stared out the window with a wild, vacant look in his eyes and seemed to be completely immune to my questions, which now seemed utterly irrelevant. “So Mr. Woods, how has your appetite been lately?” He completely ignored the question as he began to drift back into his past. “You know, Doc, when I’m driving in the car, I can see them weaving in and out of the trees by the side of the road.” “Who?” I asked, relieved that he considered me worthy of conversation. He finally looked me straight in the eyes and squinted disbelievingly, “The Vietcong. They’re real sneaky, you know.” While I was thinking of a response, he moved on. “I see little people running around the room. They’re here right now.” “Where are they”, I asked, finally feeling like a psychiatrist. “They’re behind your chair and they’re telling me things”, he stated in a serious tone and looked down. I eased the pen out of my front pocket and dropped it nonchalantly into the side pocket. With trepidation, I asked, “What are they saying?”
“They want me to hurt you.”
These words echoed through my head so loudly that I doubted for a moment that there was a brain in there at all. The next minute or so is blurry in my memory, but I quickly excused myself by pretending I was paged or claiming to be late for a meeting or something. Either way, I was out of that room so fast that I practically left my blank notepad still suspended in mid air. On the way out, I heard Bobby say, “See you soon, Doc.”
I emerged from the hospital later that day, still alive and sipping a cup of coffee at last. The victory would have seemed sweeter if I didn’t know that I would be returning the next day. The bus picked me up to bring me back to my own hospital. With the setting sun in my eyes, I stared out the window and tried to catch the trees as they whizzed past me. Once, when I found myself looking more closely in between the trees, I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and drifted off to sleep for the rest of the ride home.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
A New World
Sunday, April 27, 2008
36,000 Feet
I boarded the plane and quickly made it to my seat. After stowing my carry-on bag in the overhead bin, I sat back in my seat, reclined it to the max and closed my eyes. An American couple soon broke the sanctity of my row as I opened my eyes halfway, politely smiled and nodded in their direction. Before the plane took off, an attractive flight attendant came over to me and politely fired a round of German words in my direction. I know many German words and can hold my own in a very superficial exchange, but I am far from fluent. However, because of my appearance, most people in Germany and Austria assumed I spoke the language. I have to confess that I enjoyed playing that role for as long as possible.
I didn’t get every word that the flight attendant said, but I got the idea that she wanted me to put my seat up for takeoff, so I complied. “Dankeschön (thank you)”, she said with a sweet smile. “Bitteschön (your welcome)”, I replied, relieved that she did not have any other requests. After takeoff, she returned with a cart full of beverages. “Ich möchte ein Bier (I would like a beer)”, I explained, and before long I was sipping a cold brew and reading my book as the plane inched closer and closer to NYC. When the English-speaking couple next to me wanted to communicate with me, they did so by using gestures and I devilishly responded with only a smile.
About halfway through the flight, I began to doze off, but was suddenly awakened by an English announcement overhead, “If there is any medical personnel on the aircraft, please make yourself known to the flight attendants at the front of the cabin. We have an emergency.” My eyes opened wide and my jaw clenched. This is a situation I think about every time I get on a flight, but I didn’t know how I would feel until that very moment. A split-second of terror gave way to focused determination. I jumped up from my seat, frightening the couple next to me, and hurried up the aisle.
When I drew the curtain aside, I saw a German-speaking women in her 60’s, pale and sweating, slumped down on the floor between the seats assigned to the flight attendants. The attendants began firing information to me in German and I knew my game was over. “Please tell me as much as you can in English and I’m going to need you to translate.” I had the attendants tell her that I was going to examine her and take her vitals, and as I began this task, they told me that she had a history of heart problems and was feeling shortness of breath and pain radiating down her left arm. Her eyes were darting nervously back and forth and I noticed that she had a list of medications clutched tightly in her fist. She spoke to the attendants, who then looked up at me and said, “Her doctor told her not to fly.”
I put her on oxygen and gave her some nitroglycerine under her tongue. I was concerned that she might be having a heart attack, but her vitals remained stable and she started to breathe easier over the next half hour. I was impressed with the medical equipment that I had at my disposal and the knowledge that the crew had of the supplies. I ordered an ambulance to be ready at the gate when we landed. After about an hour, she sat up in a seat and I sat next to her, holding the oxygen tank which she was still attached to. Just when I began to close my eyes, one of the attendants came over to me and whispered in my ear, “Doctor, we have another situation.”
In disbelief, I left my patient to the observation of one of the attendants as I headed up to the first class section. A middle-aged Caucasian woman was vomiting repeatedly in the bathroom. When she came out, I began collecting information from her and performing a focused exam. She spoke English and relayed that she had come from Romania and took a pain killer containing codeine on an empty stomach. I recommended starting an intravenous (IV) line to replace her fluids, but the crew cautioned me that the plane would begin descending shortly. I gave her seltzer water to drink slowly, and she eventually held it down.
I finally made it back to my seat, just in time for the final approach to New York. I began chatting to the couple next to me and they looked at me in disbelief. Only then did I remember that they didn’t think I spoke English. With both of my patients stabilized, the plane landed safely at JFK. On the way out of the plane, I thanked the crew for hosting the most interesting flight of my life. They thanked me in both German and English and gave me a bottle of wine for all my troubles, which I knew I would need later. On the jetway, I encountered my first patient being taken away in a wheelchair. “Vielen Dank (thank you very much)”, she said with a smile that broke all language barriers. Seeing my family at the gate, the tears welled up in my eyes and thought about all the events which put me on that flight that day and brought me home to them.
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Come see Dr. Reisacher perform live stand-up!
Thursday May 1, 2008
“The Comic Strip”
1568 2nd Avenue, between 81st and 82nd
6:30 – 8:30 PM
$30 at the door, 2 drink minimum
Proceeds will go towards PS 158's enrichment programs
Sunday, April 6, 2008
The Ghost
As I walked through the streets of Collegetown, I could hardly believe my eyes. Some of the bars where my friends and I used to drink beer and sing Jimmy Buffett songs at the top of our lungs were now occupied by Sushi bars and boutique coffee houses. The house where I once lived had been repainted, and the porch swing swayed gently in the cold, March wind as if a ghost trying to rekindle a distant memory was aboard. I thought about all the events in my life that occurred in the two decades since I last haunted these streets, and for a moment I wondered if those events could have all just been a dream. I was a man suddenly cast adrift on the ocean of time, trapped between two familiar worlds and feeling lost in both. I was relieved when people looked at me because this proved that I was, indeed, visible.
I didn’t need to look down because my feet knew every crack and step along the streets. The muscles in my legs fired in the precise order that they had so long ago and my eyes could see what was ahead even before I turned the corners. My heart began to beat faster and with every breath I drew the spirit of this sacred place deeper and deeper into my soul. I could smell the familiar odors of my social and intellectual birthplace, and I knew instinctively that I was home.
As I crossed the stone footbridge that connected Collegetown to the central campus of Cornell University, I noticed that most of the students walked quickly over the bridge without taking the time to appreciate the beauty of the water cascading down the gorge towards Lake Cayuga. I realized two things at this point. The first was that I probably acted the same way when I was a student here, and the second was that most of the students I saw that day were just learning how to walk when I attended Cornell. I wanted to scream some cosmic warning to the students whizzing by me, just like the Ghost of Christmas Future in “A Christmas Carol”, but it was too early in the day to get escorted off the campus.
I never thought that my journey through life would lead me back to Ithaca, New York. I have been working on a research project with the Biomedical Engineering Department and I needed to meet with some colleagues and spend a day in the lab at the campus up there. The lab was located in Olin Hall, a huge stone fortress with few windows and many exhaust pipes in the roof to release the toxic fumes generated within its walls. I pushed the doors open and the rattle from the metal doors echoed loudly through the dimly lit hallways. Along the walls were pictures of scientists and engineers from the past who seemed to be staring at me with disapproving eyes because I had now entered their hallowed sanctuary.
The laboratory was in stark contrast to the hallways that brought me there. The lab was quiet and brightly lit, but every square inch seemed to be alive and buzzing with activity. The PhD student I was working with maintained a good sense of humor as she took me through the experiments we had planned for the day. I kept up with her efficient pace as best as possible, taking copious notes and frequently asking her to rephrase things in a language closer to my own. Overall, the day was a success and I left the lab feeling both energized and inspired.
Driving out of Ithaca, I could not wait to get back to NYC and continue the progress that I had made that day up at Cornell. I felt a renewed sense of good fortune and was reminded once again of all the reasons I went into my profession in the first place. I am truly blessed to be able to see patients. They trust me with their lives at their weakest and most vulnerable moments, and in return I owe them compassion and the best care possible. It is a thrill and an honor to be able to push the envelope of medical knowledge beyond its existing limits and challenge the laws of science in order to discover a better way of life for someone who needs help. I gained so much from my experience that day. In this place, I had established a tangible link that would not only connect me with my past, but also provide me a bridge that would lead me into the future. I no longer felt like a ghost.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Why Are You Here Today?
When patients come to my office, I ask each of them to fill out a questionnaire concerning their past medical history, prior surgeries, current medications, allergies and other pertinent tidbits about their social life. This is a pretty standard practice for any medical office. Generally, I take note of the information provided and move on with my day. But over the years, I have been surprised by some of the interesting and amusing answers to the very first and most basic question on the form, “Why are you here today?” I have decided to share 10 of my favorites with you, and I promise that these responses were not edited in any way … seriously!
1. “My ears are amplified”
2. “New York”
3. “Emergency speech therapy”
4. “Clocked right ear”
5. “Trouble hearing due to hear infection”
6. “Tested for strip troat”
7. “Living at Clue I” (don’t ask me! I was never able to figure this one out.)
The next two earned an NC-17 rating, so please hide you child’s eyes at this point:
8. “Nose bleeds when blown”
9. “Get ears blown” (I had to inform him that I was not that kind of doctor.)
And, finally, the crown jewel of the list:
10. “Swallowed mold remover thinking it was green tea”
I’ll admit that there were times when I wondered whether or not I really wanted to walk through the door of my exam room and face the people who made these remarks. However, I’m proud to report that they all received quality medical care and walked out of my office satisfied (except for the guy in #9). I owe them each a debt of gratitude for giving me these tiny, humorous gifts which I can unwrap from time to time when I need to smile. I hope they made you smile as well!
Monday, February 25, 2008
Coming Home
This is the conclusion of last week’s post, “Aloha!” …
2/18/08
What a day! What an adventure! I’m not even sure where to begin. I finally made it back to the hotel room and I’m so tired I can barely see my laptop screen in front of me. But if I don’t write this down now, I may wake up tomorrow and think that it was all a dream …
We woke up at the crack of dawn to reach the volcano before the heat of the midday sun made the journey unbearable. Even in the slight cool of the morning, I could tell by the cloudless sky and motionless air that this would be a brutally hot day. We jumped in a cab to get there fast and I tried to make small talk with my barely English-speaking driver. He drove an older model Cadillac and the crushed velvet seats felt good on the back of my thighs. The air-conditioning vents were blowing cool air across my face, but little did I know that this would be the most comfortable moment of the entire day.
We arrived at Diamond Head Crater in a half hour. The cab took us through a tunnel right into the center of the crater. The volcano had last erupted 300,000 years ago and the rock and ash that was thrown into the air formed the walls of the crater when it came back to the ground. It was an awesome sight. We were surrounded by a complete wall of rock and our task for the morning was to hike up to the highest point on that wall. As my family and I began our journey, I was convinced that this would be an easy climb.
The trail began as a level concrete path, but it quickly became a steep slab of irregular rock and dirt that wound back and fourth around the base of the crater. The sun had fully risen and the heat was beginning to become more intense. About halfway up the crater wall, we passed a middle aged Irish couple with distressed faces that were plump, moist and red. The woman caught her breath, handed a flashlight to my daughter and said, “Here, take this. You’ll need it. We didn’t make it!” With that, her and her husband stumbled back down the path back to the bottom, leaving my wife and I to stare at each other in disbelief. Glancing over at my three small kids, who were dressed in their beach attire and all fighting over the flashlight, I thought to myself, “We’re in trouble now.”
It took about an hour, but we finally made it to the top. Many of the spaces that we had to crawl through were tight, and my kids actually had the advantage at times. The panoramic view from the top was breathtaking. The entire island of Oahu was visible, and as I stared into the crater, I could image the explosion that occurred so many years ago. The temperature had risen to a boil by this time and I looked over towards Waikiki Beach, wishing I was back there now. The trip down the volcano was easy in comparison and we rewarded ourselves at the floor of the crater with shave ice.
We proceeded up the coast to Hanauma Bay, a nature preserve that was actually formed in the same way that Diamond Head was, but the sea broke through one side of the crater and flooded it, forming a bay. The water was filled with coral reefs that were teeming with tropical fish and turtles. We descended down the face of the crater and claimed our plot of sand. The sun was punishing at this point, but the air was dry and pleasant and the water was cool and refreshing. The kids played mostly by the water line, but I explored the reefs and followed some brightly colored fish which didn’t seem to mind my intrusion at all. Back on the sand, we snacked on turkey sandwiches and cabbage that we bought on the road and stayed the rest of the afternoon.
Burned and weary, we packed up our blankets and caught a bus back to Waikiki. Once back in town, we realized how hungry we were, so we stopped at a cheeseburger shack and devoured all they had to offer. Because I was already tired and dehydrated, the local brew that accompanied by cheeseburger packed quite a punch. We only had a few more blocks to walk in order to reach the hotel, but we stopped along the way and bought Hawaiian shirts and dresses for the entire family. Finally back at the hotel, we bathed the kids and watched some TV. In the time that I’ve written this account of the day, everyone has fallen asleep. I won’t be far behind them. Isn’t it funny that sometimes the moments when you are totally exhausted are also the moments when you feel most alive?
2/19/08
I woke up with the sobering thought that this was the last day of the trip. Thoughts of projects I needed to do next week at work began creeping into my consciousness, but I forced them out just as fast. I showered and headed over to the conference room for some early morning lectures. This was the same room where, only one day before, David Beckham was giving his press conference for the Pan-Pacific Soccer Championships. For the afternoon, we hung out at the beach one final time. I knew that my kids were getting used to this island when my son gave me the “hang loose” hand sign before diving head first into a wave. We walked around town after the beach to get some dinner and do some last minute shopping before heading back to the room to pack up and prepare for the day of travel that was waiting for us in the morning.
I can’t decide whether the vacation went fast or slow. In a way I am longing for the smell of the East River in my nostrils, but in another way I’ll have a hard time letting go of this place. Yes, I’ve finally found my aloha on this island. I found peace of mind, body and spirit, but most importantly I discovered a new perspective which is lost in the daily routine we all find ourselves in. I found some time to think and reflect on my priorities in life. The family had a wonderful time this week and I’m glad that we had this opportunity to grow even closer to each other. We made new friends, learned about new places and shared experiences that we will be talking about for a long time. Hopefully, we can bring back some of the spirit of this island back to our own small island. I’m not looking forward to the cold weather, or the plane ride back, but I am looking forward to coming home and I’m ready for all the challenges ahead. I’ll see you all soon …
Monday, February 18, 2008
Aloha!
2/14/08
Greetings from a tiny volcano in the middle of the Pacific. More specifically, I’m in the bathroom of my ocean view room at the Hilton on Waikiki Beach. My kids and wife are asleep, so this has become my office. I like spaces that have multiple functions. We arrived here yesterday. It’s the middle of the night here, but I’m still operating on New York time so I’m all full of creative energy. Be prepared … this post is more like a postcard!
I know I’ve said that laughter is the best medicine, but surely vacation comes in a close second. Yes, it’s time for the doctor to get some R&R. And what could be more relaxing than a grueling, 11 hour flight with my kids beating me at every board game imaginable? I think that watching everyone around me on the plane float away into a blissful, vodka-induced slumber actually prevented me from sleeping. Several strong cups of coffee probably didn’t help. I did get some “pretend sleep”, where you close your eyes, think crazy thoughts and fool yourself into thinking that it was a dream.
When we arrived in Hololulu, I was surprised to find that everyone looked pretty much the same as they do on the mainland. I think I was expecting that all the people would be running around wearing grass skirts and coconut shells over their privates, but seeing the abundance of fast food and retail chains gave me the clear indication that I was still in the USA. Most of the people here speak clear English, with the exception of my cab driver who only knew how to say, “Four dollar extra for heavy bag.” Conversations are sprinkled with odd phrases like “mahalo” (thank you) and “aloha” (hello/goodbye/would you like to buy a souvenir?) Aloha is a vague salutation used similar to “Shalom” at a Jewish wedding. I’m afraid to use the local phrases as that may clearly identify me as a tourist. Oh, who am I kidding – I don’t blend well here. I wonder if they have bagels?
2/15/08
I upgraded my office. Now I’m sitting on my balcony overlooking the harbor and beach below. The family and I started the day off right with brunch in the resort, but almost lost our appetites when we saw the prices. A bagel with cream cheese costs $15 (no, I didn’t buy it) and a hot dog will set you back about 8 ½ bucks. This place makes Manhattan seem like a bargain! The best value was the buffet, and we each went back about 5 times. It was some consolation knowing that my hard-earned money was going to help support Paris’ extravagant lifestyle. After brunch, we watched a heron pick a fish right out of the coi pond and swallow it while it was still thrashing back and forth.
We then spent the day lounging on Waikiki Beach, trying to expend as few calories as possible so that we did not get hungry again. None of the newscasts here carry the weather because it is always the same … perfect. The sky was clear and cloudless, the water was 20 different shades of blue and a light breeze was blowing. As each wave crashed up on the white sand, my worries and stresses began slipping further away just like the sand that was being carried out to sea. The sun was toasting my skin and I could feel each muscle in my body slowly releasing its anxious grip. The beads of sweat that were forming on my stomach glistened like diamonds in the sun. One by one, they slowly trickled down the creases created by my abdominal muscles and landed on the towel. As I tightened those muscles, my mind traveled back to my days as a lifeguard and I wondered if I still looked as good now as I did then.
Following the beach, it was time for a “shave ice” (NYC translation: sno cone) by the pool and a much needed nap in the shade. Dinner consisted of a turkey and lettuce on white bread from a local convenience store. Back at the pool, there was a show honoring David Kalakaua, the last King of Hawaii who ruled over 100 years ago. Finally, I saw the grass skirts, hula dancing and twirling fire that I had expected. I was politely corrected by a local when I referred to this event as a luau. “Luaus have food”, she said with a smile that spoke otherwise. I guess she did not consider alcohol food. For the record, a mai tai is very similar to a Long Island iced tea.
2/16/08
I didn’t sleep well last night. I couldn’t tell if it was the mai tais or the fact that sleeping next to my two young boys left me with only a sliver of bed space and less room for movement than a Manhattan studio. We took a submarine down to the sea bottom today and watched a variety of sea creatures frolic through the wrecks of airplanes and sunken fishing ships. Once back on the beach, I borrowed my son’s goggles and swam out about 100 yards to a coral reef and back. This counted as my exercise for the day and I rewarded myself with a nap on the sand.
With my eyes closed, I could hear the faint sound of music rising above the white noise produced by the rolling surf. The song sounded so familiar, but all I could make out was the sound of the bass guitar. I picked up a handful of sand and enjoyed the feeling of the granules shifting around my fingers. Like so many things in life, the harder you try to hold it, the more difficult it is to control. I finally identified the song as “Brown-Eyed Girl” and smiled triumphantly. Watching my kids and wife play by the waterline, I was reminded once again how precious time is and how readily it can slip away, just like the sand that had just streamed out of my now-empty fist.
My stomach reminded me that it was actually later than I thought it was. I ran my fingers through my dark blonde hair, but the salt water and sand had made it stiff and sticky. On the way back to the room to take a shower, I paused for about 10 minutes at the coi pond and watched the heron stalk his next meal, but he didn’t seem to be having any luck. For dinner, I feasted on prime rib and crabs legs under the tiki torch lamps that lined the walk along the beach.
2/17/08
I woke up early today. While in Hawaii, I signed up for one of those courses doctors take to keep themselves sharp. It’s called continuing medical education and if I don’t get enough of it, they take my little black bag away from me. With a cup of high octane coffee as my only friend, I sat in the conference hall at the crack of dawn listening to another ENT brag about all the miracles he performs. The slides at the front of the room began to blur and my mind kept drifting back to Waikiki Beach. As soon as the lecture was over, I threw on my bathing suit and headed out to meet my family.
Many of you may wonder if I carry a pager while on vacation. Well, the answer is yes. When I’m away, there are other doctors who cover day to day questions and problems, but I’m always available if the need arises. It’s a reciprocal deal and I cover for other doctors when they are away. One thing that I had to adjust to when I became a doctor was the fact that I was responsible for my patients. Just like a parent should never leave their children unattended, I must be there for my patients when they need me.
In the evening, we headed into the city of Waikiki and did some shopping before dinner. One interesting fact that I learned was that it is illegal to honk in Hawaii for any reason. They must have a lot of pent up frustration. The cool evening breeze felt good against my sunburned skin and as we walked along the beach, I saw the light of the moon reflecting in the eyes of my wife and kids. I can’t believe how far away from the Upper East Side I am.
Anyway, I’ll bring this post to an end for now, but there is still more to come. Tomorrow, we will be heading up the mouth of a volcano. Check back in one week to see if I make it to the top and find out how I find my way back home …
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Med Students Who Cheat
The sound of my heartbeat was in perfect synchronization with the crunch of my running shoes on the loose dirt beneath me. I was rounding the northern border of The Reservoir in Central Park as I took a long, deep breath to make sure both of my lungs were fully inflated. I was surprised at the extent to which Fall had robbed the trees of their bright, green foliage. To my left was a chain link fence, and beyond that was the calm, blue-green water that provided me with the peace I so desperately sought. That afternoon was my first Gross Anatomy exam and I was running off all the stress I had built up over the past two weeks of preparation for this landmark event.
I was running through all the branches of the external carotid artery in my mind when I noticed a man running towards me. He was an older man with sparse, white hair and an athletic body which indicated that he probably embarked on this form of exercise while I was still in diapers. But as he grew closer, I lost my breath when I noticed that he bore a striking resemblance to my cadaver, the body I had been dissecting over the past couple of months. How could this be? Have I finally cracked under the pressure? I quickly looked away and hurried back to my apartment to shower and change into my lucky T-shirt.
I arrived at the lecture hall in plenty of time. The written portion of the test was first, and I breezed through this in under an hour. I was much more worried about the next part, the practical portion where I had to answer questions while examining actual dissected bodies. My fellow Med Students and I began milling about outside the anatomy lab in nervous anticipation. Some were smiling and making jokes with each other. Others were sitting quietly or reviewing some notes, while others were just rocking back and forth while talking to themselves. Suddenly, the course director opened the doors of the lab. With an uncharacteristically serious look on his face, he brought his index finger up to his lips to quiet us down and said, “You may enter now.”
I entered the lab with the same reverence I felt whenever I walked into a funeral parlor. The cool, formalin-soaked air felt good on my perspiring skin as I glanced around at the twenty or so dead bodies that were scattered throughout the lab. I tried hard, but because many of the heads were shrouded I could not tell which one was mine. I would spend exactly 2 minutes at each station and would have to answer 3 questions during that time. After that, I could not go back. Because there were more students than bodies, the potential for looking over someone’s shoulder was tangible. At the front of the room stood a blackboard on wheels, on which was written in bold, yellow chalk, “MED STUDENTS WHO CHEAT MAKE DOCTORS WHO KILL!!”
I stood at the first station as the proctor said, “You may begin.” I peered deep into the body’s abdominal cavity and my heart surged when I realized that I did not know what the flagged pin was pointing to. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath which allowed all the memories from the class and images from the textbook diagrams to come rushing back into my head. I answered the first two questions, but was stuck on the third. Was that the ovarian artery or the ureter? Perched awkwardly on a cold, metal stool, I knew that time was running out. I though for a moment that the cadaver might have some personal insight which she could perhaps whisper to me, and I debated with myself whether this would actually constitute cheating. Focused and frozen with indecision, I was defenseless when the loud buzzer suddenly shattered the silence and sent a shock wave to every cell of my body. I jumped up in the air, and when I came down, the stool was no longer beneath me. Sitting on the cold, gray concrete floor, I retrieved my pencil from under the gurney, marked an answer and moved on.
I remained on my feet for the remainder of the exam. As I went along I became more comfortable with the frantic pace, and in the end it all paid off with a passing grade. The next day was Saturday, and I headed back to The Reservoir to overcome the headache that resulted from the party the night before celebrating the end of the Gross Anatomy exam. Sluggish and dehydrated, I stopped along the way to take a long drink from my water bottle. Suddenly, I looked up and my eyes widened as I saw my cadaver look-alike from the day before running towards me. When he passed, he looked me straight in the eye, gave me a knowing smile and nodded as if to say, “Good job.”
