I woke up one January morning feeling excited to wear a costume like a kid on Halloween. It was my first shift at UCC, a community health clinic, with my first-ever patient as a medical student. I put on my brand-new black Figs from Christmas and then bundled up with my gray embroidered school Patagonia, put my hospital ID, and stashed my stethoscope in my bag. I told myself that I should have felt ready. It was time that I started preparing for the rest of my career seeing patients, but I was not, indeed, ready.
When I entered the patient room with Mr. F, I froze. I stumbled on my words and asked him, “Do you take your blood pressure medication amlodipine and hydrochlorothiazide daily?” He nodded. I felt relieved I pronounced the drugs smoothly. I asked, “What brings you in today besides your high blood pressure?”, he shook his head negatively. Then, forgetting what happened moments ago, I asked again, “What blood pressure medication do you take?” He looked frustrated. I realized I was being redundant. I felt hurried, so I quickly ran through OLDCARTS (the one thing I reviewed the night before and then repeatedly on the Uber ride to the clinic).
I recalled his chart reporting that he was a truck driver and had two young daughters at home. It was past 7:30 pm, and he wanted to be home to care for his family. I saw him tap his foot, up and down, on the ground as I went through the rest of the history questions. He was only here for a routine medication refill while I became the rate-limiting step before he could go home to his family. I felt as if my learning experience detracted from his patient experience.
Closing the office door, I rushed to find the attending, not realizing my confusion about what to include in the presentation. No number of Anki cards made me feel prepared to provide actual patient care. My patient’s story spilled out of my mouth, “Mr. F is an X-year-old man who is here for hypertension…” However, the preceptor asked me for further details about his blood pressure log at home, and I realized I read about his home blood pressure cuff in his chart and failed to ask him. I admitted I did not ask.
The attending kindly smiled at me and said we could ask him together. We walked together to meet the patient. It was inspiring to see the attending confidently greet the patient like an old friend and come up with a plan. One day, I hope to have the same impression on future medical students, but in the meantime, I’ll do my best to grow into my costume.
Emily Sheng is an MS1 at the Perelman School of Medicine.
