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I saw Janeway lesions the other day. Janeway lesions are rare and elusive, and usually present due to an underlying vasculitis or endocarditis.

The registrar on call had seen them only once before. In theory blocks we were told not to bother looking out for them because they are so rare.

My first reaction was to jump up-and-down with excitement. Fortunately I didn’t do so in front of the patient or her family. Her circumstances were not reason for excitement: a textbook-case of Systemic Lupus Erythematosus, fairly common in this part of the world. She was young and had signs of advanced renal failure.

The Janeway lesions were from a sterile endocarditis due to the serositis accompanying lupus.

It made me realise how excited we, in the medical community, become when we see a rare or textbook presentation.

A few days later I had a patient with advanced Huntington’s Disease. Something I’d never seen before. And I thought, “That’s too cool” – and then remembered again, it wasn’t.

It really, really isn’t.

Interesting, but by no means “cool”.

I get vivid nightmares often, but all through the last week on my internal medicine rotation I had the same recurring theme:

Needle-prick injuries

The dreams were always different, but they always involved some exposure to HIV, and the side-effects of the prophylaxis, and the fear of The Test six weeks later.

For the uninitiated, I should mention that the likelihood of contracting HIV from a single needle prick injury is minuscule, and even smaller when taking PEP.

 

But when your daily work revolves around AIDS, and you regularly see the effects of AIDS-related disease, the percentages aren’t soothing – no matter how small.

I have been extremely fortunate thus far. I don’t draw blood from a thrashing patient. I wear gloves even though they make palpating veins more difficult. I look around me and stay out of the way of people carrying sharps.

But the fear remains. I don’t need a dream analyst to tell me that these dreams are a mirror of my thoughts and fear, that much is obvious.

I just think this risk is underestimated, both by those in and out of the profession.

I don’t think the layperson realises the risk at which our lives are put.

Not a single casualty in this war is deserved.

 

During a tutorial this past week, the consulting doctor told us that the patient had a “drain worm”. Unfortunately the patient was present and awake, and his face turned an impressive shade of green. Our faces paled too, I’m sure.

The doctor rushed to assure the patient that it was not an actual squirmy-wormy, but a long strand of fibrin that often forms along the course of the ICD-pipe. It has the potential of clogging the pipe completely and leading to a tension pneumothorax, hence the relevance.

Regardless of it not being a “real” worm, this grossed me out more than the average medical phenomenon. Here’s hoping I never need an ICD of my own, because I would probably try to clean it compulsively.

 

In case you were wondering, you do get cases of REAL drain worms… in cases of severe Ascaris Lumbricoidis infection. Click the image for the full article.Hope I didn’t ruin your appetite or anything…

I’ve been told before, “You’d be a better doctor if you weren’t so emotional about life.” I don’t consider myself a superbly emotional person in public, but yes, I am touched by stories. If you scan through this blog you will see that stories of compassion or triumph are dear to me.

I’ve always believed that as long as it does not affect the way I treat a patient, it will be okay.

But maybe not.

If I am touched by the mother who brings her teenage rheumatological daughter pink milk and a favourite blanket to hospital, then I am also affected by the injectable drug-user who shouts at me for drawing blood “incorrectly and from the wrong vein”. Or the patient who tells me to “hamba” (leave) when she sees me entering the room with a drip-set.

And if I am happy because of a compliment given (probably without second thought), then I will easily be saddened when the same doctor is rude because of something I presumably did wrong. Or the nurse who is in a bad mood and tells me I will “just have to do without a blood culture bottle.”

I begin to understand why doctors are disillusioned about their jobs. I begin to see why they choose to change careers. I begin to see why they feel unfulfilled.

Sometimes, “helping people” just isn’t enough. When other healthcare workers are rude, and when patients are moody, and your employer (in this case the State) does not look out for you, and working conditions are terrible… it’s difficult to remain positive.

I’m not even qualified yet, and I feel like this already. I used to promise myself I wouldn’t become dulled to this work, that I wouldn’t become one of those sad, dissatisfied doctors.

But I don’t know if that’s possible anymore.

My internal firm has bad karma. Clearly somebody badmouthed a patient who was secretly a witch, because we have too many patients for a firm with only three students. The students on the other firms finish ward rounds and ward work by latest 12h00. Which doesn’t make a bi-weekly call that bad.

We get out of hospital for the first time at 16h00 if we’re lucky. Without a lunch break in between. Who doesn’t give their students a lunch break, seriously?! When are we supposed to study or wait, breathe?!

We might as well be permanently on call. We see more patients on a “normal” day than my counterparts see during a weekend on-call.

The cherry on top of my annoyance-cake?

 

 

I managed to pick up a germ from one of my many patients with the winter flu and community acquired pneumonia and such – hey, is it still nosocomial if you weren’t actually a patient when you picked it up??

The only reason I’m still standing is because I actually had the flu vaccine this year. Yes, b*tches, I do the vaccine-thing. 

I don’t get sick, even though I have close to zero nutrients in my diet.I take vitamins. They help a little.

But multivites make me polyuric and I refuse to use the disgusting loos in our hospital. And my bladder is not ten hours strong.

© Tim Burton

Was not going to post for some time. Blogging seems to be inhibiting my productivity. Like now, when I’m supposed to be in bed already since I need to be in hospital before 6am tomorrow.

Also, Internal Medicine is killing me. Our firm is crazy busy with way too few students and a whole lot of nonsense I can’t really go into right now. And some super-rude patients.

But during our Call last night, I made a comment to the registrar about how one patient’s daughter seems to fancy herself some kind of unofficial doctor. Which is true.

To which the reg responded (laughingly),

“You know what I like about you? You’re so emo! Has anyone ever told you that before? I dig how you’re not fake just because I’m your registrar. Your… Tim Burton-ness is awesome.”

I think she’s right, although I’ve never considered it to be an “awesome” trait. More of an annoyance really. I’ve been compared to Juno (of the movie) before, which I suppose has the same emo undertones.

So anyways, I’ll just take it for the compliment it is said to be.

It was funny though. I don’t think a doctor has ever complimented me on anything, nevermind anything non-work related.

At a recent community volunteer clinic, I had my first proper psych patient. I have dealt before with suicide attempts, but those were unconscious patients in casualty and thus did not present the opportunity for a consultation.

This patient came for help herself – something I though was a good sign. Her affect was blunted and she was clearly depressed. There was a positive history too.

Nevertheless, I initially assessed her as low-risk. She wanted a referral to a psychiatrist and I was happy to give it to her.

Realising that I have not yet done a practical psychiatry rotation, I asked a senior student for a consult. Good thing too. He assessed her as high-risk. I had forgotten to ask about death ideation and suicidal ideation.

Things I learnt?

1. Know when you don’t know;

2. Brush up on psych;

3. There is a reason they make us study for centuries.

The inspiration for this document came during my second year while studying for an end-of-block test. At the same time, the then-first years were studying for Pathology, aided by “Le Document”. Somewhere in this time period I looked at a fellow second year, threw my hands in the air rather dramatically and exclaimed,

“I wish I had a Le Document for Second Year!”

Le Document pour MB.ChB.II can be found here. It focussed mostly on holistic wellness during a tough theoretical year. Third year is a whole new ballgame, with students finally set wild in the clinical environment. Theory modules are unfortunately still a reality and at my school, third years are haunted by Neurosciences and Musculoskeletal System.

I throughly enjoyed this year and fortunately I had some older friends who had some handy tips. Thus, some advise for new third years:

Do not freak out if you struggle to draw blood. Practice will make perfect. Accept any challenge, but look out for patients with good veins – they will boost your confidence.

Do not freak out if nurses know more than you do – chances are they have been practicing  longer than you have been alive. Respect them: they can either help you a lot, or make life extremely difficult for you.

ARVs are not a joke. Stressing for an HIV-test isn’t either  Never fool around with a contanimated needle or specimen.

OBSTETRICS: wear a mask when delivering a baby, amniotic fluid does not taste very nice. Always remember tbe infection risk. Wear goggles or a visor and an apron too. Note that if a lady comes in crowning it is not always possible. Remember that the mothers do all the work, it is your job to help them. Remember you are working with lives, always. If told to deliver a multipara, check twice with a doctor or matron.

Ask to take a picture of your first baby, you will not regret the memory.

PAEDS: little humans are resilient, but not made of steel. Be sure you know how to do procedures on them – do not attempt to draw blood from a little human with a syringe. Do not perform a procedure in their cot – it is the only safe place they have. For your own emotional well-being, try not to get too attached. And beware the paediatrician - just because they love kids does not mean they love you.

INTERNAL MEDICINE: this rotation is competitive and exhausting. Try to be on your supervisor’s good side. Take initiative. Look interested. Go the extra mile. Wear comfortable shoes. Read up about all cases on your firm, not only those of your own patients. These are good principles anywhere, but especially important in Internal.

Never underestimate the importance of a good history and a basic physical. If you don’t know what to do, start there. Have a method to your investigation, and a structured presentation.

FAMILY MEDICINE: Do not scowl at this rotation, there is a remarkable load you can learn here , especially if you learn to respect the multidisciplinary approach. Be well prepared for site visits, take sturdy shoes and hand- sanitisers. Take the time to understand you patients’ psyche and sociology, there are not many blocks that cater for this.

SURGERY: not my favourite rotation. Apparently doctors fall into one of two groups: those who love surgery and those who despise it. Surgeons can be scary and temperamental, but try to learn as much as possible. Attend tutorials even if it is easy to slip out. Assist in surgeries even if other students are willing to relieve you of your duties. Do not stress about assisting, you will be told what to do. Most importantly, know how to scrub in and practise your suturing.

With so much practical, theory becomes mundane. Do not lose sight of your goal. Attend classes. If you get bored, look for blogs, student sites or books to pique your interest. For example, The Brain that Changes Itself promises to be a great addition to neurosciences. A Life in Pieces is exceptional for psychiatry. Three Letter Plague as well as Disease are gripping. Musculoskeletal system requires great effort. Colour in, draw, use your friends’ anatomy and don’t let the skeleton stay in the closet.

Third year is wonderful and can ignite your passion for medicine once more. However, you must take good care of yourself. Sleep often, eat well.

And don’t forget your stethoscope.

I hate memorising things – even something as straightforward as the Glascow Coma Scale. Fortunately there are plenty opportunities for me to practise the important things in the clinical environment.

The first time I had a patient with an obviously lower than 15/15 grading the patient was in her early fifties and referred from an old-age-home. Note the discrepancy here. Her grading was M5, V2, E2 with a total of 9/15. In other words, she localised pain but could not obey commands, made noises but no words and opened her eyes only to painful stimuli.

She was known with epilepsy and hypertension, but when she was found unconscious by her caregivers her rapid glucose displayed only “Hi” – in other words, higher than 30mmol/ℓ. They administered Actrapid and sent her our way. When she arrived at hospital her glucose still displayed “Hi” and we administered more Insulin while rehydrating her.

The bloods drawn for a formal HGT read 74mmollℓ. She had high ketones in her urine – not high enough for the sickly-sweet ketotic smell.

This patient had no previous history of diabetes, yet she had DKA or HONK (hyperosmolar non-ketotic coma). The truth of the matter is that these complications of diabetes do not simply arise overnight.

Whatever the reason for her being admitted to the care-facility (we later saw that she had some cognitive developmental issues), her family clearly wanted her to have a good standard of care. The fact that she had to slip into a coma before they even checked her glucose means that the care she was given was decidedly sub-standard.

I won’t go into the details here, but upon placing her urinary catheter this was confirmed to be so.

In trying to get a collateral history from her sister – I was trying to ascertain just how conscious the patient usually was, considering her epilepsy-medication was Phenobarbitone – it dawned that the sister hadn’t seen her in months.

We are said to have humanity because unlike a great many animals, who don’t merely get rid of the weak: we find ways to help them flourish, or to help them live their last days in dignity. It did not really seem to be the case here. I must remind myself to remain non-judgmental.

Many disease processes are not preventable. A healthy young man dies suddenly of a heart-attack, while an obese one lives well into his eighties. A young baby suffers epilepsy and in one attack the oxygen deficit causes permanent brain damage.

But this episode was preventable.

Our patient recovered well and her sister decided to take her out of the nursing home. A week later, when they came to collect the glucose-monitor, our patient was dressed in new clothes and her hair was clean and cut. She waved at us, smiling her half-toothless smile. Childlike, you could say.

I do hope she does better this time.

During my internal rotation I learned something devastating: the wondrous white coat is simply not big enough. During the four weeks I did not button my coat up once – and I don’t think it has anything to do with the few extra pounds I have gained this year.

1. Stethoscope: The favourite tool of medical students; the day your first stethoscope arrives is one of excitement (anyone who is blasé about it, is just suppressing their joy). Don’t forget it; I have once or twice and felt naked the entire day. I like Littmann, mine is a lovely raspberry colour.

I wear mine around my neck, but med-school lore apparently states that students should keep their stethoscopes in their pockets.

Aside: You can use your stethoscope to test reflexes if you forgot your patella hammer; but if you tell anyone I will vehemently deny any mention thereof.

2. Gestation wheel: we use these in obstetrics, but since we got a few pregnant patients on our Internal calls, I like to keep mine handy. You can get a template to make your own or buy a nice plastic one. Mine was handed out at our campus’ society day – quite a nifty hand-out.

 

Aside: these are awesome to have on-hand when calls get quiet or boring. We discovered that one of our friends was most likely conceived on New Years’ Eve.

3. Illegal hospital supplies: We are discouraged from taking supplies in the morning to have them ready when we need them. In a private hospital where different wards are owned by different professionals this is completely sensible. However, in our public set-up, it is often necessary. Some staff nurses are lax in restocking their supplies from the storeroom, which is problematic if you are out of 22-gauge needles and your 92-year-old patient needs bloods drawn immediately.

You also often find that in a specific ward, only one glove-size is available at any one time. When I find small gloves, I stock up; as do my clinical partners when they find size 8½ gloves.

The “piggy” in the picture is my own. It’s like a specialised syringe, I don’t know it’s real name.. In our hospitals they are a rare find – even rarer than piggy-needles, which baffles my mind. They are awesome though, especially if you need 20mℓ blood (or more). They are much nicer than syringes. Similarly, butterfly needles are much nicer than normal needles of you need a radial arterial blood gas.

The name tag is what students often use to label their stethoscopes. You should not steal from the hospital though.

 

4. Tourniquet: In South African hospitals, people often use gloves instead. Avoid at all costs: it HURTS (go on, try it). Once our Intern was helping me with a difficult blood-draw. I said, “You can use my tourniquet, it’s brand-spanking-new.” He laughed and said, “And so it shall remain, because it will be stolen before it ages.”

They are really easy to misplace, but fortunately also quite cheap. Mine is an ugly orange, but I’m hoping to get a pretty one soon, like the one on the side. Patient’s do often call us vampires…

5. Pupil torch: Admittedly this was a bit premature, as it will probably be of more use in trauma. This one is dirt-cheap, but we also haven’t been able to discover how to change the battery or the bulb. I guess you just replace the whole cheapie.

6. Measuring tape: Another thing I acquired for Obstetrics, but quite useful when your patient has a lymphadenopathy (or anything else, really).

7. Reflex hammer: I bought the expensive metal one, although the cheaper plastic ones are much better for the swinging technique required for testing reflexes. The metal one is semi-collapsible, which is why it won. It also has a sharp end for Babinsky-reflexes and a pin on the inside. In the age of HIV and other blood-borne disease we don’t use the pinprick anymore, instead we use wooden toothpicks.

This book is probably my favourite of all medical textbooks – and it fits perfectly in your white coat’s pocket. Learn how to use it with speed and, like the stethoscope, don’t go anywhere without it.

A note on diagnostic sets: they are awesome, but very expensive and they are usually available in all wards. Due to their value you might need to ask the chief nurse for access to it.

I have seen senior medical students pull other gems from their bags: scissors, adhesive tape and breakfast bars. Don’t forget extra pens and paper for notes, either. Undoubtedly, one needs a bag – a satchel. I’m still looking for my perfect one: it should have a sturdy strap that can be worn across the shoulders and have an easy-to-organise interior. And because I’m a girl it needs to look good too.

The search is on!

 

 

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