4 minute read
From Zoom Medicine to Real Medicine
REFLECTIONS
FROM ZOOM MEDICINE TO REAL MEDICINE
By Jennifer Geller
"Follow that one; that is going to be interesting," a voice pierces through the hustle of the emergency department.
After spending my first year of medical school learning from behind a computer screen, it is a breath of fresh air to be surrounded by passionate medical providers. All year, I desired to put the skills I was learning into practice. Sitting for hours with my laptop being my primary connection to medicine, I had to keep reminding myself what was at the end of this tunnel. Zoom fatigue from long lecture days intersected with long studying nights created a cyclical routine where I longed to get back into the clinic — meeting patients and thinking through complex medical challenges. Today was much awaited.
I fly after the patient's medical team, unsure where they are headed but eager to learn no matter what. Just as the team prepares to intubate this patient at one of the department's resuscitation bays, one nurse feels for the patient’s carotid pulse. Nothing. Now, I am not a doctor yet; however, my years of EMS have made me familiar with what comes next when a patient has no pulse. Grabbing a stool and lowering the stretcher, CPR is started. As someone begins chest compressions, I realize that this is something I can do to help. "What am I allowed to do to help?" I ask the patient's attending — a mentor of mine since the first day of medical school as a small-group instructor for one of my Zoom courses. Answer: Chest compressions.
"I can go next!" I jumped in and performed chest compressions and to my amazement, a pulse was palpated.
CPR stops, and more advanced health care and medications are administered to maintain her pulse and blood pressure. At this time, before care is transferred to another department, my job changes on the team but is still present. As a urinary catheter is inserted, I grasp the patient's hand, anticipating her to feel pain because while she may not be conscious enough to feel the pain, there is a chance she does; we have no way of knowing. However, when she squeezes my hand back, my jaw drops under my N95 mask as I turn to tell the nurse on my right. Standing on the patient's right side, I hold her hand with my right hand and play with her hair with my left as I look into her open blue eyes that stare back at me. Can she see that I am there? Does she know what medical care we are providing her? Regardless of the answers, she is a person. One who is alone in a hospital emergency room surrounded by strangers, and if she is at all conscious, she must be in pain. The least I could do is stay by her side while she goes through each medical treatment.
The attending tells us that this patient has no family and that her emergency contacts were her neighbor and her dog walker. Moreover, while I am so happy to help comfort her in one of the scariest times of her life, I am still a stranger. Not just a stranger — but one hiding behind a giant face mask and glasses. At the same time, though, the comfort of human touch, particularly in holding someone's hand, can mean the world of a difference in just knowing someone cares, even if it is from a medical student who is just trying to do the best she can to help.
In my first year of medical school, I have taken several courses, and of course, the science classes are indeed important. However, through the year I spent with this attending who taught me what compassionate care looks like, I gained the confidence to act, jump in, and play an even more significant role in my learning. The year had come full circle as someone so influential in my learning and drive to become the best future physician I could be this far continued into this new and crucial setting.
So, as I finally stand in this resuscitation bay on my very firsttime shadowing in medical school, comforting this patient who, even if she is conscious, will probably not remember me holding her hand and playing with her hair, I reflect on all I have learned my first year of medical school. I think about how grateful I am for all the individuals who helped us transform into the young budding physicians we are turning into — especially during these unprecedented times. I remind myself yet again how treating the whole patient as a person — and not strictly the physiological and biological — plays a critical role in complete patient-centered medicine.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jennifer Geller is a second-year medical student at Rutgers Robert Wood Johnson Medical School.
