Jun 7, 2012

Step 3 starts tomorrow

As a great man once said: "All right, brain, I don't like you and you don't like me - so let's just do this and I'll get back to killing you with beer."

One woman.  Two days.  Some number of questions.  Some other number of patient care scenarios.  750 dollars.  Can she do it?  Time will tell.

Monday, talk.  Wednesday, longer talk.  Then?  Bender.  I'm definitely thinking bender.

I have finally adopted the schedule I planned on for Step 1.  Get up.  Go to work despite being on vacation.  Do questions and work on projects.  Work out at the gym.  Eat healthy dinner.  Watch an episode of Archer.  Go to sleep.  Repeat.

See, with hard work and dedication, you too can be responsible... for like, a couple of weeks, a year plus after you graduated medical school, but still

May 15, 2012

Another frigging USMLE, really?

So, in my program, you have to take the USMLE Step 3 by June 30th of your first year because they realize path residents are going to forget all their clinical medicine.  The plus side is we don't technically have to *pass* it until June 30th of your second year.  But since "Step 3: Electric Boogaloo: MCQs in Space" is two days of work-day length misery instead of one, I really don't want to do it twice.

Being a responsible person, I'm taking it June 8-9, which is about three weeks before when normal me would take it, but about nine months past when a reasonable person would take it.

Being a SUPER responsible person, I decided to make use of all resources that would really help me study for this exam.


Yeah, roomie and I got a boat.

How do you study?

Roomie mostly got a boat, particularly since she has a car that can tow it without invalidating the warranty and I don't, but damn.  I'm now officially a disgustingly rich boat owning doctor, except I'm poor and part-owner of a hobie cat we got off craigslist, but the potential is there!  All that's left is to stuff it full of golf clubs and caviar and butlers and such.  Posh people do that, right?

Posh people also go to Kiawah Island.  As part of my program being incredibly awesome, they sent us to attend at least one day of a conference out in rich people land.  This was my first for-real conference, and I was sufficiently blown away.  The lecturers were actually pretty damn amazing; notes came with bling and a preprogramed flash drive with the power points, and then the spread required a lot of extra treadmill/swimming/weights time particularly since it all concluded with an oyster roast/food orgy/open bar out in a beautific location.  I thought when they saw my handbag lacked either a "Coach" or "Louis Vuitton" logo on it, they'd throw me out, but security must have been lax.

So yeah, perhaps I'm in an upswing that will terminate with my telling all you fine people to run screaming from the profession (again), but life is currently making all the Step 3 UWorld pwnage worth it.  Despite the fact that palmetto bug season is starting to bloom, or "Satan Death by Aerial Insect Assault" season as it's known by those who can interpret the screaming.  For you lucky uninitiated, palmetto bugs are roaches that are pumped up on steroids, aggressive, and fly.  You're welcome.  Pleasant dreams.

Back in heme, I was required to do a five minute presentation at conference on something I'd learned that month.  Since I'd had a quasi argument/discussion/I know this topic talk with my attending on thalassemias, we jointly decided I would do that since I'm lazy and he wants to focus on a topic where there aren't a lot of cases here.

For some reason, this five minute topic on a disease my mother is carrying a trait for had me up until 2 AM.  Personally, I blame powerpoint for being a horrendously inefficient way to present information that isn't a picture of something.  So I did the thing this morning to a fading audience, but my attending had left, so I did it again at the beginning of sign out, and he approved, so I may be doing it again to all the heme onc people because I like boring diverse groups of people.

Since I'm pathologically addicted to Game of Thrones, this does allow me to make the most specific geekiest, least funny reference in history by saying "Hemoglobin Constant Spring is a deletion in the alpha gene stop codon which leads to a long alpha globin chain, contrasted to Hemoglobin Winter is Coming which causes the gene to make progressively stupider decisions until someone kills it."  [Crickets chirp, awkward silence ensues]  "Thank you!  You've been a wonderful audience!"

I get nervous about presentations until the time where I actually have to give them and then I don't care.  You'd think this not caring would carry over to the presentation effort so that it doesn't take me 7 hours to hack together a 5 minute presentation, but it doesn't.  I also never do a practice run, usually because it's 2 in the morning.  I attribute this all to being 11 years old, with my precision team, opening the Ice Capades (yes, really) and falling directly on my ass during a simple maneuver in front of at least a couple thousand people.  Given that, scrambling some medical terms to a group of thirty people who know me just doesn't matter.

That being said, if I give a presentation and you ask me to do the same presentation an hour later (today), you will get two entirely different presentations.  And despite all the care and effort I put into making a stupid powerpoint presentation, I rarely reference anything but the pictures.  "Behind me, you'll see a list of bullet points that constitute my midnight stream of consciousness and have nothing to do with what I'm talking about.  Enjoy."

I also over research and under reference.  This has been something I've literally done since high school.

"Oh, I have a paper due on Shakespeare?  Okay!"  [Read all of Shakespeare's works.  Read several biographies on Shakespeare.  Pull up lots of webpages that recount the same information.  Do this for several weeks.  Write entire paper in a single run beginning at 10 PM the night before it's due with no rough draft.  Sprinkle arbitrary references in among facts that may or not be where you got the original information, but by then it's amalgamated into your "common knowledge" and you have no idea where it came from.  Hope like hell they won't fact check you or that you've inadvertently plagiarized someone.  Swear you won't space your time like this next time.  Repeat pattern for next fifteen years.]

What else?  Oh, we did the Residents In Service Exam, which for first years, as I mentioned, has no real significance other than telling you what you need to learn.  What did I learn?  I'm good at microbiology.  I don't really know why I'm good at microbiology since we haven't rotated in it yet.  I'm not good at surgical pathology even though I spent most of my time in it and stresses related to it nearly sent me fleeing to Mexico despite an exquisitely poor command of Spanish for a native Californian.  Baby steps.

I blame the media for my current career path.  I wanted to be a virologist initially because I thought Outbreak was a good movie and I was, like, 12.  I downplayed this during my "Why did you get into pathology" interviews because I wanted to eventually get work.  I'd like to say X-Files hasn't played a role in my current course, but I'm suspicious.  Now I'm weirdly good at microbiology, and the most logical reason I can come up with is that Dustin Hoffman is remotely beaming the information into my mind.  That's reasonable, right?

Apr 30, 2012

Background noise

(Resident comes from other rotation, speaks to fellow)

Resident: Teach me something.

Fellow: (sums up case) So CD30 is all you need.

Me:  I thought love was all you need.

Resident: Is she always like this?

Fellow: Yes.

Apr 23, 2012

The Economy Car Blues

I finally got my wonderful guitar gift fixed up for the low low price of 10 dollars, so I can put this to music:

9 AM, the flames are lickin'
10 AM, the porch ain't there
At noon, I'm getting that call saying, girl you're gonna stay where?
And you got no way to get going now,
Naw, they burned up your ride too,
Now I'm sitting in the ruins singing the economy car blues, baby...

Can't get to work
Can't get to church
I'm in the lurch
Can't head to the Red Cross
Can't get to tell my boss
Can't get to the downtown, feeling lowdown blues...
No, I've got the economy car blues.

Where's your bed baby?
That futon? It's gone
Your tv and vodka bottles?
Just pieces on the lawn
But I'm sleeping out here barefoot; yeah they got my pretty shoes,
And now all I got are these economy car blues, yeah
Those subcompact blues,
Those window-crank blues.

 When you're missing your stride, you got no ride
Want your stereo, want those sexy pleather seats back
A three quarter spare, smells like burning hair,
and the paint job's turned smoky black
That's just the economy car blues, yeah it is
That's just the economy car blues.

Can't get to work
Can't get to church
I'm in the lurch
Can't get to the mall, not the justice hall
Not the clinic, I can't win it blues
I got these economy car blues. Yeah yeahhhhhhh CHA.
(guitar slide)

---
See, this is what happens when I don't get enough sleep and get called out in derm lecture.

Apr 17, 2012

Meanwhile, in hemelandia

I don't even watch Portlandia much, but I really like adding "ia" onto everything. And putting a bird on it (Okay, I watch Portlandia a little).

Anyhoo: Dear Clinicians, we do actually read your notes. And you are hilarious. "The patient is obese, and extra personnel will be needed in the OR to deal with the obesity of the patient, who I may have mentioned, is obese."

Also, all notes begin "The patient is a pleasant blah blah blah. And all the referrals begin with "Thank you Dr. ScaryName for referring your patient, who is a pleasant blah blah blah". Sometimes, they're "very pleasant". Which of course, is meaningless to us, and after reading thirty notes that begin that way, is either a complete lie, or we have the most pleasant group of in-pain people ever. "The patient, Ms. Jones, is a demanding chore of a woman who has threatened to sue me five times. By referring her to me, I can only guess I have grievously wronged you in some way, and for that, I do apologize."

I know as a medical student, I got some unpleasants. One wanted to be her doctor, which is a story for later and helped me run screaming into my field just in case she ever found me. "My patient, Ms. Really?, said she threatened to slap a nun. I feel no further history is needed."

That's not really heme though. That's everything, including autopsy, though in the latter they tend to add, "In this unfortunate case", which is weird because no death note is going to begin with "Well obviously..." The unfortunate part seems implied.

Heme. Things are difficult. Good difficult, but difficult. I'm starting to absorb the immunostains, which is extremely important in heme. CD20 and CD3 in particular are becoming my bestest friends.

My attending freaks me out a little bit, so I'm just as pleasant (see what I did there) as possible while remaining self deprecating enough to not be aggressively pimped. For instance...

Attending to other resident: Go slowly through this; Ishie won't mind. She's very patient.

Me: It's one of exceedingly few virtues, sir.

Fellow: (chokes)

An interesting thing... I'm either "The Quiet One" (go figure) or "The Extremely Inappropriate One". The former is usually to avoid the latter when I'm around people that I'm not sure will appreciate it, which to be fair, is most people. This occurred in my surgery rotation, which is the only way I made it through the rotation alive. This confused a friend of mine, because the secretary specifically referred to me as the Quiet One, which sparked "Wha??"

The fellow seems to be around me enough to know I'm secretly a horrible person. He hasn't told anyone at this point, so I think we're cool.

Other heme stuff... we work much closer with clinicians, which is cool in a sense, but sucks in a sense, because it means we have to talk directly with people who talk to our patients and they say stuff like "Awww, that's a shame. This kid's so sweet and is such a fighter", and that personal touch is honestly really deflating. Not in a "grave detriment to my work" way by any means, and I do like giving good news on any front, but surgical pathology is quite hands off when people aren't hounding you for frozen sections, and you can be like "Oooh, weird melanoma!", whereas when you see someone's repeat-after-chemo bone marrow packed with Unspeakable Evil and you have to immediately call the clinician, who at times comes down and looks through the scope with you, there's no real excitement to it. "These stain really weird!!!" just doesn't cut it. The heme/onc people are great though. I suppose you'd have to be.

In other news, my mom's coming down to visit for her birthday, so I get to show off Charleston in a hopefully non-murdery, good food sort of way, which contrasts sharply to her last visit which was to a Motel 6 in the hood where someone immediately got killed outside the freeway exit the night we'd gone to a Denny's for dinner. I seem to attract trouble.

Apr 12, 2012

Attempting to be Southern...

Attending: I'm not going to tell you anything about this patient's history; I'm just going to show you the slide. Tell me what you're seeing.

Me: Sickle cell patient

Attending: What cells are you seeing?

Me: Uh... target cells, fragments, reticulocytes, lots of polychromatic forms, SICKLE CELLS

Attending: What cells are these? (points at sickled cells)

Me: Sickle cells

Colleague: Elliptocytes?

Attending: No, not quite elliptocytes. These are sickle cells.

Me: ...

Attending, to me: See right here, this group? (points with scope arrow), they don't look like typical sickle cells, but that's what they are.

Me, flatly: I know.

(pause)

Me: I mean, yes sir.

Surprisingly, the conversation went perfectly normally after that even as my brain was screaming "I SAID SICKLE CELL LIKE FOUR TIMESSSSS IT'S THE ONLY THING I KNOW ASIDE FROM PROSTATE. ACKNOWLEDGE MY GREATNESSSSSS AAAAHHHHH must have theee PREEECCCCIIIOOUUUSSS"

Yeah, I say sir and ma'am now. I pick up strange idiosyncrasies but without the accent or upbringing to back it up. One of my attendings may well be called "Dr. Bless his heart" because he's so damn nice to everyone all the time. "Bless his heart" is a phrase I *NEVER* used before I moved here, and certainly not said in its original intention, but today, while talking to my mom on the phone, I uttered "And Dr. C, bless his heart, actually ordered in bagels from New York for us."

I blame my former roommate for my calling people "doll", "dollface", "baby", and "babycakes" though. People may think I picked them up here, but they were instilled by an exuberant roommate and a lot of burlesque announcers in New York.

The sir thing is weird though. I've never been a sir person, but now it's just part of how I talk to my attendings. "No sir, I'm pulling the patient's history up right now, I apologize for that sir". Every time I do it, in my head, I sound like Bill from True Blood, which eventually means that by the end of my residency, I'm going to have the voice and accent down. Ishie! Did you check the trends on this guy's urine proteins? Sir, I must regret to inform you that those files remain untouched by my hands. Now, if you'll excuse me, sir, I will escort Miss Stackhouse out of the hospital before she surely incites trouble in these halls. Where is that girl... SOOKIE.

Apr 8, 2012

Happy Easter!

Dinner will be courtesy of Trader Joe's. I actually googled to see whether there was a TJ's in Charleston when I was moving here, and was bummed that there wasn't, though there's a Whole Foods, and then a month or two after I moved here, they opened one, which makes me way happier than it should since I can't really afford to shop at Whole Foods until I'm an attending.

I'm not sure why I'm expounding on my favorite grocery store. Because I can, I suppose. Anyway, I had aspirations of baking my own ham (for two people) and all sorts of fanciness, then went to the store, saw they had some cheap awesome looking precooked and figured making potato salad and asparagus is enough cooking for a holiday I really only celebrate to score Cadbury eggs.

Speaking of cooking, I literally can't remember the last time I got take out or fast food. That doesn't mean I'm eating healthy or anything (since I learned how to make cupcakes out of alcohol), but it's a huge financial boon, so I took all that newly uneaten money to buy clothes-that-are-not-scrubs because new month new rotation. Since I don't have creepy crawlies, bowel contents, and blood (weirdly) to contend with, I no longer have an excuse to spend all day in my pajamas. Yes hemepath, a field oddly lacking in fresh blood.

See, I took it from grocery stores back to medicine. I'm a jedi. I'm in hematopathology now, which is a field that's in my "maybe I'll do that when I grow up" box without the financial apocalypse that is forensic pathology, which is also interesting, but does not promise to pay off my loans. Also, I hate courtrooms, and considering I just had to rush out to go shopping due to being in another flavor of path, I definitely don't want a closet full of jury fodder to worry about.

ANYway, I initially developed a crush on hemepath when I did pediatric hematology/oncology as my pediatric elective.

For the uninitiated, hematopathology deals with blood (duh) and has a pretty large focus on leukemias, lymphomas, and hemoglobinopathies (like sickle cell), though the former two much more than the latter. Hemepath is much more diagnostic contrasted to blood bank which deals more with obtaining and matching blood, though I actually like both.

Essentially, in hemepath, someone comes in with a blood problem, and we do science at it until we arrive at an answer. We also evaluate treatment, so if someone's been on chemo for a while and their bone marrow is still packed with evil, that's bad. Other stuff. We mostly look at peripheral blood, bone marrow aspirates, bone marrow biopsies, and lymph nodes if they are suspicious for lymphoma. If there are weird blood cells in other body fluids like cerebrospinal fluid or belly juice (usually cytology's turf), we look at that too.

Blood is tricky, because while it may be kind of obvious about being "BAD" or "probably not bad", the different categories of badness look very similar, and knowing whether you have promyelocytic leukemia versus lymphoblastic leukemia versus etc is extremely important for treatment, so we do all sorts of voodoo to these cells and get way more money allocated to play with them. This is in contrast to autopsy where you do not order special stains EVER. "What kind of cancer did they die of? Fatal cancer. Next case."

I'll take a minute to sideline on a couple perception pet peeves here. Cancer is a fantastically expensive set of diseases. It's not anyone's fault. I'd love to blame drug companies and corrupt doctors and government, but cancers are extremely specific self made little assholes, and it takes thousands of hours of manpower and chemical warfare to get into it. A whole spectrum of specialists needs to find out what it is, where it came from, what broke, and then either a magic bullet for it (there are a couple of cancer types that produce a specifically combined gene product that doesn't normally occur and we can target it and kill the cells that make it, but that's unfortunately not many of them) or the specific combination of horrible chemicals that will target the cancer first. A lot of promise in treatment is coming along the way of the understanding of the genome but things like targeted antibodies and the whole new wave thing is outrageously expensive.

I say this to make two points. One. No one can privately afford this. I'm glad that back in someone's grandpa's day, health care was simple and affordable, but if grandpa's sister got leukemia, she'd have died. Two, anyone that says "Sure, we can _____________, but we can't cure cancer!" needs to shut up. Seriously, anything they have to say after that is irrelevant. Most things that can be murdered with a single inexpensive drug (looking at you, syphilis) have been.

I'll also bring up another point, more as an education thing. Since cancer is *not* one disease, approach to treatment is extremely specialized, so anyone thinking "If I got diagnosed with cancer, I wouldn't go through ______", not a good way to look at it. There are pediatric leukemias that have an 80-90% ten year survival rate. The kids lose all their hair, turn white, look like death, get scary pneumonias where they're on a ventilator and you're absolutely certain they're done, and two years later, boom. Hair back, rallied, good grades in school, no cancer. Breast cancer? Runs everything from "not a big deal" to "death sentence". If you ever get cancer, talk extensively with your doctor, look up articles, etc. Also, don't wait because you don't want to deal with it or you don't have the money. Often the only difference between outpatient surgery and stage four metastatic disease is time. Keep in mind, I am *not* saying cling onto the promise of life by your fingernails in the face of everything or that I should manage your individual situation. Believe me, I have a list of cancers and progressive diseases that are in my "Give up and run up all my credit cards in Thailand" category, but I'll be damned if "breast lump" will be one of them.

And please listen to your doctors once you have a diagnosis. If you don't like yours, get a new one, but absolutely consult people with peer reviewed literature on their side *before* and possibly as an adjunct to the other stuff you try. As far as all natural goes, cancer is all natural, which is why you really have to go unnatural to kill it. Lest you think I'm MD patronizing all of you, my grandfather died because of prostate cancer that remained quite treatable until quite late, thus leaving me at 13 with *no* grandparents (last man standing) so it's a topic I care about.

But soapbox off. Where was I? Oh yes, the battery of heme tests. For the most part, heme feels approachable, memorizable. There are nuances to the cells I'm learning to appreciate on morphology, but a lot of it is memorizing which markers correspond to which cells and which markers are likely to go screwy first when the cells they're sitting on go bad.

Unfortunately, one test they run is flow cytometry. Part of tomorrow is going to be spent trying to make heads or tails of it. It's super duper important, and unfortunately, looks like this:


Yeah. When I encountered flow on my first day, a little avatar-Ishie from college calculus popped up, had a seizure, and dropped dead. Lest you think that little graph up there could be comprehended, most flows are about six-ten pages of that run against different parameters and cluster differentiations. So the heme path fellow is flipping through it realllly quickly considering it's full of math and says something to the effect of:

"Okay, it does look like we're dealing with an M4 type acute myelogenous leukemia."

Noooo... it doesn't look anything like acute myelogenous leukemia. AML looks like this:


Whereas that looks like this:


But I'm going to try to get it, so I can pwn hemepath and show it the love I think it deserves.

In the meantime, as your Easter/Game of Thrones Episode 2 present, here's Joffrey getting slapped.

Photobucket

Apr 1, 2012

Wahoooooooooooooo

So what, I have a GME presentation and an abstract due because it's SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY...

It's been what... nine months?? I'm all "Dun dun daddda dum, da dum dum daadda dum."



SO freaking excited. Particularly with True Blood and Dexter both being poor showings this last year, I've needed this.

I am being responsible by not going to see Hunger Games with some of the other first years though. Gotta get some work done.

Addendum: Since I haven't geeked out over this show enough, here's some amazing dude playing the opening against multiple copies of himself.

Mar 31, 2012

Surprised by progressive people...

I wear my scrubs home from work a lot because I'm lazy and never sterile anyway. I'm a short female frequently wearing a backpack, so General-Populationville usually thinks I'm a nursing student, which I've stopped really giving half a crap about since it's easier than explaining what I actually do.

The CSI watchers jump to autopsy (Yes, I carry a gun and chase criminals around crime scenes. In heels. I'm badass that way. I also used my kelp knife to fight great white sharks rather than using it to avoid being murdered by algae), and any further explanation of what pathologists do, ie, most of our job, is lost on people.

I would say that etiquette would dictate erring on the side of highest education/deepest loan burden, thus I insist all people noticing my scrubs address me as "You must be the program director of neurosurgery at Johns Hopkins!" else be branded as sexist pigs. On the other hand, I'd note that my hospital is one of the biggest employers in this city, as well as being a medical school, so seeing someone in scrubs should usually prompt people to not guess what you do, since they have as much chance of getting your profession correct as you do seeing someone in a suit.

Still, imagine my surprise:

Rite Aid cashier: "Oh, are you a doctor?"

Me (shocked stutter): "Yes!"

Rite Aid cashier: "Surgeon?"

Me (double shocked stutter for the double un-sexism): "No, uh.. pathologist."

Rite Aid cashier: "Ah! Heh. 'Are the margins clear?? Are the margins clear??' "

Me: "You appear to know more about pathology than most doctors."

It's true too. In med school, I had a frigging anesthesiologist hear my interest and go "Oh, but don't you mostly deal with dead people?" Dude, you're in the OR when they send specimens. You have to sit there and wait for the phone to ring so the operation can proceed. How do you not know what we do?

Then I remember I've been on autopsy for two months and feel like I'm fulfilling some sort of stereotype, like if I'd been caught painting my toenails and watching Fried Green Tomatoes while crying into a kitten's fur and asking a man what he's thinking.

Mar 29, 2012

And now for something completely different

I had a request for a new blog post today, and responded with something to the effect of "I'm in the middle of trying to get an abstract accepted and everything I'm doing at work right now is confidential", so I came across a colleague's link of facebook which led to a post that really moved me a lot, while also reminding me that I became a pathologist to help with situations like this while not having to directly deal with situations like this:

An Ode to a Patient

There's a bunch of fighting about health care currently, and if I were a truly good politically aware doc, I'd be paying more attention, but honestly, this whole health care legislation/insurance company screwage is so confusing that it's honestly not because we don't care. We don't get it either.

This doesn't really relate to the current bill either. It's just a general observation.

Common situation even as a medical student:

Patient: I have insurance. I have a complaint. Please address my complaint.

Doctor: I am a doctor, thus interested in your complaint. Let me examine you and run tests and get images.

Patient's insurance company: We're going to cover 60% of this and some of this, but this image you ordered we aren't going to cover because... blahblahblahfishcakes. So you're not going to really get paid much, but the patient's general expenses are going to still be life altering, and patient still isn't going to be able to afford the MRI, and if you want the MRI, you're going to have to cough the two grand out of your bank account, since while you can comp your services, you don't own an MRI or an MRI technician, or a radiologist. Addendum, we're adjusting our provider options, so the specialty treatment your patient requires is going to be at a hospital across town. Double addendum. Those lab tests got sent out to a lab that wasn't covered, so the patient's getting charged four hundred dollars she's going to blame you for. Meanwhile, people are just going to keep thinking you're a Mercedes driving golf club swinging douchebag while you drive your used jetta to work and pay off a quarter million in loans, cool?

Doctor: Super.

Patient: Why can't YOU treat me???

Doctor: I genuinely don't know.

Mar 20, 2012

This is why the boys don't call me

Financial advisor: Is there a time you can talk tomorrow morning?

Me: Uhhh... I don't know yet.

Financial advisor: You don't know?

Me: Well... I'm on autopsy this month, so it kinda depends on.. ya know, who dies.

Financial advisor: "..."

Mar 17, 2012

Happy St. Patrick's Day!!

I'm pilgrimming to Savannah tomorrow for what I'm told is an incredible celebration, and most importantly, I made these:


I got the recipe from here which is an adaptation off the Smitten Kitchen.

Pretty much it's an Irish car bomb shot that's been made into a cupcake. More significantly, *I* cooked. Which I can't generally, but I've been on phase 45 of trying to become a grown up at the tender age of 31 and eat something that hasn't come out of the hands of a delivery boy or out of a microwave or through my car's window.

And I get to see New York friends again! Which is super awesome.

Other news:

The fire: I replaced my fabulous alligator head purse which I loved so much and feel a little more complete.

I attended another hearing for the little shit that started all this and this time got to see him, look him in the eye, and tell him what he did. Heard his mother talk about his neighborhood and how he wasn't a bad child even though he's already committed a decent smattering of felonies and misdemeanors without being beaten to death. I love my mom, but somewhere between larceny and assault, I would have concerned myself with finding and recovering tooth fragments rather than progressing to arson. Not that she beat me, because I didn't give her a compelling enough reason to do so, because I knew better. Anyhoo, the next hearing was waved and next step is a trial, so I don't have to worry about it for a while and getting to say "This is what you did" in a court and have people listen to me for a change felt a lot like closure.

I feel comfortably settled into my new life. My roommate's dog is hating me me less. My car is awesome, shuttled me to and from Maryland last weekend without incident, and tempts me every time I shift into first gear to really rev the engines and let it run, but I'm trying to behave myself for the sake of my greatly inflated insurance rates.

Work: Pretty not bad. Autopsy is calming; I like the attendings, and I'm beginning to not feel like a complete idiot. The heart used to panic me since there's a whole process for it and it's usually what kills someone, and now I can teach it to med students so they can cut it shakingly while I watch. I can toss stuff off while I'm dissecting. Here's the conduction system; here's the substantia nigra; what's the significance of it? Why don't you see it in babies? This is a pulmonary embolism. This is a postmortem blood clot. This is how you can tell. Do you remember the liens of Zahn?

I still feel an odd sense of fascination about the snapshot of a person we get from their personal effects. Especially since the police usually take wallet and phone (and guns and such) so no picture, no identification, just.. cough drop wrappers. A crack pipe. A penny. A photo. Fifty dollars and a gap coupon. A handful of tree leaves and branches from where they died. When someone's tried to help, the sequella of events is extremely clear, the laryngeal edema from the endotracheal tube, bruises on the chest, the rib and sternal fractures, the punctures all over from rapid indelicate IV attempts. The battle scars of the good Samaritan.

A word of advice though, which I reserve for myself a lot. It's never as bad as you think it is. Tomorrow will always be better when you've had time to process it. The idea that you're going to "show someone" you're fighting with and teach them a lesson either leads to you hurting someone who cares about you or killing yourself over someone who doesn't. Just sleep on it. The bridge or the gun or the chainsaw or the pills will always be there tomorrow, so why be hasty about it? No one will ever find you? Of course they will. And it won't be as bones or a memory. It'll be bloated and stinking and that's the legacy you'll leave to a room full of people that refer to you by a number. So therapy and some perspective guys; just saying.

Mar 1, 2012

My handwriting...

Forensic fellow: "Oh! I've been looking for you. Did you add an addendum on to an older case but crossed out some stuff, because it's a different case number?"

Me: "Uhh... I have the attention span of a goldfish, thus no idea what you're talking about if it doesn't relate to a case I've been doing in the last day."

Forensic fellow: "It's a girl's handwriting."

Me: "Oh, then it's not mine."

Forensic fellow: "Oh, do you write like a boy?"

Me: "I write like someone in the middle of a seizure."
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Follow up: Yeah, I did it. Apparently, my handwriting is 'curvy', thus I write like a girl. I defended myself by saying that I can't write like a girl because I don't dot my i's with little hearts. He wasn't buying it.

Feb 18, 2012

More than you wanted to know about autopsies

Hola amigos. Autopsy's been pretty crazy this last week. There's an interesting split in pathology because there's more than one type of autopsy. There are baby autopsies, forensic autopsies, and medical autopsies. The babies tend to involve perinatal circumstances so more to find out why something went down either before birth but after 20 weeks gestation, or right after birth, and hopefully find something to give the parents some idea of how likely it is to happen again.

Forensic autopsies are what everyone things pathologists exclusively do, and also, people think they encompass way less than they do. Essentially, if you don't die in the hospital, you get a forensic autopsy. Homicides, the famous one, but suicides, car accidents, bike accidents, pedestrian accidents, old people found at home, boaters found in rivers, etc. Full spectrum. When you're not the lead on these cases, they're actually less of a pain in the butt then people would expect since mail off labs are the ones that have to do the extremely slow version of all that CSI stuff.

Medical autopsies are the ones that are most important to the residents, and constitute the most paperwork. They give you a benefit over forensic autopsies because you have all the hospital paperwork at your disposal. Unlike most forensic autopsies though, this complicates the course because people in hospitals don't tend to die of really straightforward things. So... what killed this person? Cardiac arrhythmias are a particular headache. If it's not caught on a monitor, we can't demonstrate it happened. An MI will leave evidence (sometimes) but the arrhythmia it triggers? Not so much. We were given a handout describing death not as a loss of structure, but of function, and since we get them after the cease of function, it can be something of a mystery.

An added aspect to medicals is unlike with forensics, unless the forensic has a really medical-ly component to it, is we have to explain it to their clinicians AND families in a write up. This is difficult. Laymen understand why getting crushed by a truck causes death. They do not generally know what an amniotic fluid embolism is, why their mortality rate is so high, why doctors couldn't really do anything about it, and what the mechanism of death is, all without using words like "disseminated intravascular coagulopathy", and I have to explain it without being callous. And cite references.

But it's all good, and ultimately, way less stressful than surgical pathology. My attendings are super cool, and one of them caused me to discover an autopsy scully doll that I didn't know existed, and sparked my long dormant desire (coupled with Slappy mailing me a Scully action figure to replace the one burned by a fire, and yes I am a complete dork) to collect X-Files things. I'm trying to temper it with a more normal grown up habit like buying nice shoes or purses, but damn that stuff is expensive. I feel like a yuppie tool every time I pay 80 bucks for running shoes (worth it) but I saw a pair of Gucci boots that I liked decently online and they were 1100 dollars. Noooooo.

What else... Oh! People have been sending me pictures! See???


My nudibranch from Monterey!


Grenada hash!


The Alps!!!

Soooo awesome. Great to have memories back.

Feb 6, 2012

Values

I want to tell you all a story about a dead man and a penny.

We received a man in the autopsy suite. This is in no way uncommon. One of the things we do, part of our list of things to check off as certainly as the weight of the heart and lungs, is to inventory anything we receive. Clothes, money, drugs, all on a checklist.

As we carefully removed the man's pants, we heard a sound, a clank on the floor, and we observed a single penny, the culmination of everything he had, and something we had missed in our initial exam.

"Get it!" my attending said sternly, and I chased the penny around the floor until I had it, detailed its worth on the sheet, and placed it carefully in a bag of personal effects so that the penny could be returned to be distributed as the deceased had seen fit. That penny rightfully belongs to the next of kin. If this man has a will, he can be burned, buried, or shot into space with his penny, and no rational individual would contest it. No moral person would contemplate stealing the penny, nor denying the ownership of said penny.

And I didn't contemplate stealing the penny, nor throwing it away, nor anything else. Because the penny belonged to the dead man.

I'm telling you this story to tell you another story. I received a page from a transcriptionist that lives around the corner from where I used to live. She told me she'd seen bulldozers by my old place. I left work (on time) to try and get access to the building for what must have been the eleventh time, since no one had called me, despite assuring me they would, but when I got there, everything had been reduced to a pile of rubble. The house is functionally gone, and the contents inside are buried under tons of bricks, lumbar, and debris, and what is visible has been crushed into the ground by a large machine.

I stood there in front of this silent but for a few profanities and saw a purple piece of fabric, and pulled, from the side of the lumbar, an intact blouse that was mine that had been untouched by fire, and had not been ruined by the water. It had been on my floor near my bed (I'm messy). Pulling a few nail-ridden boards out of the way, I saw the cane I had when I tore my plantar fascia, broken in half (because a bulldozer drove over it), but with every bit of plastic design on it unburned. This cane (which I didn't use) is notable because it had been leaning against the case of my solid top Takamine guitar, giving me reason to believe that my guitar was fully intact before being crushed under a building. I looked a bit further in and saw the splayed torn remains of a step 2 book.

There were things in there that were mine. That were driven over recklessly with no opportunity for me to access them because of the inconvenience of being on a second floor. Most of those things can be replaced. Many, I'm sure, were fully destroyed by the fire, including my back up drive, which contained all my pictures, and I'd fully come to terms with that. Some things cannot be replaced. They are memories and creations with emotional value. Now that the building has been reduced, anything that belonged to us now freely belongs to whoever risks looting the wreckage, including the owners of the bulldozer that brought it down.

I'd come to terms with the loss. I expected a complete loss after the fire due to seeing the skeleton of the building. I kept asking fire, police, anyone, if I would be allowed to see if I could recover anything, and I was treated like it was a crazy request that inconvenienced everyone, and ultimately, a futile one. My landlord was threatened with fines or imprisonment by the city of Charleston if he did not remove his arson-destroyed building from an area poorly served by police, and the eyesore was removed without much care to the people that lived inside of it.

It is reprehensible to steal from the dead. It is crucial to retain their memories so that their family and friends have items to remember that individual, or if nothing else, so that the individual's wishes can be enacted. And I'm all for that. But the contrast struck me. Why are the memories of the living in turn so valueless?

I apologize for having another dark entry so close to the last, and I am well aware that this is hardly why anyone would read this blog. I'm not wallowing in despair, I'm feeling happy most of the time, I'm moving on with my life, and I enjoyed the hell out of the Giants winning the Superbowl. This has been due *entirely* to help from friends and family, and I can say with certainty, *no* help to anyone representing the city or its offices. Well, the Giants thing more due to the Patriots' inability to catch a pass, but still.

I'm also in autopsy now, which is about half the hours and half the stress of surgical pathology, but is going to cause entries to take a pretty significant turn for the dark, and unfortunately, the still ambiguous. HIPAA applies to dead people too. Autopsy is also, already, giving me a raging case of weird insecurities and half-phobias.

A not case-related example: Back when I was doing a path rotation at Coney Island, I was looking through topics to present and came across vehicle vs pedestrian deaths and being a grisly lass, thought "perfect". Until I came to the chapter about dead people being found by the side of a road or interstate with a cause of death by a single blow to the head and no other injuries. Hypotheses collided... An extremely specific and weird gang initiation in which people leaned out of cars with baseball bats? Coconuts being dropped out of planes?

Or... buses and trucks have large side mirrors so they can visualize their blind spot, and if a stranded motorist is walking a little too close to the road, BAM! And the truck driver or bus driver may never know he hit anything.

"Neat", I thought morbidly. Until the next time a city bus pulled up to the stop and I jumped back like it was made of cockroaches and canned tuna. EVIL DEATH MIRROR.

The brief rule of autopsy is that absolutely everything *can* kill you. Some things like killing you more than others, popularly bullets, rapid decelerations, other cars, and bacon in your coronary arteries, but these are things we should already know to be paranoid about. If someone pulls a gun on me, I'm like "Uh oh, death possible", but thanks to the wonderful world of autopsy, I will eventually feel the same way about bus mirrors, bees, carnival rides, and hammocks.

Oh, and crabs. F- crabs, dude. If PETA had any idea, they'd be like "Animals are our friends. Except crabs. Eat them, wear them, torture them, but seriously... crabs are not your friends. F- crabs. PS, don't wear fur. Here's a picture of Pamela Anderson naked. Love PETA."