Courtesy of an urge to procrastinate...
YEAR 3B MEDICAL STUDENT TYPES
The anti-proactive student - There are some med students that are more interested in their learning than a 12 year old boy in a sex education class run by a hot blonde teacher. These students attend all their ward rounds, take histories and examine about four different patients, and generally don't get home until the sun has gone down. You are the exact opposite of these students. You do take a history and perform an examination, but only to one patient... and only once per week... and only at the end of the week. And the only reason why you do it, is to satisfy the burning guilt within. You successfully convince yourself that you've had a productive week of learning!
The choker - Some people are born to be cool and calm when things get pressure-cooker hot. You, unfortunately weren't. You know the anatomy of the heart and lungs back-to-front. You know every possible sign and symptom accompanying every single disease of either organ. You can perform a cardiac and respiratory exam in your sleep. Yet, come morning ward rounds, in front of seven other people your senior, the consultant's simple question to you of "what are the signs of COPD?", can only be met with stuttering, nervous sweating, an eight-fold increase in your heart rate, and retrospective regret as to how stupid you were.
Mr/Ms Stabber - You're legally allowed to jab needles into people and by God, you're not going to let this once in a lifetime opportunity pass by. Whilst half of your med student colleagues are still trying their third cannula on one of those fake arms in the practice lab, you've lined up your 25th cannulation on a real life patient, and it's not even lunchtime yet. And what's on for the afternoon? Why, the 16 patients you've pre-organised to take blood off. The pathology nurse either loves you, or is about two days away from taking out a restraining order out on you.
Mr/Ms Stabbee - You know trypanophobia? You most certainly don't have it! You're probably the above type, stabbing away at unsuspecting patients just as they wake up. But your needle fetish doesn't stop there. When you hear your fellow med student colleague across the room complaining about not being able to cannulate anyone, you're quick to offer your own arm for practice. Wow, did your shirt just roll its sleeves up in anticipation by itself? That's amazing!
The specialist - Third year is all about being exposed to as many different disciplines of medicine as possible. Not for you. You already know you're going to be the world's best intensivist, so screw the dialysis or rehab rotation. You're pretty sure that "ICU/CCU" is written down under your name on the timetable for every week. That place is your turf, and any other student that's going to be there is about to meet your fist. Not only do you know every nurse there, but you even know what times they start and finish everyday. Creepy much?
Theatre junkie - Let's face it. Surgery is where it's at. Nothing says medicine more than a race against time to plug up that fountain of blood coming out of the poor seven year old kid. Surgeons get to do all the cool stuff. Whilst most of the medical lackeys are boringly ordering their fourth bag of saline for the day, the surgeons get to be the extensions of the hands of God. You want into this! That's why your second home is the theatre. Whilst most others find standing in the corner of the operating room for about three hours as exciting as a party run by the Jane Austen appreciation society, to you it's the greatest way to learn. Either that, or you're just trying to get out of being on the wards where you'll actually have to do stuff. Well played.
Pen stealer - Pens are cheap inventions that are slowly being out-phased by keyboards and touch screens. In hospital, however, the pen is more important than your eventual medical degree. You need one. Informed consent that's not recorded down in some sort of note form never holds up in court. Unfortunately for you, the reg/consultant has asked to borrow your pen. This being the 11th time it's happened, you know you're never going to see that pen again. But hey, it's all part of the game. Some doctor steals your pen? You just steal one off the nurses station. Feeling particularly mean? Steal one off your fellow medical student
The early bird - you like worms. Don't get the joke? Then you're obviously slow. Good luck passing this year. Anyway, you're the one that rocks up to every ward round in the morning. You're so keen, you'd be there even if the rounds started at 4am. The problem is, every time the ward rounds are finished, you're left wondering why you even showed up. You had no idea what was going on, you didn't learn anything and just about the only constructive thing you did was attempt to fetch bed 112's drug chart, only to find that it's nowhere to be found, and hence you now look like a bumbling failure by not being able to complete the one simple menial task the doctor asked you. But that's ok because I'm sure you'll learn something useful on tomorrow morning's round...
Eponyms anonymous - You somehow know the fancy names for seemingly every disease known to humankind. Charcot's disease, Dressler's syndrome, Whipple's procedure, Friedrich's ataxia. You might know what they are, but not even the registrar has any idea what the hell you're going on about. Berger's disease. Um... you get that from... um, too many burgers?
The articulately challenged - Half the reason why doctors are smart is because they sound smart. What with all the big fancy words that they use, the normal Mr and Mrs Joe Blogs is sure to think that they're in good hands. Having the ability to reel off long medical terms with precision and ease is such an important skill to learn. Terms such as "choledocholithiasis", or "spondyloarthropathy" or "endoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography" should roll off your tongue like the tagline in a Broadway musical being sung for the 35th straight night. Unfortunately for you, when you say those words, it sounds more like a tone-deaf 70 year old with laryngeal cancer singing Rebecca Black's Friday song. Good luck trying to pronounce 'pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis' (I didn't make that word up. Google it).
The model - You've seen the folly of wearing a tie. It's not so much that it poses an infection risk. It's because by wearing one, you don't get to look coooooool. Nothing oozes cool more than a skinny, figure-hugging $200 brand name open-collared shirt, rolled neatly to just below your elbows and slim trousers (that shows off your ass) with matching belt and shoes. You've even considered strutting through the hospital with a pair of sunglasses on. The corridor of the Gen Med ward is your giant catwalk and your name tag reads Dr. Zoolander. For you, being a doctor means you should look good. Actually, no. For you, being a doctor means you should look smokin' code red on-fire hot.
The lunch scabber - You're a poor student that's swimming in the proverbial shit-pool of financial debt. You could go get a job, but that would require working, and you'd rather be caught with your pants down in the corner of your bedroom than work for minimum wage behind a greasy counter with colleagues that are half your age. That leaves one major problem, however. How are you going to pay for your day-to-day food? Simple! The lunchtime medical conference always has a free lunch. What's that?? FREE LUNCH! Absolutely! Hang on, the catch is that you have to sit through a boring lecture? Absolutely not, at least not for you. After you're done scoffing down the free food like a hypermetabolic ADHD kid with a sugar-eating disorder, you switch on your elite secret agent mode. Peeking around each corridor as you go, you sneak your way out of the hospital leaving no trace of your presence. So diligent is your strategy, that should you be spotted mid-escape by the man who is running the medical conference, you even have a contingency plan: run for your friggin' life.
Grey's anatomist - You're so deeply disappointed about how working in a hospital has turned out. Where's all the incest between doctors? Why hasn't the intern slept with all his medical students yet? How come I haven't slept with all the interns yet? You've gotten into this doctor gig for one reason only - to live out the Grey's Anatomy dream. Unfortunately for you, real hospitals aren't like that. What, you mean we actually have to look after the patients?! But hell, that's not going to stop you. Whilst the three others at your lunchtime table are keen to discuss how ulcerative colitis may lead to colorectal cancer, all you want to do is stir some shit up. Have you checked out Dr. X's ass? It's almost as hot as last week's "hot doctor of the week". Want me to set you up with that new hot surg intern? Perhaps I can slip him your number if you like. You don't want me to? Oh, too bad, I've already done it.
Checklist lover.... or hater - Everyone hates that logbook. That stupid list of things-to-get-signed-off is staring at you. Put your ear to it. No, really, put that book right up to your ear. Can you hear that? It's laughing at you. It's mocking you for the amount of work you have left to do. There's only two months left, and the only thing you've gotten signed off is one of the injections (and even then, you screwed it up somehow). Much to your disgust, you're forced to actually show up on the ward and do stuff. You've taken a cardiac history, and by 'cardiac' I mean the patient had a heart attack 14 years ago, and by 'history' you simply asked whether it hurt a bit. That's not going to stop you from asking the intern or 5th year student, who is at the other end of the hospital, if you can get that signed off from the book. The funny bit is, they'll usually do it.
The Benchmark - There is always one in every group. He or she is the best medical student of the cohort, leaps and bounds above the rest. You are this person. You're the only one that knows about alpha-1-antitrypsin deficiency and its link with COPD. You're the only one who knows every side effect from the use of sulfamethoxazole, whilst everyone else is still wikipedia-ing what it actually is. You're the only one who can perform a full neuro exam in 49 seconds flat. All the other students respect and admire you, and use you as the gold standard of progress. If you don't know it, then sure as hell we won't!
The commoner - *PA announcement chimes* Code Blue. Student Common Room. Code Blue. Student Common Room. What?! Since when was the student common room an actual ward? Oh that's right. Since you decided to spend 97.5% of your time there!! Why would you ever come out of the common room? There's food, comfy couches, and no consultant can ever embarrass you when you're in the common room!
The one who owns that little colourful Oxford Handbook of Medicine - ... Basically, everyone.
Alright, back to work :( :(
YEAR 3B MEDICAL STUDENT TYPES
The anti-proactive student - There are some med students that are more interested in their learning than a 12 year old boy in a sex education class run by a hot blonde teacher. These students attend all their ward rounds, take histories and examine about four different patients, and generally don't get home until the sun has gone down. You are the exact opposite of these students. You do take a history and perform an examination, but only to one patient... and only once per week... and only at the end of the week. And the only reason why you do it, is to satisfy the burning guilt within. You successfully convince yourself that you've had a productive week of learning!
The choker - Some people are born to be cool and calm when things get pressure-cooker hot. You, unfortunately weren't. You know the anatomy of the heart and lungs back-to-front. You know every possible sign and symptom accompanying every single disease of either organ. You can perform a cardiac and respiratory exam in your sleep. Yet, come morning ward rounds, in front of seven other people your senior, the consultant's simple question to you of "what are the signs of COPD?", can only be met with stuttering, nervous sweating, an eight-fold increase in your heart rate, and retrospective regret as to how stupid you were.
Mr/Ms Stabber - You're legally allowed to jab needles into people and by God, you're not going to let this once in a lifetime opportunity pass by. Whilst half of your med student colleagues are still trying their third cannula on one of those fake arms in the practice lab, you've lined up your 25th cannulation on a real life patient, and it's not even lunchtime yet. And what's on for the afternoon? Why, the 16 patients you've pre-organised to take blood off. The pathology nurse either loves you, or is about two days away from taking out a restraining order out on you.
Mr/Ms Stabbee - You know trypanophobia? You most certainly don't have it! You're probably the above type, stabbing away at unsuspecting patients just as they wake up. But your needle fetish doesn't stop there. When you hear your fellow med student colleague across the room complaining about not being able to cannulate anyone, you're quick to offer your own arm for practice. Wow, did your shirt just roll its sleeves up in anticipation by itself? That's amazing!
The specialist - Third year is all about being exposed to as many different disciplines of medicine as possible. Not for you. You already know you're going to be the world's best intensivist, so screw the dialysis or rehab rotation. You're pretty sure that "ICU/CCU" is written down under your name on the timetable for every week. That place is your turf, and any other student that's going to be there is about to meet your fist. Not only do you know every nurse there, but you even know what times they start and finish everyday. Creepy much?
Theatre junkie - Let's face it. Surgery is where it's at. Nothing says medicine more than a race against time to plug up that fountain of blood coming out of the poor seven year old kid. Surgeons get to do all the cool stuff. Whilst most of the medical lackeys are boringly ordering their fourth bag of saline for the day, the surgeons get to be the extensions of the hands of God. You want into this! That's why your second home is the theatre. Whilst most others find standing in the corner of the operating room for about three hours as exciting as a party run by the Jane Austen appreciation society, to you it's the greatest way to learn. Either that, or you're just trying to get out of being on the wards where you'll actually have to do stuff. Well played.
Pen stealer - Pens are cheap inventions that are slowly being out-phased by keyboards and touch screens. In hospital, however, the pen is more important than your eventual medical degree. You need one. Informed consent that's not recorded down in some sort of note form never holds up in court. Unfortunately for you, the reg/consultant has asked to borrow your pen. This being the 11th time it's happened, you know you're never going to see that pen again. But hey, it's all part of the game. Some doctor steals your pen? You just steal one off the nurses station. Feeling particularly mean? Steal one off your fellow medical student
The early bird - you like worms. Don't get the joke? Then you're obviously slow. Good luck passing this year. Anyway, you're the one that rocks up to every ward round in the morning. You're so keen, you'd be there even if the rounds started at 4am. The problem is, every time the ward rounds are finished, you're left wondering why you even showed up. You had no idea what was going on, you didn't learn anything and just about the only constructive thing you did was attempt to fetch bed 112's drug chart, only to find that it's nowhere to be found, and hence you now look like a bumbling failure by not being able to complete the one simple menial task the doctor asked you. But that's ok because I'm sure you'll learn something useful on tomorrow morning's round...
Eponyms anonymous - You somehow know the fancy names for seemingly every disease known to humankind. Charcot's disease, Dressler's syndrome, Whipple's procedure, Friedrich's ataxia. You might know what they are, but not even the registrar has any idea what the hell you're going on about. Berger's disease. Um... you get that from... um, too many burgers?
The articulately challenged - Half the reason why doctors are smart is because they sound smart. What with all the big fancy words that they use, the normal Mr and Mrs Joe Blogs is sure to think that they're in good hands. Having the ability to reel off long medical terms with precision and ease is such an important skill to learn. Terms such as "choledocholithiasis", or "spondyloarthropathy" or "endoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography" should roll off your tongue like the tagline in a Broadway musical being sung for the 35th straight night. Unfortunately for you, when you say those words, it sounds more like a tone-deaf 70 year old with laryngeal cancer singing Rebecca Black's Friday song. Good luck trying to pronounce 'pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis' (I didn't make that word up. Google it).
The tie-wearer - All doctors wear ties. Correction, all doctors over 40 wear ties. Infection control is usually a rather large annoyance. I mean, who the hell washes their hands five times in total when seeing one patient?! But they are good for one thing - they don't want you wearing ties. Washing hands a bajillion times becomes moot when your tie dangles in front of your next patient's face and passes on some flesh-eating bacteria to them. This is, of course, until some smartarse researcher disproves this with some quadruple-blinded randomised trial. But who cares? That's not going to stop you from donning one of those neck-stranglers. The older consultants wear ties, and you want to look like one. Hell, you've even gone one better and donned a bow tie.
The model - You've seen the folly of wearing a tie. It's not so much that it poses an infection risk. It's because by wearing one, you don't get to look coooooool. Nothing oozes cool more than a skinny, figure-hugging $200 brand name open-collared shirt, rolled neatly to just below your elbows and slim trousers (that shows off your ass) with matching belt and shoes. You've even considered strutting through the hospital with a pair of sunglasses on. The corridor of the Gen Med ward is your giant catwalk and your name tag reads Dr. Zoolander. For you, being a doctor means you should look good. Actually, no. For you, being a doctor means you should look smokin' code red on-fire hot.
The lunch scabber - You're a poor student that's swimming in the proverbial shit-pool of financial debt. You could go get a job, but that would require working, and you'd rather be caught with your pants down in the corner of your bedroom than work for minimum wage behind a greasy counter with colleagues that are half your age. That leaves one major problem, however. How are you going to pay for your day-to-day food? Simple! The lunchtime medical conference always has a free lunch. What's that?? FREE LUNCH! Absolutely! Hang on, the catch is that you have to sit through a boring lecture? Absolutely not, at least not for you. After you're done scoffing down the free food like a hypermetabolic ADHD kid with a sugar-eating disorder, you switch on your elite secret agent mode. Peeking around each corridor as you go, you sneak your way out of the hospital leaving no trace of your presence. So diligent is your strategy, that should you be spotted mid-escape by the man who is running the medical conference, you even have a contingency plan: run for your friggin' life.
Grey's anatomist - You're so deeply disappointed about how working in a hospital has turned out. Where's all the incest between doctors? Why hasn't the intern slept with all his medical students yet? How come I haven't slept with all the interns yet? You've gotten into this doctor gig for one reason only - to live out the Grey's Anatomy dream. Unfortunately for you, real hospitals aren't like that. What, you mean we actually have to look after the patients?! But hell, that's not going to stop you. Whilst the three others at your lunchtime table are keen to discuss how ulcerative colitis may lead to colorectal cancer, all you want to do is stir some shit up. Have you checked out Dr. X's ass? It's almost as hot as last week's "hot doctor of the week". Want me to set you up with that new hot surg intern? Perhaps I can slip him your number if you like. You don't want me to? Oh, too bad, I've already done it.
Checklist lover.... or hater - Everyone hates that logbook. That stupid list of things-to-get-signed-off is staring at you. Put your ear to it. No, really, put that book right up to your ear. Can you hear that? It's laughing at you. It's mocking you for the amount of work you have left to do. There's only two months left, and the only thing you've gotten signed off is one of the injections (and even then, you screwed it up somehow). Much to your disgust, you're forced to actually show up on the ward and do stuff. You've taken a cardiac history, and by 'cardiac' I mean the patient had a heart attack 14 years ago, and by 'history' you simply asked whether it hurt a bit. That's not going to stop you from asking the intern or 5th year student, who is at the other end of the hospital, if you can get that signed off from the book. The funny bit is, they'll usually do it.
The Benchmark - There is always one in every group. He or she is the best medical student of the cohort, leaps and bounds above the rest. You are this person. You're the only one that knows about alpha-1-antitrypsin deficiency and its link with COPD. You're the only one who knows every side effect from the use of sulfamethoxazole, whilst everyone else is still wikipedia-ing what it actually is. You're the only one who can perform a full neuro exam in 49 seconds flat. All the other students respect and admire you, and use you as the gold standard of progress. If you don't know it, then sure as hell we won't!
The commoner - *PA announcement chimes* Code Blue. Student Common Room. Code Blue. Student Common Room. What?! Since when was the student common room an actual ward? Oh that's right. Since you decided to spend 97.5% of your time there!! Why would you ever come out of the common room? There's food, comfy couches, and no consultant can ever embarrass you when you're in the common room!
The one who owns that little colourful Oxford Handbook of Medicine - ... Basically, everyone.
Alright, back to work :( :(
