Start of a New Chapter

A week ago I started a new chapter in my medical life; 3rd year rotations. It has been a huge adjustment, but a very fulfilling one at the same time. No more speding days on end with my nose buried in a book. From now on the majority of my learning will be hands on.

When I have the time I'm going to be writing about the experiences that I have while on rotations so that I can someday look back and remember what it felt like to be just starting out.

For my first two months I am rotating through surgery (which I first saw as a curse but am now really enjoying) at one of the busiest surgical centers in the country (in terms of # of surgeries at this hospitals three sites).

How to Stop Sunburn Itch

My life was almost cut short by a terminal case of surburn itch this afternoon, and in my desperate state I couldn't find a good source on the internet regarding how to stop sunburn itch, so although I'm sure someone browsing through the entries will have no interest in this, eventually the search engines will start directing people here.

Before I continue, let me clarify something: this is regarding the pain-just-stopped sunburn itch, not the my-skin-is-peeling sunburn itch.

First, here is what not to do (of course I did this):

I was minding my own business (standing on the street corner when these two guys started to make trouble...wait that's another story), sitting by the computer when out of the blue my back starts to itch.

So naturally I reach around and scratch it. And would you believe it, that didn't seem to help. I keep scraching, but I'm quickly realizing that I need something bigger as I can't scratch my entire back at once, so I go into the bathroom and start grinding my back up against one of the towels that we had hanging up.

This seemed to help for a few minutes, but I was quickly leaving the this-is-mildly-annoying part and entering the I'm-at-risk-for-losing-my-mind phase.

I then tried laying face up in bed and moving up and down, but of course that didn't work. Then I tried arching my back as much as possible (is that decorticate or cerebrate?) as if I was going to do a backwards cartwheel, then curling up into the fetal position--zero help whatsoever.

All the while the itchiness was coming in ever greater waves. My heart was racing and my entire body began to pulsate with each heartbeat. You may think I am exaggerating, but until you have suffered through a good case of sunburn itch, you'll never understand.

So here was the one thing that helped: put about an inch of aloe vera gel on your back (I'm assuming it is your back that got burned because, unless your a nudist, chances are you went to the beach with skin white enough to make the Amish proud and decided to spend most of the day face down) and lie completely still, facedown on the bed. At first, putting gel on your back is only going to make the itching worse, and you'll still have some lingering itchiness, but it will pale in comparison to how miserable you were beforehand.

Drag Me to USMLE Step 1

I'm stuck in a never-ending Step 1 studying, phase of life, I'll post some more once I emerge.

Secrets of Happiness

A Harvard study of which has been running from the 1960s to the present found that there were seven characteristics common to the happiest of the men studied. The characteristics were: mature adaptations (chosing altruism, humor etc in response to difficult situations), education, stable marriage, not smoking, not abusing alcohol, some exercise, and healthy weight.

The complete article can be found here.

Here is an exerpt from the article taken from The Atlantic:

What happened to you?

You grew up in a kind of fairy tale, in a big-city brownstone with 11 rooms and three baths. Your father practiced medicine and made a mint. When you were a college sophomore, you described him as thoughtful, funny, and patient. “Once in awhile his children get his goat,” you wrote, “but he never gets sore without a cause.” Your mother painted and served on prominent boards. You called her “artistic” and civic-minded.

As a child, you played all the sports, were good to your two sisters, and loved church. You and some other boys from Sunday school—it met at your house—used to study the families in your neighborhood, choosing one every year to present with Christmas baskets. When the garbageman’s wife found out you had polio, she cried. But you recovered fully, that was your way. “I could discover no problems of importance,” the study’s social worker concluded after seeing your family. “The atmosphere of the home is one of happiness and harmony.”

At Harvard, you continued to shine. “Perhaps more than any other boy who has been in the Grant Study,” the staff noted about you, “the following participant exemplifies the qualities of a superior personality: stability, intelligence, good judgment, health, high purpose, and ideals.” Basically, they were in a swoon. They described you as especially likely to achieve “both external and internal satisfactions.” And you seemed well on your way. After a stint in the Air Force—“the whole thing was like a game,” you said—you studied for work in a helping profession. “Our lives are like the talents in the parable of the three stewards,” you wrote. “It is something that has been given to us for the time being and we have the opportunity and privilege of doing our best with this precious gift.”

And then what happened? You married, and took a posting overseas. You started smoking and drinking. In 1951—you were 31—you wrote, “I think the most important element that has emerged in my own psychic picture is a fuller realization of my own hostilities. In early years I used to pride myself on not having any. This was probably because they were too deeply buried and I unwilling and afraid to face them.” By your mid-30s, you had basically dropped out of sight. You stopped returning questionnaires. “Please, please … let us hear from you,” Dr. Vaillant wrote you in 1967. You wrote to say you’d come see him in Cambridge, and that you’d return the last survey, but the next thing the study heard of you, you had died of a sudden disease.

Dr. Vaillant tracked down your therapist. You seemed unable to grow up, the therapist said. You had an affair with a girl he considered psychotic. You looked steadily more disheveled. You had come to see your father as overpowering and distant, your mother as overbearing. She made you feel like a black sheep in your illustrious family. Your parents had split up, it turns out.

In your last days, you “could not settle down,” a friend told Dr. Vaillant. You “just sort of wandered,” sometimes offering ad hoc therapy groups, often sitting in peace protests. You broke out spontaneously into Greek and Latin poetry. You lived on a houseboat. You smoked dope. But you still had a beautiful sense of humor. “One of the most perplexing and charming people I have ever met in my life,” your friend said. Your obituary made you sound like a hell of a man—a war hero, a peace activist, a baseball fan.

Don’t!

Here's an interesting article on delayed gratification, something I'm sure most medical and pre-med students are all too aware of:

Dept. of Science: Don’t!: Reporting & Essays: The New Yorker