My First Year Medical Student At St. Marthers

Gardner, he was the head surgeon, who already knew my family as he did my eldest sister’s tonsillectomy. Next to him was a younger doctor whose face I couldn’t see and there were 3 other nurses-unfortunately I didn’t learn their names so we are going to call them by the colors they were wearing, Pink Nurse, Purple Nurse, Blue Nurse, and Green Nurse- standing around with them all talking and laughing around. Glad they’re getting a kick out of this and that they’re excited. I stood alone for a moment just as still as a statue but a small as a pebble. The Purple Nurse walked from my side to the small locker wall unlocked one of them pulled out one of the infamous hospital gowns, the ones I had heard about, seen on TV, and seen on other people but never have I worn one. “If you just want to take this and go into one of the bathroom right here you can change out of your clothes and into this we’ll wait out here for you.” She told me handing me the pale blue and white gown jestering to the bathroom. “Any make sure to leave your underwear on.” Added quietly to me before I walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

She wondered when the hell T.C., fellow ER doctor and ex-boyfriend, would actually show up. He did the same thing every night – he tore into the hospital at the last second like his ass was on fire, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. Or crawled out of a gutter. Jordan hoped tonight he would not show up reeking of perfume, which he had last night. That had been a stark reminder that

Rushing into the Emergency Room and suddenly everything is chaos. A jumble of doctors and nurses shouting commands and taking action. The wheels creaking as they quickly race from the ambulance and come to a halt as I am transferred to a different bed. My skin piercing as I am hooked up to IVs, a feeling that would commonly make me queasy now seemed to bother me none. Suddenly a sharp pain runs through my neck and chest as I am lifted up and my shirt tears as the scissor’s sharp blades cut through its fabric like nothing and I am placed in an itchy gown that countless others have worn before. I look for my mother to comfort me at that moment but it is too late, she has already been ushered out of the room. It is taking everything in my body

The purpose of this journal is to reflect on my experience and skills gained during my clinical placement at Ben Taub Hospital. On my first clinical day, I was excited and nervous at the same time. My first placement was in the PREOP/PACU area. I was assigned to help a patient who had been in the PACU area going on 2 days. Normally, once the patient comes from surgery they are only in the PACU area for a short period of time before they are discharged home or given a bed in another area of the hospital. This particular patient still had not received an assignment for a bed. The physicians would make their rounds to come check on him daily. The patient was a 28-year-old Hispanic male, non-English speaking, he had a hemicolectomy. He had a NG tube, urinary Foley catheter, and a wound vac. My preceptor had just clocked in and she needed to check on the patient’s vitals and notes from the previous nurse. Once she introduced me to the patient and explained while I was there, she then asked me to check his vitals. (Vital signs indicate the body’s ability to regulate body temperature, maintain blood flow, and oxygenate body tissues. Vital signs are important indicators of a client’s overall health status (Hogan, 2014). I froze for a quick second. I have practiced taking vitals numerous of times and I knew I could do it correctly. I started with the temperature first, when I was quickly corrected on a major mistake I had made by my preceptor. I HAD FORGOT TO WASH MY HANDS and PUT

Working as a scribe in the San Bernardino Emergency Room has provided me with many different types of medical experiences, from seeing gunshot wounds and various lacerations to strokes and ST elevated myocardial infarctions to hypoglycemia and hyperkalemia. Observing the treatment process from triage to disposition has been an exciting experience, in which every patient encounter has only taught me more about the field of medicine and spiked my interests in learning more about the human body. It is truly an amazing experience watching people come in scared and worried, but in the matter of a few hours after various medications, diagnostic studies and procedures they are more comfortable than when they came in. Through this experience, I have

As we walked into the operating room, healthcare professionals reminded me to stay two feet away from the patient. Nurses, doctors, and the patient herself along with her husband were present in the room. The alarming statement that Dr. Shelton uttered revolved in my head. Surgery was about to begin, so I figured there was not enough time to ask questions due to my extreme curiosity.

The hospital reeked of sadness, grief, and appalling hospital grub. My family and I sat in peace, trying to grasp the dreadful news the doctor had just shared. 2 weeks to prepare for what would forever be one of the hardest days of my life. I crumpled up the pamphlet immediately with tears streaming down my face. A billion questions flooded the mind of an 8 year old. Why would this happen to her? Why can’t they just make her better? What am I supposed to do without her?

To anyone else, March 30, 2016 seemed like any other day. I woke up at an ungodly hour, spent incredibly way too much time on a bumpy, smelly school bus, and sat at a desk for hours. However, for me, this day was different. At 3:15, I was going to see a doctor, a doctor that might finally figure out why I had been feeling sick for months. My mom pulled me out of fourth block early, and we started on out journey to The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. The ride seemed to take hours, and the traffic seemed endless. Eventually we made our way through the maze of a parking garage and hallways. After navigating our way to my appointment, my mom and I sat in the stiff chairs of the colorful and child-like waiting room until we were placed in an exam room. Eventually, there was a knock at the door and cardiologist Dr. Borris entered the room.

As I walked into the emergency room entrance, everything seemed normal. I could hear the hospital beds gliding across the floor, the monitors with a steady heartbeat, and the phones ringing. All of the nurses warmly greeted me as I began my weekly shift of 9-12 AM.

“Aubri Bowen.” the nurse said. I looked up, I saw the nurse standing right there. I really didn’t want to do this, but I had to. I stood up, my heart was pounding. I followed the nurse down a hall and into a little room. I was so nervous for the I.V, even more than I was for the surgery. I really didn’t want to be at that hospital, I was already shaking and they didn’t even start doing anything. I couldn’t stop thinking about the I.V, and how bad it was going to hurt. I laid down in the bed, and then the nurse started talking, I hoped she wasn’t

Five minutes and counting until surgery. My arms were shivering out of their sockets, and goose bumps slowly climbed over my skin. It was true that I could hear the “Thump” of my heart through my chest as I sat down with my kindle fire, to nervous to play subway surfers. That is saying

I looked up at the monitor, and a flat line flashed back at me. The beeping was piercing; a noise that shattered my sanity. “Asystole!”, Cindy shouted in a cacophonous manner. My head jerked from the monitor to her, as she rushed to reach the code button. I shuffled into the windowsill, and watched as her expression shifted from focused and calm to scattered and chaotic. The wrinkles in her face were more visible, her breaths more rapid. Her eyes were glassy, even damp, as if she were going to cry. I tucked my knees into my chest and turned my attention to the patient, whose chest was being abruptly palpated by Cindy. Her volumized, black hair bounced with each compression. How could this happen? He was awake,

All those emotions had to be put aside as I had to slowly but surely, calm myself down to face my fragile sister. Her wounds were full of fluid and her body was stained bloody and from that moment, I had the courage to hold her hand and realized that this event strengthened our bond. “You are my little sister and I failed to look upon you. Losing you will not only take one person from my life, it will suck every inch of energy that I have left, making it almost impossible for me to get back up.” As I held my sister’s hand as she was recovering, the physician assistant arrived and all aspirations of becoming a doctor were fulfilled. I carefully watched each stroke of the string and needle puncture through my sister’s wound and being so fascinated, it couldn’t be helped to ask questions during the procedure. “This procedure is called suturing, right? How does one become a physician assistant?” He coolly continues the suture and answers my questions and like a kid in the candy store, I refused to leave both the physician and my sister despite my parents’ orders to leave the room. Hunter S. Thompson once said, “Anything that gets your blood racing is probably worth doing.” Sure enough, the blood in my veins was racing to both my sister and the aspiration to becoming a

I woke in the CVICU unable to stand, walk, see correctly, or fully understand language. It was a Friday, in the gentlest terms, but there was no way of telling for sure. An IV was stuck into the crook of my elbow, a pulse oximeter clipped to my index finger, and a ventilator softly blew into my nose. The heart monitor clicked its steady tune with the nurses’ footsteps. Blood pressure cuffs constricted around my bicep and calves.

On February 11, 2016, I, Justice Fisk, had the opportunity to experience a day in the operating room at Northcrest hospital. Upon arrival I was not sure of what to expect, but I was hoping that I would be able to see some interesting stuff. After talking to several classmates each person had I difference experiences so, I was nervous of what was to come.