I've been following the news about the medical student accused of being the Craigslist murderer, Philip Markoff. The one thing that bothers me most about this case is this: How the HELL does a second-year medical student have time to solicit sex workers on an online classified service or gamble at casinos?
When I was a second-year, I was too busy struggling to pass pharmacology to solicit anything online, and the only gamble I was willing to take was betting my tuition against the chance of making a living in medicine.
All I can say is that Boston University needs to start working their second-years a little harder. The devil makes works for idle hands.
Yesterday was my birthday, and I hope you will forgive me for not having installed neon fonts or flashing banners on the blog for the occasion. After all, I merely turned forty-one, what's the big deal? My fortieth birthday had some gravitas behind it, but forty-one? It's a non-event, a prime number, not a big deal.
Every doctor sees patients with diseases related to substance abuse, both legal and illegal. The other day I looked at my hospitalist census and realized 65% of the patients I was seeing had illnesses either caused by or worsened by alcohol and tobacco abuse.
Now that Noo is solidly on the path to melanoma wellness, I find myself with more time for my annual midlife crisis. The past several years, around the time of my birthday, I find myself succumbing to a certain disillusionment and generalized ennui. I do a lot of ass-dragging and complaining, find fault with my colleagues, bemoan the decline and fall of human civilization, read too many books and articles about crime/financial collapse/political instability/ovarian failure, and generally take stock of the daily tedium of Real Life:
One of our pregnant citizens had a successful vaginal birth after Cesarean (VBAC) this weekend. Not to take a single credit away from her, but this is the kind of event which takes a village to achieve. Here's why:
One of our intermittent hospitalists previously worked in suburban and urban hospitals, and has found our two-ring rural circus a bit challenging. I knew he was settling in nicely when he told me the following story:
OK, I know I've been a wee bit of a downer lately--even though I have every reason to be grateful and optimistic--and I want to reassure everyone I'm going to get over it soon, because the days are longer, the black-tailed deer have returned to my field, and the farmer's market begins any week now, so what's not to cheer up about?
One barrier remains: April. Can I tell you how sucky this April is going to be? Here's why:
