Author: medintima

Joshua Lawton, MS3, Class of 2025

With the coming of autumn comes the falling of leaves, a perpetual nuisance to anyone who has had to maintain a lawn. Whenever a leaf falls, it must be raked and bagged and set out by the curb to be picked up and thrown away. When surveying a yard full of colorful leaves, the last thing I think about when raking is bending over, picking up and intently examining a leaf. I am thinking about getting the task ahead of me done. However, to some picking up and studying a single leaf comes second nature. When I was a child, I remember how my grandmother would encourage us to find the most beautiful leaves. We would bring a handful of leaves inside, in reds, oranges and yellows, from oak, birch, mimosa, maple, and more. Then with crayons and printer paper, we would make rubbings of the leaves so we could admire the delicate veins, spidering outwards from the stem. Once we were done, my grandmother would press the leaves flat between the pages of the book so they could dry and be saved. From time to time, she still will find a leaf pressed in a book that she had forgotten.

When I start my day at the hospital, I often look at what has to be done, studies, presentations, practice questions, papers, and, yes, even patients, like that yard full of leaves, a task that needs to be done. I think about getting done with one task so I can do the next task. However, sometimes I need to set the rake down and appreciate a single unique leaf. Especially when it comes to patients, taking time to look and listen can make a difference for the patient and for you, making sure that they are heard and not forgotten. One experience I will never forget is from my internal medicine clerkship. We had one patient, an older, homeless man with metastatic cancer, who was causing us trouble. He would refuse everything. He would refuse treatments for the cancer, daily labs, and palliative care. He would refuse to allow us to coordinate with his brother, so he could have a place to stay. Then he would just be quiet and grumble about the lights and people. Yet, other than the hospital staff, he was entirely alone. We were not sure what to do. However, when I would go see him alone in the morning on my rounds, he would be more friendly and open to labs, treatment, and discussions about his care. I felt a little nudge inside of me saying to go see him. So, one afternoon when I was dismissed early, I went up to his room to see him and just sit and talk to him.

I did not take a notebook or pen but just went myself. He was wearing a shirt with a bright and flashy hot rod depicted in bold colors, so I asked him about it. First, we talked about cars, how he used to fix up cars, and he told me how he always wanted to own an auto shop. Then he opened up, he told me about his childhood growing up on a ranch, how he and his brother were suspended from school once and how their father sent them to trim every fence post on their land to the exact same height as punishment. He told me about his time selling horses on the West Coast and working on a fishing boat up north. He told me about friends who had been in and out of his life. Like the intricacies of veins on a leaf, branching out from the central stem, this man’s life began to unfurl before me. No longer sat before me a frustrating patient, but instead a man with a life full of experiences, deserving, like all people, of respect. Over the next few days, the team was able to work better with him and create a plan of treatment and a place for him to go.

When a leaf falls from a tree, soon it will be blown away in the wind, but for the brief moment that it falls into my hand, I now take a moment, take in its color, pattern, and shapes. I think about where it has been and where it might go. Patients are more than a disease, demographic, or task to be completed. Everyone has a story to tell.

Kameron King, M1, Class of 2027

This patient was just like all the others, and I treated her the same. With genuine care and love. She was the last patient of the day. Unfortunately, her procedure was unsuccessful. She came into recovery slightly irritated and under the post-anesthetic influence. After a short recovery, we rescheduled her procedure for numerous reasons. I was a Patient Care Tech in the Main Operating Room at a large hospital and my job was to get her to the car safely. A job I had mastered throughout my time in this role, so I thought nothing of it.

I had achieved a wonderful rapport with her, I would even consider us friends following the unlikely events that would shortly ensue. However, she was unique, not only because of her demeanor and hopeful personality, but her physique. She was 375 lbs. This did not stop her from smiling, laughing, and enjoying life to the fullest. As we laughed, and chatted about our lives, her husband got the car. Little did I know, this would be when everything changed.

I follow the protocol to a T; lock the wheelchair, patient on my right, wide gait for easy car access, and a sturdy foundation. I help her out of the chair, one hand entangled with hers and the other grasping the waistband of her pants.

Her left leg goes up to enter the passenger side of the vehicle. SNAP!
Her right leg breaks.

She immediately drops to the ground screaming in pain. As an aspiring medical student, there were very few things I knew how or what to do. Blood was going everywhere. Given the circumference of her leg, I only knew one way to acutely stop the flow, squeeze it. With her thigh in a chokehold. I begin yelling for help. I asked for tourniquets, gauze, a stretcher, and a transfer board to get her to the ER. With the simple supplies I had, I wrapped 4 tourniquets around her leg and placed many layers of gauze around the exposed tissue and held pressure.

After a few minutes, other medical personnel began to arrive. It took approximately 6 of us to maneuver the board under her in such distress and move her onto the stretcher. As we entered the ED, I was asked by the attending to give a rundown of what happened. Honestly, I don’t remember what I said because it all happened so fast. I was also just so concerned about the patient that I couldn’t even think about myself. Until my nurse manager was made aware of what had happened and came to the ED to see me. Her first words were “Wow, you have a lot of blood on you.” After some time, I had changed and the initial shock of the events had gone down, the on-call orthopedic surgeon came up to me and said “You know, you started this, why don’t you come and finish it.” He knew I was entering medical school in the fall and since I had worked in the OR for a couple of years at that point, he let me scrub in and assist with the reduction and fixation of this wonderful woman’s procedure. This was my initial spark for orthopedic trauma.

I stayed that evening until 8:30 to make sure she made it to her room. Over the next few weeks, I would check on her to make sure she was recovering well. Not only did this experience propel me into a better understanding of what patients have to go through every day, but also the unexpected things in medicine and how to be a strong advocate for patients. I will never forget the patient who put me under the most pressure at such an early point in my medical career.