Surgeons are mean

"It was like the bombs that Pearl Harbor never saw coming. One minute I was presenting my case to the consultants, and then it hit me."

Surgeons are mean. I should have known something like this was bound to happen when my intern walked into the meeting with a box of tissues.

I looked at him curiously wondering why he brought it in. He too seem confused. Apparently someone had asked him to bring it in.

I was the first to present my patients, and they were three in a row. Talk about being a new born baby being thrown into sea. I was drowning in the jargon of surgery, acronyms and illegible handwriting of the medical records. At the very last minute yesterday, my intern handed me another patient to present. I had to rely on her 200 page medical file for information and I had barely any time to interview her.

Just before the meeting, I ran my histories by my intern who confirmed that my presentations were 'perfect'. He reassured me, "Don't worry the consultants won't expect you to know anything. So don't stress too much."

It was like the bombs that Pearl Harbor never saw coming. One minute I was presenting my case to the consultants, and then it hit me.

I raised an eyebrow. My heart quickened as I digested what the consultant said.

" You didn't think much about it did you?"

I had barely finished my presentation when he shot that missile.

AIM. TARGET LOCKED.

Confused by his question, I stared at him and answered the only safe answer a student should give a consultant who was bent on breaking you.

"I guess not."

Satisfied that I had admitted to that, he then began firing questions about the patient. Why were those tests done? What do the results mean? Why are we treating him that way? Why didn't we do the surgery?

I had all those answers ten minutes ago. They deserted me when they saw the enemy approaching.

Finally after some feeble attempts at explaining my answers, I remembered exactly what I had to say.

"Ultrasound showed gall bladder wall thickening, pericholecystic fluid and gall stones while the CT was consistent with acute pancreatitis. However subsequent HIDA scan showed a patent cystic duct which meant that there was no obstuction, hence the patient did not have cholecystitis. This means that the pancreatitis was not due to cholecystitis."

My return fire came two minutes too late and by then I had managed to make myself look stupid. In my defense, and I am sure I am right about this, most of us third years would not have been able to answer that question. Hell, most students still have yet to learn what a HIDA scan is.

But the surgeon wanted to make me cry. I was sure of it. For when I presented my next two patients he picked it apart and tore it into pieces.

AIM. TARGET LOCKED.

Fortunately, my wits were slowly returning and I could return fire. This particular consultant chose to grill me and only me. My colleague was spared and I know I'm whinging, but her cases were bloody simple. Most of her patients were waiting to be discharged while my patients were still in the process of diagnosis and complications.

During my fourth case, he then said,

"You're not really thinking Moon. You need to bring your presentation together and think about the bigger picture. What is this man's problem?"

I was tempted to say it. But I wasn't sure if saying that basically the doctors have no idea what's causing his pain, was the right thing to say. I mean what would happen to their fragile egos?

I should have gone with my instincts for later he said exasperatedly,

"The patient has an undiagnosed problem relating to his abdo pain. Basically we don't know what's causing his pain!"

Geeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez.

I was determined not to show how upset I was. Yes, I was traumatised at being picked apart in front of a whole room of doctors and believe me when I say he was mean enough to make students cry. I glanced at the box of tissues and looked at my intern. He looked uncomfortable, probably feeling guilty that he actully thought my presentations were adequate enough.

I would not crash and burn. I looked at the consultant in the eye, my face grim and nodded as he listed the things I should improve on. Missile after missile. I knew all eyes were on me waiting for that first tear to drop.

They were disappointed. The only emotion I showed was a student keen on listening to advice from her tutor. I betrayed nothing else. But inside I was screaming and feeling like shit.

The other doctors and consultants looked sympathetic but I'm sure they knew that this grilling was a usual occurrence. My intern who was not a Monash graduate must have not known about this tradition for I think he looked a bit shell-shocked at the mini assault that happened.

To those who are not doing medicine, I am sorry my posts have been very hospital-oriented of late. I can't help it when I spend over ten hours there everyday.

To those who have not started clinical year, remember this, surgeons are amongst the meanest doctors and they have a warped sense of humour.

To those who have started clinical year and have not had such an "I feel so bloody stupid" encounter, count yourself lucky. But trust me its bound to happen once to everyone.

I could not truly smile the whole day. I knew that if I chose to take it personally it would only bring me down. Plus I have to do this every week. When I look back at today five years from now, I would probably be grateful that he was mean to me, for now you can ask me anything about hepatobiliary surgery and I should be able, InsyaAllah, to answer. Well the basics anyway.

It was only when I met my patient in the lift that I began to smile. He remembered my name and called out to me to tell me that he was being discharged soon.

I am a mean person. Which is why this encounter does not really faze me anymore. I still like surgery and knowing that this specialty is full of know it all, "females can't really be good surgeons" and "I'm so great I rule the world" alpha male surgeons does not turn me off one bit.

The tissue box remains untouched.