the privilege of entering lives

5 months ago i started medical school. it wasn't a lifelong dream. it wasn't a whimsical endeavor. it was a long-contemplated, arduous journey of fulfilling prerequisite courses, entrance exams, and "gaining experience." the two most common phrases i heard during orientation were "you are going to drink out of a fire hose" and "medical school is like training for a marathon - not a 100 yard dash." and so, myself along with 119 other eager students set to work on our grand quest stretching before us. 5 months into training i find myself at an interesting vantage point along this course. as one of my dear friends and classmate put it - after returning from winter break - "it is not so much the drinking from the fire hose, but now choosing to stand in front of the overpowering rush of water. we know what it is like from the past 3 months and now we have to actively move into the water's path." the bright spots, however, include seeing patient's on a weekly basis. one stands out in particular. he is an elderly gentleman and presented one particular day for shortness of breath that had progressively worsened. i went in prior to my preceptor as has always been the routine and this patient asked why i was there because his physician (my preceptor) had all his records and knew all about him and he didn't want to answer my questions. i was a bit taken aback by his abrasive attitude, though tried not to be offended as i am a mere student and what did i have to offer this man? nothing. my knowledge is limited and if anything, i am the one who learns from the patients. i tried to start again with this dear man, but he again emphasized that he was not interested in my questions. so, i took another approach; one of humility and lowliness - "well, i'm a student and my school sends me out here. i have to be here to learn. would you mind teaching me about the illness you have?" oh man was he so excited to do that! "of course!" he gruffly responded, "what do you want to know?" and we were off after that - my asking questions, him answering them in all fullness. i had to walk him around the clinic to check his oxygen saturation and during our journey i discovered at the age of 86 he plays basketball, swims, and runs each day. he takes care of himself for the most part and enjoys his life. he also has pulmonary fibrosis. his lungs are starting to fail him. he, his physician, and myself talked about his options. the most obvious was that he needed oxygen at home or he may have to be admitted to the hospital. he was devastated. he went from being the one charge, calling the shots, to admitting some frailty; he couldn't do as much as he had in the past. it just wasn't physically possible.

he sits in the back of my head now. as i sit in class learning, getting anxious over exams, or small group, or the amount of work i have to do. regardless of the intensity of the training or the sheer force of firehose-water i am in a place of absolute privilege which must be approached with all humility and grace. i know nothing. i must learn everything. i must practice well because the lives of people depend on it.