As someone who works in an academic setting, a good part of my day is devoted to teaching. Supervising registrars, guiding fellows, teaching undergraduate students, and pointing elective students in the right direction. Undergraduate teaching is essential and is therefore a large part of any assessment for promotion. I know it’s part of my job, but my default setting is always, “Uuuuggghhh, do I have to???” like a whiny child.
And yet, ALMOST, every single time I sit down to teach, it is a joyful experience. A good teaching session is engaged, both parties are present, and there is exchange of information and opinions. If it’s a good session, I come away feeling uplifted, like there is hope for the medical profession, and more filled up than drained.
I had one such session on Thursday afternoon. Somehow I managed to be persuaded that 3.15 on the Thursday before the Easter long weekend was good time to examine a student in an open book case. Normally these guys are supposed to do their open book cases later in the rotation, but as April is the Devil’s month full of public holidays, we have to cram more work into less time, and we did the case a little early.
It was a simple case – pneumonia. Bread and butter for a paediatrician, general practitioner, intern, student, you name it. Simple means boring, right? So many students present weird cases, the unicorns rather than the horses, and they fall short because it’s quite difficult to get to grips with unusual diagnoses at an undergraduate level.
I sat down prepared to be bored, and was instead energised and excited. The student was polite (could he really be a millennial?), professional (ditto), respectful to the mother and me, clean (he washed his hands!) and flexible (he accepted my suggestions). Notice I say nothing of his intelligence or clinical assessment. Just getting all these basics right and then showing humanity for the patient and his mother put him across the line before we even started. His history-taking was relevant and methodical, his examination damn-near perfect, his assessment was thorough and his plan was textbook. But it was his humanity and his evident compassion for the mother with a strong professional boundary that really sold me. He cared about this child-mother dyad and he really wanted to do the right thing. Med School hadn’t numbed him yet. He even taught me a few things – I love it when they do that! Med students nowadays make me feel about 85 years old, but they’re still teaching me. (Wait – maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s me – maybe I really am 85 years old…)
So, thanks, kiddo! I’m raising my glass in an Easter toast to you. What does this have to do with childhood cancer? Hmm, how about, if this is the future of Medicine in this country, then there is hope. This kid would be welcome in Paeds, and definitely in Paediatric Oncology.
Have a great Easter weekend, peeps, and Chag Pesach Sameach too. To those who aren’t celebrating religious holidays – enjoy four days of FREEDOM! And to those working this weekend, especially in our public sector hospitals – THANK YOU!
