Inside CMS
Reflections Reflective writing is now a regular portion of the CU School of Medicine curriculum, beginning in the first semester. All medical students participate by writing essays or poems that reflect what they have seen, heard and felt. This column is selected and edited by Henry N. Claman, MD and Steven R. Lowenstein, MD, MPH, from the new Medical Humanities Program
He stayed in the hospital for another day for observation and was discharged home. It turns out that he likely had an esophageal spasm.
Kori Neessen
Kori Neessen is a third-year medical student at the University of Colorado. Following a career in funeral service, he completed his BS at Metro State College of Denver. He intends to pursue a career in emergency medicine, with specific interests in wilderness medicine and increasing access to healthcare for impoverished populations.
My first patient
Mr. Johanssen drank some orange juice on Tuesday morning, just like he always does. This time, though, something was different. He started feeling chest pain immediately. He got dizzy. He became short of breath. He vomited a little bit. The staff at the nursing home where this elderly gentleman volunteered his time became concerned and called 911. He was taken to the hospital and given a complete cardiac workup, including stress tests. I met him for the first time that morning after he had finished walking on the treadmill. Mr. Johanssen is a tall man with a wrinkled face and hands worn from a lifetime of hard labor. He’s soft spoken; he asks few questions. His skin is pale, almost ghostly; his hair is the same.
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He came to the clinic of my preceptor one week later for follow-up. I was happy to see him, and I think he was happy to see me – or at least that’s what the smile on his face said. We chatted and I learned that he had been short of breath the past week. I asked appropriate questions, I monitored his oxygen saturations. In the course of this encounter, Mr. Johanssen and I became well acquainted. We talked about where we were from, the events that had brought us together that day, and what we had for lunch. His blood sugar was a little low so I shared my orange with him. It turns out this gentleman has autoimmune hemolytic anemia and had been treated for it for a number of years. Over the course of the next three weeks I met with this patient seven more times and we became friends. He was my last appointment on the last day of my rotation at this clinic. I went through the necessary doctoring maneuvers. At the end I told him it was my last day. I told him it had been a pleasure to meet him; I told him I wished him well. When he asked if I had to leave, I explained that I had a test on Friday and was starting another rotation in a different city starting on Monday. Then he started to cry and with a few simple heartfelt tears this kind man said, “I wish you didn’t have to go” as he grasped my seemingly small hand in his giant one for a final handshake. I hadn’t really done anything for this man, at least not from a medical standpoint. The most important medical treatment I provided was an Albuterol nebulizer that he couldn’t tolerate
Colorado Medicine for March/April 2013