The Teacher-Physician

I like to teach people things they'd like to know. For example, I'm always attempting to explain to the patients at my preceptorship the etiology of their illnesses. You wouldn't think that these people, largely without graduate degrees or scientific background would be even half-interested in listening to a first year medical student babble on endlessly about endolymph jets and inner hair cells, but the reality is, they eat that stuff up. I guess it's easy when everyone's favorite subject is themselves.

My preceptor doesn't teach much though. He just hears them out for a few minutes, prescribes the medicines he believes to be appropriate and asks them to come back in two week. He's not hurting for business so I guess they do come back.

Me on the other hand, I'm the complete opposite. I want to tell them everything I know about their illness, from the history of the illness (Did you know that Van Gogh had Meniere's Disease?) to the most minute scientific detail (Oh, that's just the increased endolymph pressure depolarizing the hair cells in your utricle, saccule, and cupula of your semicircular canals. What's a cupula, you ask? Well..." I want to selflessly share every last piece of trivial information I have gathered from the lips of my learned professors. "This is good" you might say "You're taking away their fear of the illness through education." Yet, when every last bit of relevant information has been exhausted from my mind, when the chasm of knowledge has been bridged between the patient and myself and naught is left but to discuss the possible avenues of treatment, I become suddenly, a mute.

I forgive myself though (I hear self-forgiveness is a must for survival in such a career). I mean after all, I can't be expected to know everything under the sun. My usual response is "Tell you what, I'll go get Dr. So-and-so in here, and together, the three of us can discuss your treatment options. Does that sound good? Great!"

*makes graceful exit, dignity intact*