Today the New York Times published an article detailing one medical school's decision to allow non-science majors to be admitted. (article here )
Many of my colleagues and school friends are upset by this decision, and I'm not sure why. Medicine, while adhering to some rules of science, is not as hard and fast as any other science. It is an art, as we've all heard before, that adage coming from the inability to fix rules on the ever changing and unique human being.
I was a biology major and I can testify that hard science gets people stuck in a rut. They expect the same thing to work for the same problem over and over, that the same lab procedures should work for the same experiences. These are not unfounded beliefs, but they only work in an artificial environment. People won't start behaving "average" just because scientifically minded people are examining them.
While Mount Sinai medical school is the first to do away with the scientific pre-reqs entirely, the well rounded physician has been a goal for many years, and the idea that humanities majors (while having the science requirements and taking the MCAT) are more compassionate and flexible doctors has been out there for a while.
The game is changing, folks. While it takes a specific kind of mind to handle the rough sciences, other majors are not "dumber" than the science majors. One only has to look at each major objectively to see that even the sciences manage to graduate at least one dumbass with no social skills every year, usually because of that jerkwad's parent's pockets. (Those of you who took senior seminar with me probably know who I'm talking about, for our class.)
Some of the smartest people I know are religious studies majors, english majors, and music majors. They are just as driven, and often spend just as much time on homework as "us science majors".
And as for the MCAT, well...
The MCAT itself is merely an economic barrier designed to eliminate those who can't afford preparatory courses and those who have trouble with standardized testing. I personally did not take it, and I don't feel like I missed out at all, granted that I was accepted to my number one choice medical school without it.
Why should it be a big deal, that the field is opening to compassionate and qualified applicants? Are you worried? Is the apprehension and derision just a mark of insecurity towards those who can pipette the hell out of organic chemistry, but can't write an essay to save their life? We should welcome the insurge of well rounded applicants and trust that the rigors of pass/fail medical school standards will weed out the unsuited.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
sans shoes.
I love to camp. I love the way that moss catches on fire, and the way that hot dogs bubble and crisp. I love wearing nothing but a swimsuit for days, and floating the same patch of river eleventy-billion times. I love learning new knots and leaves and foraging skills, and that exasperated last car trip in where you break down and buy some "Off" and a camp hatchet, and maybe three more chocolate bars.
There's something magical about the sense of community one develops when returned to the wild, the comfortable silence, the skittering field mice.
Waking up to dawn in the treetops and glitter on the water, I can relax and let go. I find peace and revel in it. Being unplugged and out of contact does wonders for becoming centered and refocusing on the things that really matter.
That being said, boy do I love showers. and the internet. and food that is not hot dogs. :)
There's something magical about the sense of community one develops when returned to the wild, the comfortable silence, the skittering field mice.
Waking up to dawn in the treetops and glitter on the water, I can relax and let go. I find peace and revel in it. Being unplugged and out of contact does wonders for becoming centered and refocusing on the things that really matter.
That being said, boy do I love showers. and the internet. and food that is not hot dogs. :)
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
heroes...
Medicine has always been a calling for me, albeit sometimes through music and most of the time I was sure I was going to be a veterinary doctor.
I've had a rather exciting, I suppose, or more like eventful and chilling experiences with illness throughout my life. When I was two, I got a staff infection in my thumb and had to have my thumbnail peeled off. The doctor told me "now, peanut, this isn't going to hurt." and I remember being offended, because peanut was the name of my grandparent's dog, before my dad told me "Don't listen to him, he's lying to you. This is going to hurt a lot, but then it's going to be ok." and so I learned to evaluate what doctors said to me in the reality and context of the situation.
My mom has always been ill, suffering from severe headaches and other complaints from as early as thirteen. Her scans have always come back negative, though she does have lesions on her brain. The lesions are apparently not in the right place. If they were in the appropriate ( ? ) place to have lesions, she would likely have been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. It's very slow moving, the remissions long and the relative period of sickness is a small portion of time. Doctors always told her she was crazy, so she was always on my side when the scans came back negative for me.
I fell off a tire swing when I was seven, and I never got better from that. Later on, I'd find the diagnosis of Fibromyalgia (yes, I've seen the commercials, but I think they're dumb and shouldn't be on air) and of Endolymphatic Hydropsy.
I'd also learn, in the 11 years it took to get from onset to discovery, that doctors don't listen. They don't respect patients, and that they are so inundated with prescription sales that they will forget to treat patients. I learned that when doctors didn't know what was wrong, they didn't do research- they gave out anti-depressants and anti-psychotics. I learned that the system was broken.
But there are other ways, movements beyond traditional medical doctors. There is a vital force moving for preventative medicine and whole patient treatment. There is more on heaven and earth...
I found out about half a year ago that sometimes, when nothing comes back on my scans, it really means that I'm feeling someone else's pain. I'm a body empath, and I think more people are than realize it. Fortunately (or unfortunately) I only seem to catch the notions from the people I'm close to. My shoulder hurts when I think of this friend, my hip when I spend time with that one. My headaches are almost exclusively my mom's, and sometimes when they're the worst for me they start to ease up for her.
So here I am. Sitting up another night, waiting to hear my mom need me as she's crushed beneath a killer migraine. She's been crying off and on, all night, and her makeup is smeared, but for right now, she's resting. And I've been carrying wet washclothes from A to B and holding her hand, but other than that I'm just so damn helpless. There's so much more I'll be able to do after these four years, but right now I can only watch (and feel) everyone suffer.
I don't like being helpless, and I surely don't like losing to anything. I can't tell if I'm just so wrapped up in the situation that I can't see perspective, or if I'm really level headed. I just want to hero in and make things better. It's hard to remember that illness is a message when all I want to do is have some magical herb to administer, or some energy direction technique or something, anything,really.
I wish school started tomorrow.
I've had a rather exciting, I suppose, or more like eventful and chilling experiences with illness throughout my life. When I was two, I got a staff infection in my thumb and had to have my thumbnail peeled off. The doctor told me "now, peanut, this isn't going to hurt." and I remember being offended, because peanut was the name of my grandparent's dog, before my dad told me "Don't listen to him, he's lying to you. This is going to hurt a lot, but then it's going to be ok." and so I learned to evaluate what doctors said to me in the reality and context of the situation.
My mom has always been ill, suffering from severe headaches and other complaints from as early as thirteen. Her scans have always come back negative, though she does have lesions on her brain. The lesions are apparently not in the right place. If they were in the appropriate ( ? ) place to have lesions, she would likely have been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. It's very slow moving, the remissions long and the relative period of sickness is a small portion of time. Doctors always told her she was crazy, so she was always on my side when the scans came back negative for me.
I fell off a tire swing when I was seven, and I never got better from that. Later on, I'd find the diagnosis of Fibromyalgia (yes, I've seen the commercials, but I think they're dumb and shouldn't be on air) and of Endolymphatic Hydropsy.
I'd also learn, in the 11 years it took to get from onset to discovery, that doctors don't listen. They don't respect patients, and that they are so inundated with prescription sales that they will forget to treat patients. I learned that when doctors didn't know what was wrong, they didn't do research- they gave out anti-depressants and anti-psychotics. I learned that the system was broken.
But there are other ways, movements beyond traditional medical doctors. There is a vital force moving for preventative medicine and whole patient treatment. There is more on heaven and earth...
I found out about half a year ago that sometimes, when nothing comes back on my scans, it really means that I'm feeling someone else's pain. I'm a body empath, and I think more people are than realize it. Fortunately (or unfortunately) I only seem to catch the notions from the people I'm close to. My shoulder hurts when I think of this friend, my hip when I spend time with that one. My headaches are almost exclusively my mom's, and sometimes when they're the worst for me they start to ease up for her.
So here I am. Sitting up another night, waiting to hear my mom need me as she's crushed beneath a killer migraine. She's been crying off and on, all night, and her makeup is smeared, but for right now, she's resting. And I've been carrying wet washclothes from A to B and holding her hand, but other than that I'm just so damn helpless. There's so much more I'll be able to do after these four years, but right now I can only watch (and feel) everyone suffer.
I don't like being helpless, and I surely don't like losing to anything. I can't tell if I'm just so wrapped up in the situation that I can't see perspective, or if I'm really level headed. I just want to hero in and make things better. It's hard to remember that illness is a message when all I want to do is have some magical herb to administer, or some energy direction technique or something, anything,really.
I wish school started tomorrow.
Friday, July 9, 2010
terrible dreams
Last night I dreamed a terrible dream.
It was full of chaos, and spanned far more time than the hours that I slept. I went through elementary and high school in this dream, relived childhood free afternoons. I met the people that I know now, but instead of them being my husband's brother's friend, they were the kid down the street, previous coworkers becoming classmates. I rode my bike down quiet airplane hangers, chasing the other neighborhood girls through puberty.
And every single one of them died for me.
The bums that tried to steal my bike fell in the fire. My friends, each with their own tender moment, jumped to their deaths. I stood in the wreckage of the aircraft that I had been riding, and realized that I was alone. Then I realized, tangled in the fabric of the parachutes, that this friend had jumped to save my formal gowns. That friend had jumped with my books. Further down, my pets were safe and standing on a familiar cadaver. Every jump had decreased the burden of the plane, but it was all wrong. I wasn't the one worth saving.
and then I woke up.
It was full of chaos, and spanned far more time than the hours that I slept. I went through elementary and high school in this dream, relived childhood free afternoons. I met the people that I know now, but instead of them being my husband's brother's friend, they were the kid down the street, previous coworkers becoming classmates. I rode my bike down quiet airplane hangers, chasing the other neighborhood girls through puberty.
And every single one of them died for me.
The bums that tried to steal my bike fell in the fire. My friends, each with their own tender moment, jumped to their deaths. I stood in the wreckage of the aircraft that I had been riding, and realized that I was alone. Then I realized, tangled in the fabric of the parachutes, that this friend had jumped to save my formal gowns. That friend had jumped with my books. Further down, my pets were safe and standing on a familiar cadaver. Every jump had decreased the burden of the plane, but it was all wrong. I wasn't the one worth saving.
and then I woke up.
Friday, July 2, 2010
omgponies.
I think that I've adjusted rather well to my temporary unemployment. I wake up to the birds singing, take the dog out to get the paper, and then, after a quick breakfast of cheerios, I go volunteer at the Kid's Connection ranch.
They're still teaching me a lot of the skills that I'll need to be useful, but as a somewhat adequately experienced animal handler, I assisted the visiting vet today by leading and holding 8 horses while they got their shots- from a Clydesdale sweetheart named Sierra to the wildborn three year old mustangs, Lakota and Cheyanne. I've also gotten a lot better at riding, mainly on the above mentioned Sierra. Slowly, over the rest of the summer months, I'll be taking over more responsibility until I can hopefully work them sans helmet.
The purpose of the ranch is really neat- they exist as a non-profit organization that takes horses and pairs them with neglected children. Or goats, or chickens, or whatever level the kid is at. They have a playground, an organic garden, and really committed owners whose real goal is just to prove that a) there are really nice people out there, and b) all these kids can experience love.
Horses are used therapeutically in many situations, and there's not much that overwhelming support, a horse, and some love can't help.
What a great dream. I'm excited to continue contributing to this great cause
They're still teaching me a lot of the skills that I'll need to be useful, but as a somewhat adequately experienced animal handler, I assisted the visiting vet today by leading and holding 8 horses while they got their shots- from a Clydesdale sweetheart named Sierra to the wildborn three year old mustangs, Lakota and Cheyanne. I've also gotten a lot better at riding, mainly on the above mentioned Sierra. Slowly, over the rest of the summer months, I'll be taking over more responsibility until I can hopefully work them sans helmet.
The purpose of the ranch is really neat- they exist as a non-profit organization that takes horses and pairs them with neglected children. Or goats, or chickens, or whatever level the kid is at. They have a playground, an organic garden, and really committed owners whose real goal is just to prove that a) there are really nice people out there, and b) all these kids can experience love.
Horses are used therapeutically in many situations, and there's not much that overwhelming support, a horse, and some love can't help.
What a great dream. I'm excited to continue contributing to this great cause
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