I walk into the room
Greet the patient
She is happy, cheerful
Much like me
I sit down
Still feeling like I’m playing dress-up
"What brings you in today?"
"Just here for a physical", she begins
Run through the laundry lists in my head
Location, quality, severity, timing, context
Social history last
We know all of this by heart now
"Thank you for your time"
Present to my preceptor
We go in together
Smiles all around
Everyone is happy to be here, happy to help
Happy to be part of my education
The physical exam begins
"How did the medical student do interviewing you?"
Patient laughs
"She did great", she says
"But the question about abuse, she asked me if I had ever been abused
I had to laugh at that
That sort of thing doesn’t happen
Not to people like me
Not to people like her"
I stand in the corner
Trying to stay out of the way
Pulse racing
Smile faltering
Mind darkening
Straining against the clumsy stitches
That no one can see
In a room getting smaller and smaller
Because it has
It’s happened to me
This patient a teacher
As I step into those rooms
As I shrug proudly into my white coat
As I question my abilities and
As I prove myself
As I ask the tough questions
As I learn what it means to be a physician
Forever reminded
You never know
You would never know
Looking at me
I’m joyful
confident
present
That I was once none of these things
"Not to people like her"
Words like bags of sand
I’ll carry with me always
My patient taught me
Never, ever assume
Because it’s happened to me.
- Anonymous, M1
