The neurology office I am at is so incredibly awful. I contemplated dropping out of medical school, in order not to have to spend two weeks here. My mother talked me out of it. . .

The doctor I’m with spends 15-20 minutes with each patient. You may think that sounds great, but consider: he’s not accomplishing much while he’s doing it, partly because he repeats himself, and partly because in neurology, there never really is anything you can do except say, oh, that’s so sad, maybe things will get better in a little while, come and see me again in a few months. But the bigger problem is that he then spends 15-20 minutes doing I don’t know what between each patient. So the patients have to wait 2-3 hours to see him, he sees ~14 in a whole office day, a couple people left in disgust at the wait, and there’s a long waiting list to get in, because there’s a serious shortage of neurologists in town. So he’s wasting his time, his patients’ time, and the time of people like Anna, who seriously need to see him (that is, if you think the meds for MS are valuable), and mine, at the very end of that list.

14 patients in 8 hours. An intern could see that many in clinic in three hours. This is ridiculous. And I’m not learning a single thing from it. All I did all afternoon was fall asleep in front of the patients. I was disgusted with myself.

Plus, the office itself is crazy. They have a nice, huge area to themselves, full of large rooms, which could be made very efficient and useful. But they have half the rooms crammed with junk, just sitting there doing nothing. The only good thing is, I found an unused room with a chair in it, with a view of one of the examining rooms. Tomorrow, I promised myself, I’m going to bring two medical books, two novels, and a theology book, and my bag of crocheting, and set up in there and relax for those twenty minutes that he twiddles in the hallway.

Seriously, this office is the wrong place to put a surgical character having an attack of senioritis. The only way I’m going to survive is by changing my goals from working or learning about neurology to: finishing The Prime Minister, by Anthony Trollope, in my PDA, the fifth of the Palliser novels (Victorian political series), The Floating Admiral by the Detection Club (G.K. Chesterton, Dorothy Sayers, Anthony Berkeley, etc – detection paradise!), and maybe even, finally, Calvin’s Institutes. I don’t care if the attending thinks I’m the laziest/dumbest student he’s had all year; I worked hard the first two weeks, and those two doctors will give me good grades. I am not going to try to be diligent in an office that takes thirty minutes per patient, and finishes 3-4 hours after the last scheduled appointment.

This office is the nightmare epitome of why I want to get away from medicine, and back within sight of the ORs. I promise, I will be happy in July, no matter what they do to me, just to be with surgeons again.