When PEs (pulmonary emboli) get bad enough, even I can see them on the CT scan. That doesn’t mean I appreciate Brad categorizing them that way: “I tell you what, (chief), these things are so big, even Alice here can see them.” Deep breath.

On the other hand, when a femoral line on a rather highstrung patient was needed, he announced: “You’re going to get this one right. No other options. I’m not even going to put on gloves.” And he didn’t. He just stood there at the foot of the bed, and refused to say a single thing. It went in beautifully.

Of course within a few hours that patient developed renal failure from a medication, so it’s a good thing the line was in, but it kind of ruined the satisfaction of a perfect procedure. (That, and the fact that the nursing supervisor felt a need to spend the next hour arguing with me about why we decided to put a femoral line in a stable floor patient. It was indicated, ma’am, and I wrote a nice note to that effect in the chart, in addition to the standard cookie-cutter line placement note.)

I’ve figured out (I think) that when Brad says we work well together, he actually means it. I still sometimes feel like a medical student, unable to believe that I’m part of the group. He treats me like a colleague, half the time, and I’m always surprised. He was the first person to ask my opinion on a diagnosis or a management plan, and really give some weight to what I said.

I try to be nice to the medical students, and apparently they all like me, but they still spend a lot of time being bored. I am so glad not to be a student anymore. Anything is better than being in medical school – including internship. (But students should note that sleeping through three pages is not a good way to impress the residents, or procure more notifications; if you’re that deaf, you’re going to have a hard time when the pages are important.)

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