Admissions Essay - The Art of Medicine :: Medicine College Admissions Essays

Admissions Essay - The Art of music   Once upon a time, it seems, physicians were wise and good, and medicinal drug was an art. Thats the feeling I get reading from the Chahar Maqala, tales from a time when doctors diagnosed lovesick princes from a urine sample, a pulse, and a freshen of local geography.   American medicine in the slow 20th light speed seems considerably little romantic. Protocols and seven-minute patient visits are supposed to return physicians track blood compress readings and calibrating Prozac prescriptions. Theres no time for wisdom in an HMO, or so the wiser and more ancient of current physicians lament. So it was with plastered trepidation that I spent a day last celestial latitude in an internists office.   The break of the day started slowly, with a 63 year old charr with a news report of hypertension, back in the office four months subsequently her pills ran turn up. Her blood pressure, non surprisingly, was high. The doct or reminded her, wearily, to c wholly the office for refills. She nodded. Compliance, he told me, as we left the scrutiny room, is our biggest problem.   As the day wore on, a steady emanation of patients made their modal value into exam rooms, worried about menopause, stuffy sinuses, colds caught from grandchildren, and all that ails retirees in late December.   Just before lunch, an 86-year-old man edged his means into an exam room, dividing his system of weights between his cane and his wife. Yesterday, I felt bid I couldnt breath, he said. I cant leave the house. I get in like manner banal.   Id been warned that I would armed service take the history on this patient, and I was mean out my questions. A pulmonary complaint - I cant breath -- get up a shopworn list, designed to distinguish heart failure from pneumonia from respective(a) other ailments - when did the precipitousness of breath start? Had he noticed he was more tired recently when he walked or exercised? Did he catnap with lots of pillows to keep him up when he slept? Did he feel annoyance in his office when he inhaled? Exhaled? My mind was racing.   The doctor, meanwhile, was interested in golf. Do you get out on the greens at all?, he asked.   The patient sighed. No, Ill giving up down, cant walk that far. Im too tired. I cant breath.   After petition the patients wife to leave the room, the doctor told him to undress.Admissions Essay - The Art of Medicine Medicine College Admissions Essays Admissions Essay - The Art of Medicine   Once upon a time, it seems, physicians were wise and good, and medicine was an art. Thats the feeling I get reading from the Chahar Maqala, tales from a time when doctors diagnosed lovesick princes from a urine sample, a pulse, and a review of local geography.   American medicine in the late 20th century seems considerably less romantic. Protocols and seven-minute patient visits are supposed to leave phy sicians tracking blood pressure readings and calibrating Prozac prescriptions. Theres no time for wisdom in an HMO, or so the wiser and more ancient of current physicians lament. So it was with certain trepidation that I spent a day last December in an internists office.   The morning started slowly, with a 63 year old woman with a history of hypertension, back in the office four months after her pills ran out. Her blood pressure, not surprisingly, was high. The doctor reminded her, wearily, to call the office for refills. She nodded. Compliance, he told me, as we left the exam room, is our biggest problem.   As the day wore on, a steady procession of patients made their way into exam rooms, worried about menopause, stuffy sinuses, colds caught from grandchildren, and all that ails retirees in late December.   Just before lunch, an 86-year-old man edged his way into an exam room, dividing his weight between his cane and his wife. Yesterday, I felt like I couldnt breat h, he said. I cant leave the house. I get too tired.   Id been warned that I would help take the history on this patient, and I was planning out my questions. A pulmonary complaint - I cant breath -- elicit a standard list, designed to distinguish heart failure from pneumonia from various other ailments - when did the shortness of breath start? Had he noticed he was more tired recently when he walked or exercised? Did he sleep with lots of pillows to prop him up when he slept? Did he feel pain in his chest when he inhaled? Exhaled? My mind was racing.   The doctor, meanwhile, was interested in golf. Do you get out on the greens at all?, he asked.   The patient sighed. No, Ill fall down, cant walk that far. Im too tired. I cant breath.   After asking the patients wife to leave the room, the doctor told him to undress.