D to the M to the O-T-T

Part VI in my med student illumination series features one of my favorite people in entire the world. D has been with me since the beginning. She has been an integral part of the Health Policy Interest Group leadership, we've co-oped numerous "On the Wards" patient visits during our Introduction to Clinical Medicine tenure, and now we spend a few hours every Monday and Thursday working together through Doctors In Training (aka DIT - I'll post on this when the lectures start in May, but it's an incredibly overpriced tutorial through Step 1 that steals money from poor medical students - that being said, we bought it anyway).  Anywho, D has suffered through a plethora of my patient interview follies, anti-Facebook rants (no, Mom, I did not defriend you; I deactivated the whole thing entirely!), and weekly Board review "pimp" sessions. But despite this, we work well together. Or at least that's my perception, and she continually brings out the best in me. The bottom line is, I can't believe I've taken this long to blog about D.  My most sincere apologies.

Now what I'm about to say is going to be shocking. I am speaking fondly of someone who (voluntarily) went to Dook. Yes, Dook, but do not let that fool you. D is a Carolina girl at heart, and I would've gone to Dook too if I had been a Robertson Scholar. (In fact, that would have been the only way I could've gone there, since my Pops told me he'd pay for me to go to any college in the country... except Dook). After finishing up what had to be a miserable four years in Durham, D decided to take her talents nine miles down the road, and began a Masters o' Public Health here at UNC. You see, D is also on the 10-year Tobacco Road program.  Four years at Duke undergrad, two years at the Gillings School of Public Health, and then another four at the SOM, (which means that 6 years at UNC > 4 years at Dook). That's a lot of Tobacco Road indeed, even for an out-of-stater.

Now I'm not going to list all the organizations she's running and extracurriculars that, well, she should be running. I'm tired of detailing all my friends overachieving-ness. It will suffice to say that D makes Ronnie Milam look like a couch potato. It's HIV/AIDS research this, SHAC that. Grant proposal this, Honors in that. Meeting here and there, and hey, she's fluent in Sinhala (look it up), and her Spanish isn't too shabby either. Overeducated and underpaid, D is a do-it-all to the maximum. If I were you, I'd go ahead and pencil in February 11, 2026 to your calendar, because that's the date when D is going to eradicate HIV/AIDS in Southeast Asia. And all these achievements are even more impressive considering that I'm not sure who's taller: D or Little Miss Klara Klein. Who knows why all my female friends are under 5 feet tall, but the old maxim remains true: good things do come in small packages.

In our most recent Introduction to Clinical Medicine class, we were subjected to the "challenging" interview. Basically the SOM hires actors as Standardized Patients (SPs) to help us develop our history taking and physical exam skills before working with real patients. The "challenging" interview was meant to pair us up against a difficult SP. Patients can be angry, histrionic, depressed, etc. and it's our job as future physicians to elicit a H&P no matter what. Students in our class were clamoring for D to show us how it's done, because she's just that damn good. The week before, we practiced the "counseling" interview - talking to an obese patient about losing weight or a smoker about quitting. Within five minutes, D had the latter patient off the patient's habit, and the rest of us ready to quit ourselves (even though none of us smoke we were ready to quit something). Some people just have an innate ability to connect with others, and D exemplifies this to a fault (it's a fault because she puts the rest of us to shame - throwing off the curve). Needless to say, our bout with the challenging interview did not go as smoothly. I opened with an introduction of Gary Burke and myself as second year medical students, and then asked the patient, "What's going on today?" He retorted, "Well, my name is Mr. Kenmore, IF YOU CARE!" (It was a rocky start, but we softened him up as time went on). D rarely makes these mistakes; she wrote the book on Sounding Empathetic in 20 Seconds or Less.

DIT sends us 15 questions each week. Every Monday and Thursday, D and I scoop out a study room in Bondurant Hall and get to work. We spend much of the time reviewing, quizzing, and participating in general mind expansion. Working on these questions alone would be fairly miserable, but when I'm having a bad day or I'm tired, D pushes me through a couple hours of work, and I always feel better at the end. It's a friendly competition to push each other through, and it makes me want to come back to our next session a little bit better and a little bit smarter. When I step back and think about it, I actually feel like I'm her patient and she's my expert physician. We make appointments to meet in the same, small, well-lit room. She uses a lot of big words. And I leave happier and healthier. I guess the only difference is I keep my pants on during the entire interview.

Honestly though, D is one of my favorite people ever ever ever, and it's been awesome working with someone who truly brings out the best in me.