Abstract

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Navigating Hard Situations that Medical School Cannot Prepare You ForJenna BennettI imagined my first experience with grief as a medical student would be peaceful and measured, prompted by the quiet and peaceful [End Page 88] passing of an elderly individual who lived a long life, surrounded by loving family members comforting each other and reminiscing. Of course, I knew things would get harder—I just didn't expect it to be during my first clinical experience as a medical student.My vision for my first experience with grief as a medical student was idealistic, but I was not unfamiliar with grief on a professional or personal basis. Prior to medical school, I was an aide at a long-term care facility. Many patients were on hospice, so end-of-life care and conversations took place daily without fear or shame. Deaths in this setting had happened as I envisioned—a natural course after a long life. Most of the time, the patients and their families were prepared and accepting. It was, of course, a somber occasion no matter how prepared everyone was, but death was almost never unexpected or met with anything other than tearful acceptance. As an aide, I felt honored to provide care at the end of one's life.In my personal life, I had similarly lost elderly family members. Although it was upsetting to have my loved ones pass away, no matter how much time we had to prepare, my family and I were never blind-sided and had time to discuss final wishes and cherish time together; however, for my family, there was one exception to this. When I was young, my father unexpectedly passed away from a heroin overdose. He was alone when he died, not even 30 years old.For a long time, I was ashamed of my father's death. I was very young, and I didn't understand the nature of addiction. I was angry, confused, and embarrassed. As a result, I created my own version that I thought was more palatable, for years telling everyone he had passed away surrounded by a loving family after a long battle with lung cancer.Over the years, I came to terms with my father's death. I learned that substance use is a disease, not a choice. I forgave my dad, along with eventually also forgiving myself for my years of denial and shame. His struggles and death ended up being a large motivation to pursue a career in the medical field, along with being a key part of my identity that I no longer hesitate to share. Despite having matured in this way long before starting medical school, I now recognize I still had some lingering rejection of the wide reality of tragedies that exist in our world.My first clinical experience as a medical student was a 3-week rotation with pediatric hospitalists. By the halfway point of this rotation, I was having a great time and was excited to finally be working with patients after months of sitting in lecture halls and late nights in the library. Of course, all the children we saw were sick, which was hard to see, but all the patients either had viral infections or chronic, but usually non-life-threatening, conditions. Therefore, everyone in our service rapidly improved with minimal interventions, and almost everyone was able to go home after just a few days. I was also encouraged by how loving and knowledgeable all of the family members of the patients were. Even when family members were upset and occasionally took frustrations out on the physicians I was working with, I was not shaken and empathized entirely, as I knew the families' reactions resulted from love and concern for their children. Overall, these initial experiences with patients and their families maintained my optimism that things wouldn't get emotionally hard for me anytime soon, but life, and subsequently medicine, do not wait for you to be ready.I was chatting with my attending one morning toward the latter half of this rotation. Another care team came into our small workroom, which was not unusual, but I could immediately tell something was different...