A great deal of research is done on how to educate medical students. Our government, and the medical schools themselves, have a lot of money invested in the process. The Canadian public depends on that investment having a productive return in the form of competent, quality doctors.

The challenges of medical education are many. Each medical student arrives from a unique background; how can we draw on students’ previous skills and knowledge while bringing them all to the same place of medical competence? Similarly, each medical student is preparing for a different career. The  teaching required to prepare a student for General Practice might be quite different than that needed by a Specialist. How can a single curriculum sufficiently address both? The universe of medical knowledge is simply too vast to be given justice in four years – choosing which information is most important can be a real challenge.

There is currently a paradigm shift occurring in the research of medical education. New studies are showing that the century-old approach of didactic lectures is ineffective. Someone once said that a lecture is: “the process by which the notes of the lecturer become the notes of the student without passing through the mind of either“. There’s some truth to that.

As an alternative to having a lecture, educators are suggesting a team-structured, problem-solving session. Ever since McMaster started the trend, all medical schools have incorporated this approach to some degree in the form of “Problem-Based Learning”. Although the Mac kids seem to love it, the rest of us are a little more hesitant. We prefer our lectures! So do the instructors. Nonetheless, Queen’s and other schools are doing their best to apply the new conclusions in education research, without sacrificing the best aspects of the strong curriculum we have right now!

This past week we studied Ophthalmology. The challenges of conveying a broad overview to Ophthalmology in a single week are a small-scale representation of the challenges in overall medical education. Having now completed the week, I can say appreciatively that the Queen’s Ophthalmology Department delivered the most excellent teaching I’ve encountered. It was incredibly well done. Here’s how they did it:

• Acquisition: Through a series of online videos, and a recommended textbook, students were required to prepare for each session by obtaining the relevant background knowledge independently.
• Application: Each morning we met in teams to discuss clinical cases. We would decide on our approach to each patient, and ask for necessary investigations. As decisions were made, the facilitator would reveal new information that eventually led us to a diagnosis and constructing a management plan.
• Clinical Skills: We finished off the week with a session to learn the necessary skills to examine the eye. The Opthalmology Clinic in Kingston closed their doors to patients for the afternoon, and instead invited us into their department, where in groups of twos and threes we learned from the Ophthalmologists directly the techniques we need to know to examine the eye.

From my perspective, the Ophthalmologists’ approach was highly successful, and  I feel it serves a good model for how medical education should be done in general.

There’s no question about it; H1N1 is sweeping through Ontario, and has been for a few weeks now. You’ve probably already heard that Ontario government has released the vaccine, and is dispensing it across the province. I would strongly encourage you to consider getting yourself vaccinated.

Most of my readers are young, and mostly healthy. As such, the need to protect yourself from flu is not pressing. If you contracted H1N1 today, it would likely only mean missing a few days of school or work. So why get vaccinated? Because the flu pandemic is spread by droplet contact from person-to-person. Vaccinate yourself so that you’re not just another person in the long line of transmission. Because that line ends with people who are more susceptible, and who are going to die from it. Vaccinate yourself on behalf of Ontario’s elderly, the immunosuppressed patient who uses the pay-phone after you, the pregnant woman next to you on the bus, and the cancer patient. Getting the H1N1 vaccine is the socially responsible thing to do.

Find an Ontario vaccination clinic near you at this website. Vaccination schedules will vary by region, and in most regions where there are limited supplies of the vaccine, you will be prioritized according to your risk. First to be vaccinated are those in danger themselves, and second those who have susceptible close contacts (e.g. health care workers). If neither of those are you, be prepared to wait a bit for your vaccine. Keep checking back, however, because eventually there should be enough for everyone.

There have been rumours and anxiety going around about the safety of the vaccine. As always, be discerning about where you get your information. Those organizations most-equipped to assess the quality of the H1N1 vaccine have pronounced it safe, and effective. In general, vaccines are the safest medications around. That being said, the vaccine is likely to give you a sore muscle at the injection site, and perhaps a headache, fever, and flu-like symptoms for a day or two. This is not the flu, but rather your body’s immune system responding. Take Tylenol for your symptoms, and you shouldn’t be held back. Ultimately, a day or two of headache, and a sore shoulder are far better than having the flu itself, which can last more than a week!

Do it for your grandparents, for your nieces and nephews, and for the many Ontarians depending on you to do your part. Get your flu vaccine.

Cute kid, right ? Take another look. Notice anything not quite right? Although easily missed at a subtle glance, you should see that this boy’s eyes are pointing in different directions. (If you want to confirm, look for the two shiny spots of reflected light from each eye, and observe how they overly different locations). Mal-alignment of the eyes is called strabismus. It’s fairly common, seen in 2-4 children of every 100.

Aside from the aesthetic implications (kids with strabismus are sometimes presumed to be intellectually slow because of their appearance, despite that there is no association between strabismus and cognitive ability), strabismus is a dangerous condition in children. When adults develop strabismus, they report double vision; each eye is looking in a different direction, there are two unique visual inputs to the cortex, and the brain perceives two simultaneous visual representations of the visual field.

In contrast, children whose visual maturation is not yet complete (before age 7-9) are able to suppress the input from one, or both eyes. Chronic suppression over time leads to irreversible loss of visual circuits in the brain. The result is irreversible loss of vision in one eye. This is called Amblyopia. It can be caused by strabismus, as described, or other causes including congenital cataracts, retinoblastoma (an eye tumour), or refractive errors. Amblyopia is the greatest cause of monocular (one eye) blindness in people under 45 yrs old.

Importantly, Amblyopia is painless, and has no symptoms. The only way to detect Amblyopia, is by an objective test of visual acuity. You may notice a strabismus (which can result in Amblyopia) like the picture above, but often the cause of Amblyopia is just as unnoticeable as the result. Can you imagine discovering that your child has become permanently blind in one eye, and worse, that it could have been prevented? The important public-health message about Amblyopia, therefore, is that children should have their vision checked regularly by a health-care professional. This is equally true for the pre-verbal child.

In case you’re curious, treatment for Amblyopia involves reversing the cause when possible (e.g. fixing the strabismus with surgery), and then patching the good eye such that the brain is forced to receive input from the Amblyopic eye. This preserves, and strengthens, the brain circuitry from the affected eye.

(Yes, we’re on Ophthalmology this week! And I love it!!)

One of the more benign conditions I saw in the ER last week, was a 3-month baby with a hair tourniquet. A strand of someone’s (usually the mother’s) hair becomes entangled around a toe such that blood-return through the veins is impeded. The toe swells up, and becomes acutely painful. Thankfully, it’s usually recognized, easy to treat, and rarely causes permanent damage. The ER physician used a magnifying glass and forceps to carefully remove the offensive hair. With no further risk of blood-flow restriction, swelling decreases in the toe over a period of a day or two. Perhaps some readers will have heard of this condition before, since I’m told it’s fairly common.

I’m racing to keep up, both on my feet and mentally. The Charge Nurse gives the doctor a quick run-down of the patient being brought in by the paramedics. While we wait for the ambulance to arrive, the ER Resident comes over, gives a quick but thorough description of her patient, and asks the doctor for guidance. One of the Nurses interrupts, and asks for clarification on an order. There are three patient areas to monitor. The waiting room is filling, and the Triage Nurse has been separating those out with Flu-like symptoms for segregation to a private H1N1-designated area. The doctor I’m observing with turns to me and, to my amazement, apologizes because of how slow an evening it has been! I suppose ER Docs like it chaotic.

Observerships are an incredible opportunity for us students. Meeting a real patient is incomparably more impacting (and more memorable) than anything we can learn in the classroom. They are the best chance for us to practice our skills at taking histories, examining patients, and using problem-solving clinical reasoning. Depending on your preceptor, they may also be your first chance to learn a new skill! Such was the case this past Wednesday, when the ER Resident was generous enough to teach me how to suture – first time on a real patient! The experience was exhilerating. Particularly as, the laceration was to the patient’s face, and so an aesthetic result was paramount.

Observerships also give a window into the lives of various specialities. My superficial observations of the ER team, are that they are generally fun-loving, easy-going, and active people. They’re also super friendly! After our shift, the entire doc team went for beers together (and invited me!); I understand they do this regularly! Seems like a fun group of people.

This post is a continuation of my ‘Day in the Life’ series. As I’ve mentioned before, my blog serves two purposes: to share experiences with friends and family, but also to chronicle them for personal reflection and preservation of the memories.

The ‘Day in the Life’ series is an attempt to take a snapshot picture of my schedule at various points along my training. The day’s outline is representative on average, although there’s always considerable variation from day-to-day. I hope that it will be interesting to later look back, and compare between the phases. Since the ‘Day in the Life’ series has principally personal relevance, I apologize  that it will likely lack interest to you, the reader. This one’s mostly for my own memory-bank!

7:30 am - Alarm, breakfast, pack for class. (Wed morning: Up an hour earlier for Morning Eucharist)

8:30 am – Class begins.

12:30 pm – Lunch break / packed lunch with an interest group / packed lunch with friends

1:30 pm - Varies by day: Clinical Skills, Expanded Clinical Skills, Problem-Based Learning,  Critical Appraisal small-group discussions.

4:30 pm – Dinner break. (Tue/Wed: To the gym before dinner)

6:00 pm - In the library. (Mon/Tue evenings: Prosection in the Anatomy Lab)

11:30 pm – Leave the library.

12:30 am – Asleep.

Yet one more reason to exercise regularly: It staves off age-related cognitive decline.

Yes, it’s a graph. I apologize. Don’t stop reading! Notice how every line goes up when you compare the ‘Activity High’ column to the ‘Activity Low’ column. The results indicate that memory, speed-of-thought, and executive function are all preserved better in people who exercise, compared with those who don’t.

If you’re curious, the ‘WML’ stands for “white-matter lesions”. The white-matter is a brain tissue that often shows lesions (= spot defects) with vascular dementia. Patients with lots of white-matter lesions were compared in a different group (the dashed lines), than the patients with fewer white-matter lesions (the solid lines). Essentially this was a means to compare “apples with apples, and oranges with oranges”. The results are the same in both groups: exercise staves off cognitive decline, regardless of your vascular status.

By Katrina Firlik.

Neurosurgeons are quirky people. I’ve yet to meet one who’s “normal”; mind you, my observation-count of this rare species is still only three, so perhaps my sample-size is just too small. In her book ‘Another Day in the Frontal Lobe’ Katrina Firlik describes the habitat, behaviours, and temperament of the neurosurgeon. Here are some of the findings (corroborated with my personal experience):

• Quirk 1: Neurosurgeons are your superior. It doesn’t matter who you are, or what you do, brain surgery tops everything. I suppose that’s the attitude that naturally comes after 11 years of speciality training in an isolated culture. Firlik notes the stereotype, confirms its accuracy, and then exemplifies it with an out-right haughty tone throughout her book.

• Quirk 2: Neurosurgeons do only a few things very well. You’d think that the neurosurgeon would be the ultimate expert on function of that mysterious organ, the brain. They’re not. In fact, neurosurgeons handle only a small subset of brain disease. This includes trauma, tumours, and seizures. Comprehensive brain/mind function is left to be studied by the psychiatrists, psychologists, and neurologists, with each one contributing a unique piece. In fact, most neurosurgeons spend most of their time operating on the spine (that’s where the most money is to be made).

• Quirk 3: Neurosurgeons are mechanics. Brain surgery is not, well, brain surgery! If there’s too much fluid in the brain causing a build-up of pressure, you drain some to restore normal pressure. If there’s a tumour compressing on brain structures, you remove it to decompress the brain. Obviously I’m vastly simplifying, but most neurosurgical work is founded upon basic mechanical principles.

• Quirk 4: Neurosurgeons are emotionally tough. This is a necessary attribute. Chances are, that once you’re willing to let someone cut into  your brain, things are looking pretty bad. The outcomes of neurosurgical patients are usually not happy stories.

You may accuse me of speciality profiling; of drawing on superficial stereotypes. I protest that, in medicine, the stereotypes are usually objectively true. Each speciality has a unique personality of doctor associated with it. And it makes sense. When you train for many years with a small, isolated, community day-in, and day-out, you tend to form an identifiable culture. When medical students choose their future directions, a large factor is often the culture with whom they get-along the best.

It makes a slick, slimy, wet-but-not-dripping sound as the knife glides through. Slice one. The texture is gelatinous and moldable, but it holds its shape. White and grey; there are patterns in the slice. Like cloud-gazing, you can make-believe that the shapes are mysterious life-forms.

It used to be alive. A day ago, maybe two. More than alive. That piece of tissue, now split indelicately on a slab of marble, felt emotions. It thought up ideas, and imagined shapes in the clouds it saw. It had an identity, and a personality. Now it sits cold; a lump of withered sponge, unable to defend itself from the blade that is slicing it apart.

The blade is wielded by a pathologist, demonstrating to us the gross anatomy of normal brain tissue, and some pathological (diseased) findings. Pathologists (in addition to other things) perform autopsies to determine causes of death. Dead bodies are regularly their domain. Unlike the neurosurgeon, who explores the brain while it is warm, pulsing, and ever dancing with electrical activity, the pathologist handles tissue more like damp tofu.

Evidently, the early anatomists perceived as much awe when they pro-sected cadaver brains. The names they assigned the structures sound like discoveries from an exploratory deep-sea dive: the geniculate nucleus; the hippocampus, which in Greek means sea-horse; the cerebral aqueduct. Shapes in the clouds…

Oliver Sacks is the Jane Goodall of neurology. He has spent his entire  professional career observing patients, dutifully recording in his notebooks, and publishing reports of his findings that illuminate how the mind works. Most of his published work tells personal stories of patient experiences. Most notably there is ‘The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat’ (a man with visual agnosia) and ‘An Anthropologist on Mars’ (perceptions of people with autism).

In this TED Talk, Oliver Sacks explains Charles-Bonnet Syndrome –  a hallucination syndrome experienced by people who lose their vision. I was surprised to learn that up to 10% of people with vision loss experience Charles-Bonnet hallucinations, but only 1% of them report it because they are afraid of people assuming they  are going insane (which they are not).

Check it out, it’s fascinating: