unremarked courage

7:30 am this morning I walked timidly into a room full of surgical residents, orthopaedic fellows, radiologists, and attending physicians from the multiple musculoskeletal departments sitting around waiting for conference to start. As I took a seat quietly and unnoticed at the far back corner of the room, I noticed an attending physician drilling his first year resident on the best course of action regarding the treatment plans of a particular case. The resident replied each question with a professional tone, seemingly at ease and confident with his answers. However, I then realized that he was actually getting everything wrong when the attending practically yelled "NO NO NO!!! RADIATION IS DEFINITELY IMPOSSIBLE!" The resident fell silent as the attending went on to explain why. Then, before I knew it, he threw another question at him. The resident didn't look quite as confident now, his body language appearing slightly hesitant, but after a moment of consideration, the same confident, professional tone escaped his lips as he announced his answer. He was right this time and managed to escape the wrath of his attending, who only offered a seemingly unimpressed "Okay, good."
By the time the head of the orthopaedic oncology department, aka my advising clinical research doctor, arrived, the room was packed with a throng of white lab coats. Cases were presented and treatment plans discussed amongst the physicians and radiologists presenting the imaging scans. In the midst of my concentration, trying to keep my spinning, sleep-deprived brain from totally tuning out the myriad of intelligent-sounding yet utterly foreign medical terminology and jargon, I turned my attention back to the poor first year resident. Case by case, my adviser singled him out for questioning. The poor kid answered quickly and intelligently, even when he had no idea what the answer was and anxiously awaited for another "NO NO NO!!!" or at least an indication if he was correct. But my adviser just looked bored and replied to each response with a frustratingly vague, "So, that's what you would do...hmm okay." For once, I was glad I was being ignored. The last person I wanted to be was that first year resident.
It gets better.
At about 8:30, the conference ended and the crowd dispersed, leaving only those going on rounds remaining. This group consisted of my adviser, three orthopaedic surgical residents, including the first year, and a mix of rehab therapists and their respective students (plus me). We were led by the first year resident out of the conference room to see the first patient. Apparently a bit frazzled by the morning's activities already, he promptly led us, more importantly, my adviser, into the correct room on the wrong floor. He quickly realized his mistake, but not quick enough to dodge the tsunami of belittling jokes that ensued. My adviser asked him if he needed a GPS for rounds. The resident embarrassingly yet gracefully played along being the object of hilarity on this morning's rounds. I chuckled out of politeness but I felt a strange pang of anxiety and fear that I will inevitably be in his place in a few short years. After finding the correct room on the correct floor, the rest of rounds went by smoothly but not without constant reminder from my adviser of his slip.
I think I've hit a significant emotional state where I'm simultaneously terrified and fascinated with the field of medicine. I've always heard and known that interns, residents, and even fellows get constantly yelled at and belittled by those in positions above them; it's a regular part of the medical training process. But no amount of warning could prepare me for what I only got a taste of, through observing the resident this morning. The look in the attendings' condescending eyes alone can probably drive me insane. In a field where what you do may affect the well-being of someone's life, there is no room to be unnerved and commit a mistake even under the most judgmental eyes of your superiors. Yet, being human and inexperienced, things will go wrong. Patients may be harmed during a routine procedure just because it's your first time in action. You live every day knowing that if you do something right, it will go completely unnoticed but if you happen to make even a silly mistake as walking into the wrong room for rounds, you will be berated for your utter stupidity. But at the end of the day, no matter how you've failed, endured the scorn of those around you, or even been completely ignored, you have to remain persistent in your training and tackle the next day with the same energy and spirit as if the man you almost killed the other day didn't freak you out at all.

One day in the near future, I'm going to strap on that kind of bravery. I'm just relieved that today was not that day.