How to get a free medical education
research
narration
process
I know that chemotherapy causes white lines to grow on
your fingernails. I can also tell you what an acceptable level
of platelets in the blood is, and what can happen when your level
is too high or too low. I can even take your blood pressure and
tell you whether or not you should be concerned. I'm not a doctor
or a nurse. I'm not a pre-med student, nor have I taken any classes
about medicine. However, when I was diagnosed with Aplastic Anemia
and then went through a bone marrow transplant, I learned more
about medicine than I would have learned in three lifetimes as
a healthy person.
It started with the visit in which I learned that what I
had was more than severe bruising and lightheadedness. The doctor
wasn't sure exactly what my disease was, so he ordered a lot
of tests (doctors thrive on tests). I soon found out that whatever
I had made my normally good veins very difficult to draw blood
from.
Three hours later I was in the hospital beginning my first
real phase of education. If I hadn't paid attention in high school
biology, it could have taken the doctors a lot longer to explain
what was wrong. My platelets, white blood cells, and red blood
cells were all low, creating problems ranging from fatigue and
easy bruising to possible death from a common cold. They needed
to run some tests on my bone marrow, but before they could do
that they needed to transfuse me (doctors never put a patient
under anesthesia while that patient is anemic). The hematology
specialist told me we were probably dealing with leukemia, Aplastic
Anemia or a rare virus. Then they gave me a bunch of worst-case
scenarios, possible treatments, and told me to get a good night's
sleep. This of course was impossible. I would soon learn just
how noisy a hospital was. With IV's beeping, and vital signs
every half an hour, you have to build an immunity to the noise
and movement before you can ever sleep in a hospital. Besides
that, I was scared out of my mind.
I was one of the lucky ones. I didn't have leukemia. Knowing
the cause of my illness, I began phase two of my education. We
began to discuss treatments in lengthy detail. I felt like I
read half of a college textbook in three days. There was so much
information to absorb, so many possibilities, and a truckload
of questions to answer. Friends and family members downloaded
information from the Internet. Three inches thick of papers are
still filed away on my bookshelf. My brain felt like a sponge
that had reached its capacity . . .but the cramming had only begun.
I had a one in four chance of being a bone marrow match with
my brother, and I beat the odds. One of my personal gems of information
came when I found out that if I ever went to the Olympics I would
have to get a note from a doctor because my blood would test male.
Because my bone marrow was essentially not working, all new blood
cells would be made by the bone marrow he donated. This meant
that I would have my brother's blood. "It's possible that
you might even start liking and disliking the same foods as your
brother," stated one doctor.
However, not all of the news was funny. I would have to
go through five days of chemotherapy before transplant. I would
most likely not be able to eat for at least a week, I would be
in the hospital for six to eight weeks, and I wouldn't be able
to be around large groups of people for up to six months.
I knew I was in trouble when the consent forms were titled
"Consent to Be a Research Subject". This meant it was
going to be a "learning process for everyone". It also
meant that I was going to scrutinize every move of this procedure
down to its finest details. Fear can make a brain that seemed
full retain more information.
Once you're in the hospital you start to learn the effects
of all sorts of medicines you can't even pronounce. I learned
that Cytoxan and ATG would be my main course of treatment, that
for my bladder to remain undamaged by Cytoxan I would need to
take Mesna, and that since I had an allergic reaction to Methyltrexate,
I would have to be on Prednisone.
Thus began what I call the "residency phase" of
my education. At this point, every time I saw a new doctor's
face, I would immediately pop up with, "I have A positive
CMV negative blood, I was born on 03-15-82, and my medical carrier's
number is 1234567s." After a certain point, you actually
start reminding the nurses that it's time for your blood draw
or dressing change.
You have already learned the names of the procedures, the
risks involved, and now you move on to the hands-on experience.
After a week of watching the process, it would be impossible
not to know how to sterilize a table or perform a dressing change.
The resident doctors were supposed to be studying me, but I was
studying them. I knew exactly what they would ask me, how many
times they would ask me to breathe deeply while they held a stethoscope
to me, and exactly how they would hold my hand to examine my veins.
The doctors told me that after going through a procedure
like mine, many patients or their families go on to nursing school.
Frankly, I'm not surprised. With the free education you receive,
going through a major procedure should earn you some credits.
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Questions? Brian McKinney (bmckinne@home.com)