Residency application season has just started. Many of the applicants, a few of whom I know in person, will be foreign medical graduates, or FMGs, meaning that they are doctors who want to work in the US but are not US citizens. Most FMGs, but not all, will also be international medical graduates — IMGs — meaning that they have graduated from a non-US medical schools. Something called the Education Commision for Foreign Medical Graduates, or ECFMG, acts as their medical school when interacting with most of the sprawling US bureaucracy. These are our personae dramatis, if you will.

Disclosure: I am both an FMG and an IMG, and first began working in the US on an ECFMG-sponsored J1 visa.

America is a net importer of physicians, that much should obvious to anyone who’s ever been in an American hospital. The country depends on FMGs to keep the system running, get the less lucrative specialties, work in underserved areas, etc. Not so obvious is that most FMGs get to America by lying; ICE-approved, foreign-government sponsored lying for sure, but lying nonetheless.

Here are the lies FMGs tell when they come in: that their country has a need for doctors of such-and-such specialty, and/or that their government is sending them to the US for training in the said specialty, and/or that at the end of training they will go back to their country of origin to work in the (sub)specialty they came in to obtain. Those are the three postulates of the J1 physician exchange visa, the very name of which is also a lie as there is no exchange taking place: foreign doctors do come in, but no American doctors come out.

The postulates are incompatible with reality, and imply foreign government competence that just isn’t there in second and third-world countries¹. Because over there, no one is keeping statistics on specialist needs, and if they are there is actually a surplus, and if there isn’t they wouldn’t be able to afford the (sub)specialists once they come back, and if they could then they would be chosen by party or family lines, and you wouldn’t want them in your hospitals anyway.

So to get a J1 visa FMGs need to obtain a letter from their Ministry of Health or equivalent stating the above (the postulates, not the actual truth; I’m sure that in some of those countries people have gone to prison for saying the truth). But is there a functioning Ministry of Health? Does anyone there know that the letter they are supposed to provide about lending a medical graduate and wanting them back is a piece of kabuki theater, and not a commitment to employ that person if and when they come back? And because this letter is supposed to come in a sealed envelope directly from the Ministry to ECFMG: does anyone there speak English? So here are all those FMGs whose main reason to emigrate to America may have been to escape their kleptocratic governments, being dragged into a game of Whom do I bribe next? and Which newspaper do I threaten them with?² by the rules of the country they were hoping was less crooked than their own.

Which is fine for America, because it doesn’t care as long as it gets its steady stream of MDs one way or another. Only it should care because 1) the amount of person-hours wasted is on par with if not greater than the amount spent writing grants, and that one’s a whopper, 2) it relinquishes control over a part of its healthcare to foreign governments, and 3) it introduces an air of subterfuge and deceit at the very beginning of the FMG-USA relationship. I would like to think this is an aberration to be fixed, and not a preview of things to come in other areas of governance.

The process was probably fine 50 years ago, when both demands of the medical system and the influx of foreign doctors were but a fraction of the current monstrosity, when USMLE was taken on paper if you had to take it at all, when it wasn’t so obvious to a non-aligned physician whether they should go to the US or USSR (or Yugoslavia, for that matter) to get more training. But healthcare has changed and so has the world: it’s time do drop the pretense of an exchange, America, and be honest about what’s going on here.

The next time someone asks me about books to read before residency, I will direct them here. You don’t have to be a medical trainee to benefit from these, but that period of anxious anticipation between match day and orientation is perfect for buffing your attributes.

How to read a book, by Mortimer J. Adler

What better way to start learning about learning than by reading a book about reading books?

The Farnam Street blog has a nice outline of the book’s main ideas. The same establishment is now hocking a $200 course on the same topic. It’s probably good, but at $10 the source material is slightly more affordable.

Getting things done, by David Allen

The first few months you will be neck-deep in scut work no matter what you do. After that, though, you will have to juggle patient care, research, didactics, fellowship/career planning, and piles of administrative drek—and that’s just inside the hospital. At the very least, this book will help you make time for laundry (and maybe some reading).

Thinking, fast and slow, by Daniel Kahneman

Superficially, similar knowledge to what is in these 400+ pages can be found in a few Wikipedia entries. But you would miss out on the how and why cognitive biases and heuristics are so important. Medicine and research are bias-driven endeavors, and not understanding them is not knowing real-world medicine.

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Only three? Yes. If anything, the two and a half months between mid-March and July 1st won’t be enough to read them all with the attention they deserve. But you should try.

July 1st is when most US residency programs let their new interns loose after a week of corporate compliance training and ACGME-mandated talks about burnout.

If you are a medical student or a new intern, read this.

And this short post of mine still applies.

In addition, remember that it is easy to become very cynical very quickly. That is not the best of defense mechanisms, but it is better than substance abuse, domestic violence, or suicidal ideation. So, if you have to be cynical, do it up the chain of command, not down or laterally. That way you will avoid preconditioning medical students, observers, and your fellow interns. The senior residents will either support you in your jadedness, or will get to feel smug when they tell you that you are too young for that much cynicism. Your attendings should, ideally, teach you why you are wrong—though the younger they are the more likely it is they will behave like senior residents. So it’s a win for everyone, really, unless someone dings you for lack of professionalism.

Also, please remember to eat.

“She makes the mistake of talking to patients.”

— Overheard from a fellow discussing the consult attending’s rounding habits

Is there such a thing as spending too much time with a patient? The question seems preposterous, when recent time motion studies showed that physicians in general, and residents in particular, clock embarrassingly few face-to-face minutes. The quote above was said with a wink and a nudge, but there are situations when it can be true, particularly if you talk to a patient—or get talked to—instead of having a conversation.

Two groups are at highest risk of talking too much—trainees and consultants. Many an internist remembers having to pick up the pieces after a consulting physician flew by the bedside to throw an unasked for opinion bomb. Think hematologists talking about insulin regimens, cardiologists about causes and treatment of back pain, or orthopedic surgeons about code status. “But one doctor said…” and a perplexed look is the usual outcome, more so if the consultant debated him or herself out loud.

Fellows are even more efficient sowers of confusion. Unlike some of their superiors, they still remember other fields well enough to a) have a valid opinion, and b) keep it to themselves. Where they are at highest risk for foot-in-mouth is the area of their future expertise—picking up just enough from the attendings to sound knowledgeable, yet not knowing enough to tell the patient what they don’t know. Even at later stages of training, a fellow’s best plan shared with the patient may tumble down when the attending gives a diametrically opposed recommendation. The common scenario is one in which there is no evidence, and clinical judgment rules. You can either not share your own view, or punctuate every conversation with “But we’ll see what my attending says.” More time wasted, and for nothing.

Patients themselves can be talkative, sometimes to their detriment. The reasons are many, and understandable: they have much to say about themselves—relevant to why they are in the hospital and not so much, they might not have anyone at home listening, they may have some level of delirium, dementia, or other cognitive disorder. Being able to identify such a person, and then knowing how to direct the conversation, is an unknown skill for most trainees and goes against today’s dogma of giving patients time to talk. No harm done to the chatty ones, but there are only so many hours in the day, and some of them should be spent thinking.

To be clear, we don’t have an epidemic of young doctors staying in the hospital until 2am while demented World War II veterans regail them with half-made up stories from Normandy. If only. But more isn’t always better, and physicians need to know when to speak up (to get their patient back on the topic), and when to stay quiet (not to overwhelm them with half-baked ideas).

For the first time since joining Quora, I found a question to which I can meaningfuly contribute. Thought you might like to see my answer.

Why would someone choose to be a chief resident (in internal medicine)?

Why indeed.

The cynical answers would be “out of a misguided sense of loyalty to your program”. The correct and not very useful answer is—it depends.

Most positions entail primarily administrative responsibilities, with some teaching and clinical duties, and a salary just slightly higher than that of a PGY-3. So, you can expect your patient care skills to languish unless you work on maintaining them, your teaching skills to be slightly improved—or at least no worse if you’ve had some prior experience—and your knowledge of hospital administration, people management, dealing with email, and making the most out of seemingly pointless meetings to go through the roof. If you have any interest in academic medicine, as a generalist and sub-specialist alike, this last skill set will be invaluable. It is also a stamp of approval of sorts for any fellowship program director looking at your CV if and when you apply.

You also have much more free time. Depending on how many chiefs your program has, it will be most or all weekends, and almost all federal holidays. This is a good time to study for the boards if you haven’t taken them already, write up the research you’ve been working on, or spend some time with your family (the chief’s maternity/paternity leave is usually more flexible, but that’s program-dependent).

The downsides: you will have one fewer year of attending-level salary, so if you have a large debt or other financial responsibilities think twice before saying yes; some friendships you made with the junior residents will be undone or temporarily put on hold, unless you are very careful about not playing favorites; you may lose some respect for your higher-ups, as it goes whenever you peek behind the curtain; you will need to develop a thick skin, if you don’t have one already. Some would say these last two are actually pluses. It depends.

Visa issues complicate the matter, but I won’t go into details—bureaucracy shouldn’t play a role in determining a career choice, and when there is will (your own as well as the program’s) there is a way to bypass any obstacles.

Hope this helps.

A key skill to have during oral exams back in med school was never to admit not knowing. Avoid the areas you’re uncertain of, dodge the examiner’s field of expertise as much as you can, and never ever say “I don’t know”.

These sage words were passed on from generation to generation, propagated by everyone, including me. Only, this wasn’t what I or any of my friends actually thought. It was a poke at the climate of intellectual dishonesty at our school, not a guide to success in medicine.

Starting residency, though, flips the sarcasm switch somewhere and the funny guidelines become instructions to be followed verbatim. The knowledge in question is different—patient data instead of textbook medicine—but the idea is the same. Observe the modern American intern’s vocabulary:

• Not that I know of (means I don’t know).
• I wasn’t aware of that (means I didn’t know).
• I don’t think it is (means I don’t know if it is).
• I belive so (means I have no idea, but yeah, maybe).
• It probably was (means I don’t have a clue but I did a D6 roll in my head and it was a 5).

I used all of the above, and more, during internship, but still get frustrated hearing it from others¹. If you are an intern, or anyone reporting patient data to a person above you in the pecking order, try using “I don’t know, but I can find out in a second” instead. Then start practicing your EMR skills to trully make it a second.

Of the three pillars of medicine, research is the most ellusive. Unless you are in an MD/PhD program—-not an option for most Europeans—-you will have other priorities in medical school. And unless your residency program has a built-in research year, the way most surgical residencies do, you will either be way too busy in a university or a large community program to do any research, or have plenty of free time in a lower volume community hospital that doesn’t have many research opportunities.

When I interviewed residents-to-be last year, my first thought on seeing a non-PhD applicant having 18 publications on his or her CV wasn’t “Wow, she is a research machine, we gotta have her”, but rather doubt that anyone could be that productive during medical school. More points subtracted for thinking the interviewers would be so gullible.

I graduated six years ago, far enough not to be able to give advice on how to do research as a medical student. The hows and whys are institution-specific, so anything I wrote would have to be in Serbian anyway. Residencies, though, are similar enough to each other that I do have some words of advice for new residents wanting to do Research! in a community hospital, university-affiliated or not.

• Patient care trumps research. Unless you have already worked as an attending in another country before coming to the US for residency, don’t waltz in to your PDs office on day one asking about research opportunities. Prove yourself on the field first, then six months later, when you’re comfortable managing DVT prophylaxis, septic shock, and what not, start asking questions.

• Get your own idea? Common wisdom says it is better to come up with your own question and start your own projects, since you will be more invested in the outcome. Well, yes, sort of. Unless it is a quick-and-dirty chart review you can do over a two-week vacation—-and even then there are IRB hoops you’d need to jump through to get anything done—-you will get your inexperienced self into the murky world of project management. Many brilliant ideas have died on the field of required signatures, ambiguous data points, and impossible-to-coordinate meetings. Which is why this next advice is important.

• Find good mentors. Surrounding yourself with a few good people is orders of magnitude better than having many good ideas. Research topics come and go, as does our interest in different fields of medicine (yesterday’s apoptosis is today’s epigenetics is tomorrow’s something or other). It is unlikely that the research your started in residency will continue onward into fellowship, but the knowledge, skills, and general wisdom you pick up from your mentors should serve you well into your career. NB: don’t wait for someone to be “assigned” to you—-although that’s what many residency programs will do. Seek out people who match your character and who would be able to give you advice in at least three fields: patient care, research methodology, and research topics. This can be one person, or five. And if you find an awesome mentor who just isn’t doing any research right then, you can always write a review.

• Is it Science! or quality improvement? ACGME is big on Quality! and Patient Safety! this year. Programs take notice. If you can present your interest as a quality improvement project rather than small-s-science, consider doing it. Not only does showing interest in quality improvement look good on a CV, your institution might have special funds for resident QI projects. A dedicated QI mentor is also a good resource, if you want a carreer as a Sith lor—-erm, hospital administrator.

Interest in research goes from I just want something on my CV so I could get a fellowship to When I grow up, I’ll have my own lab, but this applies to most people in most circumstances.

Four years ago today was my first day as an intern at Sinai. Yesterday was my last on Sinai’s payroll. I will miss it.

Won’t miss the fake flash mobs of Lifebridge Health, though.

The new intern class starts in less than a month. It’s easy enough to find advice on how to be well-organized, efficient, and likable. Here are some more tech-oriented tips I wish I knew back when I started.

Take photos and videos, with permission

Get an iPhone. Turn off Photo stream, or download a camera app that doesn’t automatically upload to it, like VSCOcam. When a physical exam finding is rare, stumps you, or is just cool to see, ask the patient about recording it. If you see an interesting or rare radiography image, save it. But please remove all personally identifiable information.

Useful for: appearing smart on rounds, observing disease course, creating informative slides, posters, and written case reports.

Keep track of things you are interested in

Your EMR will have a way to create custom patient lists. Use it. If you are into hematologic malignancies, eosinophilic esophagitis, MODY—or anything, really—keep track of all your patients who have it. If you don’t yet know what it is, keep a list of all the patients you found interesting and try to find a pattern.

Useful for: getting ideas for research and quality improvement projects, figuring out your career path.

Do not copy forward, copy/paste, or use templates and macros

I started my internship in 2010 so I can’t believe I’ll write this, but—back in the day before EMRs, we wrote our progress notes and H&Ps by hand. This meant reviewing the med list, vital signs, and labs each morning and writing down only the important stuff; completing and recording just those parts of the physical exam that had to be done; and writing a new assessment and plan each day. Well duh, isn’t that what interns should do?—you might naively ask, until your second or third day on the job when a helpful senior resident shows you how to shave minutes—minutes!—off your note-writing time by using some variant of copying forward, templates, or macros.

These tricks are a mental crutch, and a known cause of documentation errors. They might help your handicapped intern self the first few months on the job, but will then prevent you from thinking about what you are doing and writing. A thoughtful daily review of everyone’s medications and labs will turn into a quick glance over a two-page long list of 10-point single-spaced Courier New. Also, your typing speed will never improve if you only document by clicking.

Useful for: being a good, thoughtful doctor.

• I don’t feel comfortable doing that.—I don’t know what you’re asking me to do (nurse to intern); I’m too lazy to do it (intern to resident); I think it’s a stupid idea and there’s no way you can make me do it (resident to attending); You’re not paying me enough to do this crap (attending to administration).
• It’s a light elective—You don’t need to show up.
• Needs to read more. (on a written evaluation)—I have no idea how much medicine this person knows. I barely know any myself.
• The family is reasonable.—Family members don’t ask too many questions and will agree with anything you say.
• The patient has xyz.—I’ve read in an old discharge summary that the patient has xyz, but have no idea how they established the diagnosis, what stage it is in, or what the hell xyz even is.
• The head is normocephalic, atraumatic. Pupils are equal, round and reactive to light and accommodation. Sclearae are nonicteric.—If I were to report the physical exam I actually did it would take five nanoseconds, so take these fillers to make it seem like I’ve put in some effort.
• Thank you for the thorough presentation.—Why did you waste my time with all that useless information?
• That’s an outpatient work-up.—Administration is already breathing down my neck because of this patient’s length of stay and you’re worried about a mild anemia and a positive hemoccult!?
• That’s her new baseline.—Her disease is worse and we don’t know why, so I guess she’s stuck with it.
• Please let me know if you have any more questions.—This is the end of our conversation, so please stop talking. I shall now leave.