As a medical student I found that most other students thought that psychiatry was not a true profession—the consultants sit and sip tea, talk nonsense, and nobody ever seems to gets better.
No blood test confirms what is wrong. No imaging shows the diagnosis. Simply put, ward rounds that consist of sitting in a room and chatting just didn’t seem like «real medicine» to most of my peers. Psychiatric patients were people to be mocked, feared («you were left alone with them?»), or ignored. Revision for objective structured clinical exams and written papers was left to the last minute because it was «only psych.»
I don’t know why I thought this would be different when I qualified. Perhaps the «doctor» title would equate to being surrounded by those who understand, appreciate, and respect psychiatry? Goes to show that a label does not define how you act.
Throughout medical school I was taught to be impartial and non-judgmental, and I swore to uphold the Hippocratic oath and «do no harm or injustice» to patients, either verbally or physically. I am sure the doctor who rolled his eyes, saying «nutter» under his breath when a patient who had overdosed on paracetamol came in had taken the same oath as me. I’ve heard qualified doctors share a joke about a «schizo» patient, giggling and clutching their sides laughing.
Needless to say I have never sat and shared a joke about a patient receiving palliative care, so why the difference?
Les videre: The Forsaken Specialty: Abstract and Introduction (Krever gratis registrering og innlogging på Medscape.com)
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