What happened?

“What happened?” The woman in charge of Introduction to Clinical Medicine seemed concerned.  I had failed the course’s written exam.  “I don’t know.”  And really, I didn’t.  I had never failed an exam.

We second-year medical students had been farmed out in small groups to assorted ophthalmologists and ENT physicians in practice to learn eye and ear exams, with the classic DeGowin and DeGowin physical exam book for reference. I assumed any exam would be based on our clinical experiences and assigned text.  The questions on the multiple-choice test seemed to have come out of nowhere.

After we had ruled out failure to show up, pay attention, personal crisis, substance use or other breakdown, she finally asked with wonderment—hadn’t I studied the old tests?  I was shocked.  Wasn’t that, umm, cheating?  Oh no—everyone does that.  You must look at the old tests.

Turned out, they were indeed on file in the library.  As expected, the topics had not been covered in my small group or reading. I dutifully studied the answers, retook the test, and passed no problem.  So that was how the game was played.

I was disillusioned.  If that was what passed as education, who was being cheated?

 

 

Basement Kitten

Basement Kitten

Always crazy about animals,  I’ve written before about some of my beloved pets over the years,  even my two attention-deficient goldfish!   (See Missing Pussycats,   The Puppy in the Waiting Room,  Fluffy and the Alligator Shoes,  ASPCA and Naval Funeral)

When my husband Danny and I were newly married we lived in Westchester in a lovely small apartment building with garages out back for us tenants.

One afternoon I had to pick Danny up at the Pelham train station and I was running late.  I cut through the basement on my way to the garage,  and as I hurried along I spotted a tiny black kitten curled up on the basement floor.

Barely slowing my pace I scooped up the kitten and continued out to the car.   Then,  steering with my left hand and holding the kitten in my right,  I drove to the station.  When I saw my husband walking toward the car I held the kitten up to the windshield for him to see.

My favorite childhood cat had been gray in color and was appropriately named Smokey.   Although this kitten was all black I decided nevertheless to dub him with the same name.

”Look who I found in the basement!”   I told Danny as he got into the car.   “Let’s keep him and call him Smokey!”

And so we did!

– Dana Susan Lehrman