Comic: Ideal vs. Reality - Gastroenterology

Seems like this series is slowly turning into a "Best case scenario vs. worst case scenario" kind of thing. Oh well, too late to change the name now.

David wonders when to wait while walking

Long-time readers of IDDx may remember previous entries Kevin and I wrote about awkward and/or strangely captivating interactions we had while walking in or around our med center. Today, another such scenario occurred, enabling me to complete the epic Really, Really Narcissistic Walking Post trilogy.

Allow me to explain…

After class let out this afternoon, Kevin and I started down the main walkway that leads from the med center to the primary bus stops and side streets that many students use to get home after a long day of edumacation. After a few minutes, we noticed Emily, one of our friends, walking behind us. She was close enough to recognize without difficulty, but far enough away that a wave wouldn’t necessarily grab her attention. I proposed waiting for her to catch up, but Kevin, who hates people, suggested we follow the Anti-Blackhawk Down Rule and leave every man behind.

This choice seemed fair, as Emily was a good hundred yards behind us and appeared engrossed in a phone conversation. Still, the event raised the question about proper Waiting While Walking etiquette that we inevitably beat into the ground. Specifically, how close must person A be before it becomes appropriate/expected for person B to wait for A to catch up? It’s probably a bit excessive to just wait for any person close enough for a positive ID. That might entail several minutes of waiting, and who knows if the other person is even interested in joint ambulation. On the other hand, it’s far more interesting to talk with a friend than it is to walk alone, so erring on the side of social interaction is always a plus.

Clearly, the decision is nuanced. Much depends on how well one knows the lagging party. If your girlfriend or close buddy were behind you, you’d definitely wait regardless of distance, but the Wait Zone diminishes significantly for mere acquaintances. Also relevant is the distance left to travel; if you’re a few steps away there’s little need to linger, but if you’ve got a mile to go both parties might enjoy a companion. Finally, there’s something to be said for avoiding the really awkward “Yes, I saw you look back, recognize me and then act like you didn’t and keep walking as if nothing had happened” scenario that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy (you’ve been spared, Jess…).

In the end, we concluded that the threshold distance is just close enough that the two people could communicate without resorting to strained yelling. If the rear party can flag down the leader without shouting too loudly, the person ahead is probably close enough to wait.

We attempted to test this theory with some “Can you hear me now?” trials, but one of those safety beacon things started beeping right where Kevin was standing. So, like any good scientists, we scrapped the experiment completely and just assumed we were right.

And by that time, Emily had caught up anyway…

Please vote... for our poll

Hey guys, some of you might have noticed that we added a little poll on the right side. We're interested to see how many people actuallly read our blog regularly and who you all are. Deep down we think its just our friends who are humoring us with pity visits, much like how parents think their toddler's handturkey drawing is an epic masterpiece.

Comic: Ideal vs. Reality - Summer Research

Kevin observes "John" preying on unsuspecting women at orientation

School has finally started for me and David, ending a glorious summer of groundbreaking research and lifesaving. Like most med schools, we started off with 3 days of mindnumbing orientation during the day and barhopping in the evening. In order to foster greater school unity, the 1st (Hi Robin, our first real fan) and 2nd year classes often go on these bar excursions together. Now perhaps we simply didn't notice this last year or maybe its only come up this year, but many of my fellow second years actively pursue any and all female underclassmen at these events. Let's take a hypothetical character, say... "John", and follow his foray into the 1st year herd.

Unlike most guys who are excited to see old classmates again, "John" is on a mission. A race against his biological clock to lock down the elusive Single Female Medical Student.


John

Unlike 30 years ago, female are the majority in medical schools today. Unfortunately, the majority of those women are in long term relationships, a fact that's not readily apparently upon initial contact. This is bad news for our friend "John", since he must slog through as much as 10 minutes of conversation (although could be as quick as 10 seconds) before finding out that important nugget of information. The conversation is always benign, an inquiry into where the girl is from, what college she went to, if she took anytime off. The usual. But somewhere along the way it comes out that she has a boyfriend, is engaged or worse yet, married. At those moments, one could see J's smile start to sag, his enthusiasm wane, having failed once again failed to find his soulmate.

Ladies, be on the look for "John" at a class orientation near you.

Comic: Ideal vs. Reality - Emergency Medicine

David thinks Michael Phelps is disproportionately Olympified

Since the Olympic Games began about a week ago, I, like nearly every other world citizen with a television, radio, or internet connection, have been following the aquatic pursuits of Michael Phelps. Phelps, in case you didn’t know, is on the precipice of heretofore unrealized Olympic greatness. Having already won more career gold medals than any other competitor in history, he is only three events away from breaking Mark Spitz’s mark of seven golds in a single Games. Along the way he has dominated nearly every event, setting world records in each and running away with all but one – a relay in which he was only one-fourth of the team. If Michael Jordan married a dolphin and the pair had a child with a slight underbite, that dolpho-Jordan would be Michael Phelps.

Yet despite MP's greatness, his medal count affords him acclaim disproportionate to his actual accomplishments. Sure, he wins a crap-load of gold medals, but is it really that impressive that he does a bunch of arbitrary variations of the same thing? Breaststroke, backstroke, butterfly, dog paddle, splashy-splashy…isn’t that just ‘swimming?’ What reason is there for him to earn a different gold for each one? Each stroke may utilize a unique skill set, but that doesn’t mean it deserves its own event. They wouldn’t give Tyson Gay another gold for running 100m with one arm tied behind his back, a third if he skipped every other step, or a fourth if he ran with a pirate patch over his right eye, so why do swimmers get a veritable medal buffet for doing more or less the same thing?

When the Olympics started in 776 BC, there were probably only a few events – wrasslin’ in oil, pissing off Zeus, epic poetry, etc. As the Games progressed, they probably added additional distances and disciplines in descending order of significance just to flesh out the schedule. But at what point did they start piling on really slight permutations of the same events?















But can he piss off Zeus?

I always thought the beauty of the games was the opportunity to see the superlative competitors in action. Who’s the fastest? Who jumps the highest? Can someone unseat Homer at writing poems that never end? These are challenges with practical applications in real life. If you’re running away from a bear, you better sprint like the wind. If you’re swimming away from a shark, you need to make it rain freestyle. Any other stroke would end in tears.

















Time for backstroke?

Sure, Michael Phelps is awesome. If he was a physician, he’d make Paul Farmer look like Dr. Nick. And yes, swimming isn’t the only offender – several other sports have way too many medals for what are essentially meaningless variations of the same basic challenge. Yet swimming is the biggest offender, making Phelps the most obvious medal baron. He may be the greatest swimmer ever – or at least the best without a kick-ass mustache – but until he oil wrassles like a champ, I will remain only moderately impressed.