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Early autumn is typically a quiet time for outpatient pediatricians. The school physicals are finished. The last-minute school physicals are finished. The “I forgot to get my child’s physical” physicals are finished. Respiratory syncytial virus and influenza seasons haven’t started. There is time for some self-reflection and sharpening the saw.
My reflective period each year tends to start with the unresolved “What do I want to be when I grow up?” Mind you, just because I’ve grown old doesn’t mean I’ve grown up. I never wanted to be a “grande personne” who, per Antoine de Saint-Exupéry in “Le Petit Prince,” will never understand why a minor item (Did the lamb eat the flower?) makes all the difference in the universe to a child. Awe and wonderment should remain a part of life. I enjoy reading that short story in the original French because, as my high school French vocabulary and conjugation have faded, any word I don’t recognize means exactly what my journey of a lifetime tells me it means, neither more nor less, just as Humpty Dumpty explained to Alice in Lewis Carroll’s “Through the Looking Glass.”
Along with my perennial favorites like “Le Petit Prince” and the Gettysburg Address, in this year’s folder for reflection are two essays I’ve collected this year. The first is a letter addressed from medical ethicist Ira Bedzow, PhD, to this year’s incoming class of medical students.
The essay gives advice to first-year medical students entering the profession of medicine. It talks about finding “something to say that you communicate with the whole and essence of your being.” There is lots of great counsel in the letter. It claims, “Only in a professional does one’s voice sing in harmony with one’s being. Want that for yourselves, for only a life undivided is a life of full integrity.”
I agree with the harmony part. I hesitate with the undivided part. A professional singer could be dedicated to opera but still sing in a barbershop quartet and a church choir, motivated by fun and fellowship. It is important to emphasize integrity and dedication to medical students. The letter does that well, but students must also develop a work-life balance. The ascetic life is not for everyone.
Life needs balance and moderation. I am pretty sure that Aristotle said that, but I never did spend much time studying the Classics. I use my periods of self-reflection to chart my life’s vector. I choose new skills to learn and challenges to meet. But as I grow older, I spend more time pruning those roles that no longer give me joy. Delayed gratification is an important character trait for success, but its value lessens as it becomes clear there are more days behind me than ahead.
The second essay reflects the views of Canon Brodar, a third-year medical student and divinity school graduate.
He attests to the willingness of medical trainees to accept their duties and personal risk during the crisis of the COVID-19 pandemic. He correctly points out the contributions his fellow students could make, but underestimates the negatives. During March 2020 when decisions were made to send third-year medical students home, the administrative focus was on the cost of their participation (consumption of scarce personal protective equipment) and the potential negative consequences (an additional person who might transmit the virus among patients.) Four months later, most medical students were back on the job.
Mr. Brodar’s eloquent description of duty and responsibility complement, and perhaps have evolved from, the integrity and dedication that Dr. Bedzow emphasized to incoming medical students. These are all character traits. These traits are not knowledge of anatomy or skill with a scalpel. With experience come two more key character traits – the moderation of a work-life balance and the judgment to weigh benefits, risks, and costs.
Dr. Powell is a pediatric hospitalist and clinical ethics consultant living in St. Louis. He has no relevant financial disclosures. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.
Early autumn is typically a quiet time for outpatient pediatricians. The school physicals are finished. The last-minute school physicals are finished. The “I forgot to get my child’s physical” physicals are finished. Respiratory syncytial virus and influenza seasons haven’t started. There is time for some self-reflection and sharpening the saw.
My reflective period each year tends to start with the unresolved “What do I want to be when I grow up?” Mind you, just because I’ve grown old doesn’t mean I’ve grown up. I never wanted to be a “grande personne” who, per Antoine de Saint-Exupéry in “Le Petit Prince,” will never understand why a minor item (Did the lamb eat the flower?) makes all the difference in the universe to a child. Awe and wonderment should remain a part of life. I enjoy reading that short story in the original French because, as my high school French vocabulary and conjugation have faded, any word I don’t recognize means exactly what my journey of a lifetime tells me it means, neither more nor less, just as Humpty Dumpty explained to Alice in Lewis Carroll’s “Through the Looking Glass.”
Along with my perennial favorites like “Le Petit Prince” and the Gettysburg Address, in this year’s folder for reflection are two essays I’ve collected this year. The first is a letter addressed from medical ethicist Ira Bedzow, PhD, to this year’s incoming class of medical students.
The essay gives advice to first-year medical students entering the profession of medicine. It talks about finding “something to say that you communicate with the whole and essence of your being.” There is lots of great counsel in the letter. It claims, “Only in a professional does one’s voice sing in harmony with one’s being. Want that for yourselves, for only a life undivided is a life of full integrity.”
I agree with the harmony part. I hesitate with the undivided part. A professional singer could be dedicated to opera but still sing in a barbershop quartet and a church choir, motivated by fun and fellowship. It is important to emphasize integrity and dedication to medical students. The letter does that well, but students must also develop a work-life balance. The ascetic life is not for everyone.
Life needs balance and moderation. I am pretty sure that Aristotle said that, but I never did spend much time studying the Classics. I use my periods of self-reflection to chart my life’s vector. I choose new skills to learn and challenges to meet. But as I grow older, I spend more time pruning those roles that no longer give me joy. Delayed gratification is an important character trait for success, but its value lessens as it becomes clear there are more days behind me than ahead.
The second essay reflects the views of Canon Brodar, a third-year medical student and divinity school graduate.
He attests to the willingness of medical trainees to accept their duties and personal risk during the crisis of the COVID-19 pandemic. He correctly points out the contributions his fellow students could make, but underestimates the negatives. During March 2020 when decisions were made to send third-year medical students home, the administrative focus was on the cost of their participation (consumption of scarce personal protective equipment) and the potential negative consequences (an additional person who might transmit the virus among patients.) Four months later, most medical students were back on the job.
Mr. Brodar’s eloquent description of duty and responsibility complement, and perhaps have evolved from, the integrity and dedication that Dr. Bedzow emphasized to incoming medical students. These are all character traits. These traits are not knowledge of anatomy or skill with a scalpel. With experience come two more key character traits – the moderation of a work-life balance and the judgment to weigh benefits, risks, and costs.
Dr. Powell is a pediatric hospitalist and clinical ethics consultant living in St. Louis. He has no relevant financial disclosures. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.
Early autumn is typically a quiet time for outpatient pediatricians. The school physicals are finished. The last-minute school physicals are finished. The “I forgot to get my child’s physical” physicals are finished. Respiratory syncytial virus and influenza seasons haven’t started. There is time for some self-reflection and sharpening the saw.
My reflective period each year tends to start with the unresolved “What do I want to be when I grow up?” Mind you, just because I’ve grown old doesn’t mean I’ve grown up. I never wanted to be a “grande personne” who, per Antoine de Saint-Exupéry in “Le Petit Prince,” will never understand why a minor item (Did the lamb eat the flower?) makes all the difference in the universe to a child. Awe and wonderment should remain a part of life. I enjoy reading that short story in the original French because, as my high school French vocabulary and conjugation have faded, any word I don’t recognize means exactly what my journey of a lifetime tells me it means, neither more nor less, just as Humpty Dumpty explained to Alice in Lewis Carroll’s “Through the Looking Glass.”
Along with my perennial favorites like “Le Petit Prince” and the Gettysburg Address, in this year’s folder for reflection are two essays I’ve collected this year. The first is a letter addressed from medical ethicist Ira Bedzow, PhD, to this year’s incoming class of medical students.
The essay gives advice to first-year medical students entering the profession of medicine. It talks about finding “something to say that you communicate with the whole and essence of your being.” There is lots of great counsel in the letter. It claims, “Only in a professional does one’s voice sing in harmony with one’s being. Want that for yourselves, for only a life undivided is a life of full integrity.”
I agree with the harmony part. I hesitate with the undivided part. A professional singer could be dedicated to opera but still sing in a barbershop quartet and a church choir, motivated by fun and fellowship. It is important to emphasize integrity and dedication to medical students. The letter does that well, but students must also develop a work-life balance. The ascetic life is not for everyone.
Life needs balance and moderation. I am pretty sure that Aristotle said that, but I never did spend much time studying the Classics. I use my periods of self-reflection to chart my life’s vector. I choose new skills to learn and challenges to meet. But as I grow older, I spend more time pruning those roles that no longer give me joy. Delayed gratification is an important character trait for success, but its value lessens as it becomes clear there are more days behind me than ahead.
The second essay reflects the views of Canon Brodar, a third-year medical student and divinity school graduate.
He attests to the willingness of medical trainees to accept their duties and personal risk during the crisis of the COVID-19 pandemic. He correctly points out the contributions his fellow students could make, but underestimates the negatives. During March 2020 when decisions were made to send third-year medical students home, the administrative focus was on the cost of their participation (consumption of scarce personal protective equipment) and the potential negative consequences (an additional person who might transmit the virus among patients.) Four months later, most medical students were back on the job.
Mr. Brodar’s eloquent description of duty and responsibility complement, and perhaps have evolved from, the integrity and dedication that Dr. Bedzow emphasized to incoming medical students. These are all character traits. These traits are not knowledge of anatomy or skill with a scalpel. With experience come two more key character traits – the moderation of a work-life balance and the judgment to weigh benefits, risks, and costs.
Dr. Powell is a pediatric hospitalist and clinical ethics consultant living in St. Louis. He has no relevant financial disclosures. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.