The Bottom of the Totem Pole

His expression was one of displeasure and slight disdain, my first indication that my role in life had just drastically changed. I presumed he was either a third or fourth year medical student and he was sitting in his cornflower blue scrubs in the hospital cafeteria. After surveying the overflowing tables, searching for a seat, I had just asked to sit at one of many empty ones at his table.

He said no.

I retreated aimlessly, walking with my tray to nowhere, only to hear my name called from two first year students at another table. It was the dreaded high school cafeteria experience that I never had.

“I’ve never felt this way in a hospital,” I told my classmates.

I worked in a hospital for three years, after all, and felt totally competent in similar situations. I talked to nurses, attendings, and residents all the time and never feared rejection from any of them--much less from one of the medical students. I knew I had a place in the medical team and perhaps that drove my confidence onward. More likely, though, my co-workers at the hospital had a place in my life outside of work as well. I talked to them about my goals and loved ones and felt a closeness toward them.

Now, wielding my blue Adidas backpack and student ID in place of grown up clothes and identification, I just felt different.

“We’re at the bottom of the totem pole,” my classmates reminded me.

There, at that cafeteria table, we were like the high school freshmen who had been rejected and quarantined by the upper classman who didn’t want us in his presence. We were the ones gushing about orientation, wanting to talk about microanatomy, and discussing our fears about gross lab. Our newness emanated from our words.

I love the hospital’s proximity to the medical school, but in the future, I may walk outside to the courtyard and eat there. That’s where the rest of the city lives and more importantly, where the adults eat.

That Smell of Paraformaldehyde is Coming from Me

I knew cooperation would be a challenge as soon as our group assembled near the far wall of the lecture hall.

I was in just one of thirty gross anatomy lab groups in the MSI class and our six person team was supposed to be deciding who would buy what lab materials during orientation. Instead, the Arrogant One was pontificating.

“I just can’t tell you how excited I am about this!,” he said loudly. “I have been waiting and waiting for this,” he continued, adding exaggerated arm movements to his commentary.

“Me too, me too,” the One I Might Be Able to Tolerate, chimed in, eager not to be left out.

“Well, as long as you guys don’t cut slow…because I cut fast, so I hope that none of you are slow,” the High Strung One added.

The other two members of the group were painfully quiet and seemingly intimidated as this episode unfolded. Their refusal to speak or make eye contact made them seem socially awkward. At the end of our “team meeting,” not only had we not exchanged any contact information, but no decisions were made about who would buy materials, or how we would divide the cost.

Not surprisingly, on our first day of lab today, when the professor asked us to split our six person team into two groups of three, the High Strung One looked at me and said, “I hope you don’t mind if the three of us work together.”

By “us,” of course, she meant herself, the Arrogant One, and the One I Might Be Able to Tolerate. Ignoring her implication that we were the slower, stupider people in the group, I quickly befriended the Quiet One and The Asian Guy.

As we opened the case of our cadaver, the High Strung One immediately stepped back, cringing and feigning disgust. She assumed this position for most of the lab, as she let the Arrogant One do all the dissection for her sub-team and watched the One I Might Be Able to Tolerate assist him. She also wandered around aimlessly watching other groups and coming back to report their level of progress.

I focused on my area of dissection (each sub-team works on a different area), making sure that the Quiet One and the Asian Guy all got equal time to cut and that we took breaks to explain our work to the other team members and reference the lab book.

When the High Strung One returned for the 40th time in two hours to tell me where the other group was dissecting, though, I couldn’t help but correct her behavior by saying, “I hate when people keep looking at other groups instead of just taking their time and focusing on the task at hand.” Although out of character for me, it worked and she stopped with her running commentary.

Unfortunately, I still had to listen to the Arrogant One go on about “how cool this is” and “I can’t believe that I’m elbow deep in this.” When he started making tasteless comments about, “I’ll never eat ground beef again,” I reminded myself of his age and immaturity and silently took pleasure when our professor corrected his egregious mistakes.

I realize that so far, I am proving to be the Passive Aggressive One, but that may only last for one more lab session. A combination of hunger and sleep deprivation already drove me to ask the High Strung One, when she was standing around toward the end of the lab,

“Are you just holding the book, or are you actually going to cut something?”

This would be the precursor, of course, to me asking her to please cut faster next time. Because really, that would be an awesome comeback.