Reflection on the teaching session

A good teaching session is organized and relevant. It is geared to the level of the audience, it makes them care, and imparts upon them a simple message upon which they can build, think, and expand. But if I learned anything from this selective experience it is to make no assumptions. In preparing to teach, especially for a formal session, one must guess at what the audience already knows. However, this cannot be taken for granted. It is important to probe and challenge the audience so that their general understanding becomes clear. It may mean that the teacher must veer somewhat from their original plans, but this flexibility is critical in the success of the session. The important thing is to fulfill the teaching objectives, not to stick to a prepared script. The same is true of clinical practice. We are constantly faced with diagnostic dilemmas where we must make an educated guess. This guides how we investigate, or even empirically treat. But we also look for clues about whether we are right in histories, labs, and clinical course. We cannot simply assume we were correct and go ahead with our present management plan. As issues arise, we adjust our plan and address specific points. With flexibility and constant feedback, focusing on the greater goal - whether a learning objective or a patient oucomse - we will be more successful in the long run.

-Sarah

“Scut work”: an important part of medical education?

When I started clerkship, I found myself doing a lot of “scut work”, or tasks that did not seem to have any educational benefit. Each rotation seemed to have its own. In surgery, this meant retracting or suctioning during a long procedure. In internal medicine, it meant completing discharge summaries, or dictating the notes of patients you had observed. Sometimes, it meant doing things like ordering dinner for everyone on the team and getting all the lab results and charts together before rounding. I often found myself wondering: Am I truly learning? 

In retrospect, I realized that I was (although I didn’t know it). Learning in medicine is so much more than just simply information about diseases and treatment plans. In fact, a lot of clerkship meant learning how the hospital runs and what goes into making sure discharges happen smoothly, patients get to their procedures, and proper documentation is written. It also meant learning how to function well as a team-member and doing menial tasks for others often made me feel more valued as a team player.

I also learned to embrace every experience. Yes, dictations or discharge summaries may have seemed trivial at first, but I began to realize how important they were for continuity of care for the patient once they left hospital. I was also able to derive important lessons from looking through the chart from beginning to end, and often I would realize the personal mistakes I had made throughout the visit. 

In a February issue of the NEJM, two physicians make the statement that medicine is a service profession. They argue that service to patients should not be regarded in opposition to medical education. They write: “As we train future physicians, we should convey the message that service to patients is fundamental to our professional role and an invaluable mechanism for learning.” I happen to agree completely.

-Carolyn

PBL (and why all hope is not lost)

My PBL experience in medical school was less than ideal. The factors contributing to this were both internal and external. I found myself often travelling a long way for a very short session, where the expectations place on students were low and the level of excitement - on the part of both teachers and students - was minimal. I found that my own detachment with the process and my own sense of being stretched for time led me to prepare and consolidate less than I should have, and as a result I did not benefit as much as I could have from the sessions.

There is a discussion elaborated in the literature regarding what makes a good PBL session. One element is social and cognitive congruence - that is, the ablility on the part of the tutor to relate to the student and think and communicate at the student level. I can certainly identify times where this was done - at least in part - and where I felt it motivated me to participate more in the discussion. It is suggested in the literature that this state of congruence is a strong predictor of student engagement. There is also a discussion of the role of expertise and how much the tutor should offer. Apparently, offering expertise leads the student to study less and potentially acheive more. It is possible that offering some degree of information may in fact be helpful, at least for very early learners, as establishing a scaffold can direct students to use their reading time in a more efficient manner. This should not, however, undermine the most important aspect of PBL: working through the case.

The biggest issue that worked against me in PBL was the detachment of all parties from the discussion. After all, PBL is about social interaction in the learning environment. It demands that all individuals contribute to the discussion (and it is invariably improved by the presence of snacks). This leads me to consider that rather than emphasizing only the main learning objectives of each case and the task of information finding, PBL could serve as an important opportunity to teach medical students how to get interested: how to engage with a case. I found the moment I began to function in a clinical environment in clerkship I was immediately engaged in information finding, critical thinking, and collaboration. If we push students in PBL to really wrestle with the case, to come up with investigation and management plans, to consider what still needs to be known, and to preempt issues that might arise, we will not only foster more engaging sessions for student and tutor alike, but we increase the level of preparedness of medical students to think around real cases when they enter the clinical environment.

-Sarah

Do students need more feedback?

Feedback is one of the most vital aspects of medical education. It allows learners to develop expertise, identify strengths and weaknesses, and helps define expectations. It also helps to foster a relationship between the student and the teacher and makes them both active partners towards the student’s progress.

Nonetheless, I found myself in many rotations feeling as if I had no idea how I was performing. I remember meeting with my CTU preceptor on the last day of my rotation and being surprised that I had done well (I guess I should be thankful it wasn’t the other way around). Why is feedback so often forgotten? 

The first is undoubtedly an issue of time restraints – supervisors may be just too busy to have a formal debrief. It is also possible that supervisors have limited information about the student’s actual performance or do not know what the correct standard the student should be held to. It is also possible that there is a worry about the consequences of negative feedback, both in terms of the learner’s self esteem or the future relationship of the teacher-student. Or, perhaps the student is getting feedback and just doesn’t realize it.

Supervisors need to be trained on giving feedback. The feedback also needs to be constructive and should identify areas of improvement.  I have seen a few “models” on giving feedback in the literature and they all seem to outline a similar framework:  set up an appropriate environment, ask the student about their own perceptions, give them the feedback, give specific examples, and review. Seems fairly intuitive.

But, we cannot simply just blame the teacher. We students need to take responsibility for our own education. We need to learn to ask for feedback. We also need to take active roles in self-appraisal and self-reflection. I think as we go forward, we should be relying far less on feedback from supervisors and far more on our own personal assessments of ourselves.   

-Carolyn

Rare diseases

"When you hear hoofbeats behind you, don't expect to see a zebra" 

Over the last two weeks in Dr. HPK’s clinic, I have seen many rare diseases, ranging from dermatomyositis, tendinous xanthomas, to bacterial endocarditis. This is my first time seeing many of these diseases and I am in awe of Dr. HPK’s ability to so confidently make the diagnosis. I have found myself wondering: how much time should be devoted to teaching rare diseases in the medical curriculum? How does one gain the skills necessary to make the diagnosis of a rare disease? And how many cases of a rare disease must we see to confidently diagnose? 

As I did some reading in the area, I was surprised to see that novices are much more likely to make the diagnosis of a rare disease. They are also much more likely to be wrong. This is based on fundamental principles of cognitive biases known as the “availability heuristic,” that the most easily remembered diseases are also the most probable.  This, combined with the fact that rare diseases tend to be the most easily recalled by novices (why else would they be called fascinomas?) suggests that novices are predisposed to making the diagnosis of a rare disease. Having seen a case of dermatomyositis in the clinic, I hope that I will not attribute every case of proximal muscle weakness to this diagnosis. 

Rare diseases should really only be taught fleetingly in medical schools. Medical schools should allot an amount of time to teaching a specific disease that is directly proportional to the prevalence of that disease.

  

Experts can accurately diagnose rare diseases because they are better able to weigh probabilities and are much more likely to have seen all of the uncommon presentations of common diseases. They use pattern recognition much more than the novice clinician, and are therefore usually able to accurately assign a diagnosis. In this way, experience is the best teacher of rare disease. Dr. HPK explained to us that you only need to see one single case of a disease to diagnose it correctly. I think what he meant was that you only need to see a single case to think of the disease – diagnosing is much more difficult.

-Carolyn