While working today, I saw many of my former medical students. Some of them are still medical students on different rotations, dashing about in their short white coats or standing idly in small semicircles while engaging in the Endless Rounds of Internal Medicine. (Though, to be fair, the rounding in internal medicine during my intern year was significantly shorter than the rounding in internal medicine during my time in medical school. Sometimes my rounds as a medical student would drag on for upwards of four hours. The surgeons would walk past, twirling their fingers in the air as if spinning basketballs to poke fun at our incessant discussions of differential diagnoses and random factoids related to pathophysiology.)

Some of them are now interns, clad in their long white coats as they co-sign orders for their own medical students. I spied a handsome intern—he did not see me scrutinizing his face—and murmured to my own intern and medical student, “He looks familiar to me… how do I know him?”

The Handsome Intern was hovering over his medical student, his expression brimming with concentration. As we walked past, I continued to examine his face. His Spidey Sense clearly did not inform him of my intrusive eyes.

My eyes caught a glimpse of the name embroidered on his coat. The spark of recognition flew through my mind.

“Ah!” I suddenly exclaimed. “He was my medical student a couple years ago… he’s cute!”

The intern and medical student both laughed at my candid remark. This young man was also cute when he was my medical student, though perhaps the haggardness that comes with call nights has added to his appeal. (Not really.)

Later on, I saw a recent medical student standing in a Small Circle of Rounding. She flashed a smile of recognition at me; I waved hello. My group proceeded down the hallway and, stopping in front of a patient’s room, squirted alcoholic sanitizer on our hands. (We support infection control.) The Recent Medical Student stepped away from the Circle of Rounding and caught my attention.

“I just wanted to let you know,” she said in a somewhat hushed voice, “that I often hear your voice in my head: ‘DON’T SNOW PATIENTS!’”

I laughed, amused with the double-entendre inherent in her remark. She was referring to the exhortation I deliver to medical students when teaching them about appropriate treatment of delirium.

“Good!” I said, pleased that I had perhaps prevented one future physician from oversedating her patients. “You see what I mean now, right?”

She nodded her head vigorously. “Yeah. I see it all the time. And then I see that they receive Sedating Medication at High Dose at Frequent Intervals and I’m like, ‘Duh!’ No wonder they’re snowed.”

I flashed the Winning Smile™ at her.

Suddenly realizing what she had said, she quickly corrected, “And I don’t mean that I hear your voice in my head in a psychotic sort of way; I mean I hear it as a reminder.”

“Yes, I know, I know,” I replied.

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