#residents medical

[conceptualmedicine]

Conceptual Medicine: A Complete Guide

Conceptual Medicine is about the journey of medicine residents. With expert sessions, live lectures, and in-depth study materials, we provide top-notch resources for those going through the Internal Medicine Residency. The platform will provide you with intense case discussions, comprehensive training, and preparation for exams to help you excel in your medicine residency and develop more clinical skills.

Whether you want to enhance your decision-making ability or perfect your knowledge of care for the patient, Conceptual Medicine is just what you need.

Contact us to know more at +91-8595682979 or +91-7428581918 and step up your internal medicine residency training.

[bet-on-me-13]

Dr Leslie Thompkins has some interesting references

So! The Batfam in in Dr Thompkins' Clinic for the usual Vigilante Related Injuries, and the Good Dr seems to be distracted.

One of them asks why she is so nervous and she reveals that her old teacher is coming over to visit, and she is worried that the state of her Clinic and the fact that she never managed to find a good job in a Hospital despite his teachings will upset him.

She is worried that she will disappoint him, because he has done so much for her in the past. He is the entire reason she ever managed to become a certified Doctor in the first place.

The others are curious as to what kind of person would illicit this level of concern from the Stric Doctor they knew?

There is a Knock on the Door, and she goes to Answer it.

In steps an 8 Ft Fall Glowing Yeti with an Arm made of Ice.

Frostbite smiles warmly at his former student, "Leslie! It's been too long!"

[chiliger]

He’s never been sick before.

[nerdgirlnarrates]

Even though it's been months since I switched from neurosurgery to internal medicine, I still have a hard time not being angry about the training culture and particularly the sexism of neurosurgery. It wasn't the whole reason I switched, but truthfully it was a significant part of my decision.

I quickly got worn out by constantly being questioned over my family plans. Within minutes of meeting me, attendings and residents felt comfortable lecturing me on the difficulties of having children as a neurosurgeon. One attending even suggested I should ask my co-residents' permission before getting pregnant so as not to inconvenience them. I do not have children and have never indicated if I plan to have any. Truthfully, I do want children, but I would absolutely have foregone that to be a neurosurgeon. I wanted to be a neurosurgeon more than anything. But I was never asked: it was simply assumed that I would want to be a mother first. Purely because I'm a woman, my ambitions were constantly undermined, assumed to be lesser than those of my male peers. Women must want families, therefore women must be less committed. It was inconceivable that I might put my career first. It was impossible to disprove this assumption: what could I have done to demonstrate my commitment more than what I had already done by leading the interest group, taking a research year, doing a sub-I? My interest in neurosurgery would never be viewed the same way my male peers' was, no matter what I did. I would never be viewed as a neurosurgeon in the same way my male peers would be, because I, first and foremost, would be a mother. It turns out women don't even need to have children to be a mother: it is what you essentially are. You can't be allowed to pursue things that might interfere with your potential motherhood.

Furthermore, you are not trusted to know your own ambitions or what might interfere with your motherhood. I am an adult woman who has gone to medical school: I am well aware of what is required in reproduction, pregnancy, and residency, as much as one can be without experiencing it firsthand. And yet, it was always assumed that I had somehow shown up to a neurosurgery sub-I totally ignorant of the demands of the career and of pregnancy. I needed to be enlightened: always by men, often by childless men. Apparently, it was implausible that I could evaluate the situation on my own and come to a decision. I also couldn't be trusted to know what I wanted: if I said I wanted to be a neurosurgeon more than a mother, I was immediately reassured I could still have a family (an interesting flip from the dire warnings issued not five minutes earlier in the conversation). People could not understand my point, which was that I didn't care. I couldn't mean that, because women are fundamentally mothers. I needed to be guided back to my true role.

Because everyone was so confident in their sexist assumptions that I was less committed, I was not offered the same training, guidance, or opportunities as the men. I didn't have projects thrown my way, I didn't get check-ins or advice on my application process, I didn't get opportunities in the OR that my male peers got, I didn't get taught. I once went two whole days on my sub-I without anyone saying a word to me. I would come to work, avoid the senior resident I was warned hated trainees, figure out which OR to go to on my own, scrub in, watch a surgery in complete silence without even the opportunity to cut a knot, then move to the next surgery. How could I possibly become a surgeon in that environment? And this is all to say nothing of the rape jokes, the advice that the best way for a woman to match is to be as hot as possible, listening to my attending advise the male med students on how to get laid, etc.

At a certain point, it became clear it would be incredibly difficult for me to become a neurosurgeon. I wouldn't get research or leadership opportunities, I wouldn't get teaching or feedback, I wouldn't get mentorship, and I wouldn't get respect. I would have to fight tooth and nail for every single piece of my training, and the prospect was just exhausting. Especially when I also really enjoyed internal medicine, where absolutely none of this was happening and I even had attendings telling me I would be good at it (something that didn't happen in neurosurgery until I quit).

I've been told I should get over this, but I don't know how to. I don't know how to stop being mad about how thoroughly sidelined I was for being female. I don't know how to stop being bitter that my intelligence, commitment, and work ethic meant so much less because I'm a woman. I know I made the right decision to switch to internal medicine, and it probably would have been the right decision even if there weren't all these issues with the culture of neurosurgery, but I'm still so angry about how it happened.

[machiattostudy]

Samedi 11 février 2023 

Hello there how are you doing ? 

4 months left until graduation. 4 months before becoming a doctor :)) Life is rough and exhausting. Everyone is so stressed out and suspicious since they aren’t enough places for all of the students. I might chose internal medicine. 

I try to stay out of this toxic environnement. I hate competition. 

I hope you guys are doing good. May we all be walking safely and peacefully towards our goals. 

Take care. 

[nshtn]

Doctor Wesker has run plenty of experiments on his patients for the sake of science. You, once his patient and now his charge, are caught in the maelstrom of an intense obsession and Progenitor's effect on his finer palate of emotions.

The latest experiment is just how far he can take you when he calculates your interests and collaborates your desires.

You're such a good, good subject, prime for research, aren't you?

1.9k, tags: medical - medplay;gloves;labcoat;dubious science experiments;medsker - xreader oneshot;crack, nsft - blood;biting/marking;dom wesker sub reader;edging;facefucking;light sadomasochism;overstim;praise;restraints, PWP/gn reader. i think im ovulating help

You moan, arching pathetically as Wesker’s tongue licks an experimental stripe across your sex. You’re tied and leaking onto his tongue, humiliated by your eager reaction after so many months without stimulation. It had taken so little to get you to this state.

Wesker found you such a fascinating subject. He knew you were attracted to him – he knew the way your gaze dragged down his features when you thought he wasn’t looking, how you’d privately admire his body when his eyes swept with preoccupation across paperwork. You’d flexed your fingers when they wrapped around his forearm when he helped you up days ago. You averted your gaze when his face was too close to yours when you’d nearly bumped into him, once, and he smelled the tide of your pheromones wash over him.

He could read you like a book, but could he draw the prize of your ultimate affections across his face?

It had taken due effort on Wesker’s part to learn about what it was you prized in sex. You were quiet and reserved even if you couldn’t hide your body’s microexpressions. Your physiology revealed things you had no idea it did, things he’d never admit he could read – like how, when your hands found his face early in your relationship and you let your thumbs find their place in the hollows of his cheeks to stare into his red-rimmed eyes, thick with unspoken emotion, your breath caught and your thighs went taut. But it wasn’t the if – he’d solidified that – it was the how that was the forensic mystery.

Admittedly, you were also terribly cute. A devil, really.

A languid, slower stroke rolls across the tip of you, slick with your own juices, before he curls his tongue around it harshly, flicking, tugging. You let out a whimper and roll your hips a little. He tightens his gloved fingers in response, calculated, and you feel his well-trimmed nails dig into the meat of them even through the black nitrile. It’s so deliberate it’s a different kind of sin than aimless lust; this was aimed, pinprick and target-locked.

That was alright – the mystery was part of the fun, the chase for something he never thought he’d find a curiosity in. When he finally walked in on you one night he was given all the information he needed to attempt his experiment: he supposed it should’ve been obvious – if you were attracted to him, and you associated him with playing the role of the doctor, that’s what you’d want, right?

Because that’s what you’d been watching.

He offered you the real thing. You looked at him like he offered you Narnia and tore the stars down all in one. The look in your eyes – a savory, delicious mixture of surprise, lust and shame – made even him stir. He had to consciously bite back the clearing of his throat, the flare of his nostrils. How inappropriate of him – trite. Control.

“Curious how you make me lack it,” he waxes silkily from his position between your thighs, one hand moving to your wrists – which were ziptied together with two tangled admission bracelets he’d perfected and printed off as set dressing – to tug them down, to muffle himself on his own terms, nose jutting against you. He pressed the flat of his tongue down and drenched it in you before returning to lap at you a little faster.

You corkscrew on him, trying to restrain your movement. “What?” You sound dazed, drunk off the high of it all, and he finds it intoxicating. It’s one thing to read about these things or hear them in isolation – it’s another altogether to wring them from such a pliant patient.

You don’t know what he means, do you? Too deep beneath the waves that swell in the center of you to catch the rocks, he guesses. The hand on your wrists leaves to press itself flat on the underside of your ass, grasping and squeezing and pushing you up a little and off him. He drinks in both the sight of your slick stringed against his tongue and a breath. “Control. You make me lose control,” he finalizes, and then he takes you into his mouth and sucks a little too hard and a little too fast to punctuate his cause: you.

You yelp and try to wriggle away from the sudden overstimulation, but he doesn’t let you. Suddenly, you feel the extent of his strength bearing down on you, keeping you close as you flounder and gasp, sharp tip of his nose bumping up against the tuft of fur at the base of you as his tongue purrs.

You swear, then, that it’s not just his tongue; you swear with all of you that it’s his entire body, emanating from the core of him. But you have no time to figure it out as he takes and takes and drinks his fill of you, the sinful echo of his adoration drowned out by the drone of your blood pumping loud in your ears.

Even without the wanton ambiance, you can’t help how you buck against him feverishly, now, seeking further contact, your muscles roiling against your will to keep them still. He chuckles low and reverentlessly between you, and you can’t help but let a string of expletives drool from you as you fight against the tide of pleasure that threatens to consume you.

Or maybe it’s him who’s consuming you, all around you, his deft, exploratory tongue far too rough and quick to contend with against the boiling, claiming heat in your abdomen. “F-Fuck, Wesker, I—” you groan, muscles tightening. It’d be painful if you weren’t so preoccupied.

Wesker pulls away, then, leaves you stranded. You curse even more. His tongue retracts, clicks against his perfect teeth. You can’t find the shame in you, buried alive in the need for stimulation as he cages your hips with his hands again to force you still. You growl a little. “I’ve been nothing but giving, haven’t I?” His voice, though deep and reverberating through your ligaments from the lean of his cheek into your leg, is playful.

“Can’t I take a little?”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement, and you know it, even in your haze. “Please?” you beg, trying your hand. You have none to bear. In your frustration, you pout.

“Poor little fly,” Wesker says, slow, breath hot and settling against your twitching sex. You swallow your placation as he continues, “regretting the spider’s parlor, hm?” The chuckle he gives is darker than the last as if he truly savors having you trapped like this. Maybe he does. Maybe it’s not some kind of roleplay anymore. As your sex adjusts to the lack of stimulation, your cheeks flood with crimson embarrassment, no less red than the strong bathe of it out of his lidded eyes.

Each blink envelops your thighs in darkness when they torpidly drift shut – before you steep in it again as they snap open. You can tell what direction he’s looking, whether he’s focused on you or not, by the way the light falls on your naked body.

His labcoat is ruined.

You moan a little again, despite yourself, and you follow it up with a piteous, stirring whimper, incredulous at your own reaction to something so godforsaken and filthy. “N-No, I don’t regret it,” you say, testing the water. “—you,” you correct, then stumble over your vulnerability.

“A—ah!” Whatever you were going to add is stolen in the nitrile glove that rubs up and down, suddenly, stroking you and making you shake a little, abruptly very, very perceptive to the sensitivity. Protest dies in your throat when he presses his thumb flat in soothing little circles that pop with pleasure, your hips leaning into the contact tentatively.

“I should really write a paper on you,” he says, flaring his nostrils. You smell amazing like this… you’re starting to get to him. “like I said I would.” You hear his tongue flit out and your gaze curiously drifts down in your stupor. “Eyes away. It’s no surprise if you’re peeking,” he chides, and as if robotic, you snap your chin up, mumbling incoherently. He hums at that, a satisfactory sound that thrums deep where you need it to.

God, Wesker needs to commemorate this. He can’t help it anymore. He wishes he could keep you suspended like this… but eventually you’ll both need water and food. How piteous, the human body; how piteous, his mind, for letting him get so carried away.

This was bad science.

This must be against the oath, and it’s certainly against doctrine, but he can’t stop himself.

Without warning, you feel his teeth sink into the inside of your right thigh and you careen away from the wickedness of it even though it makes you dizzy with lust. You don’t expect the sensation: almost every tooth but six at the front are sharp, like canines, and he’s not gentle or sparing, sucking his claim of you in your supple flesh like a brand until he feels hot red drip from his lips and mar his chin. Only then does he pull away, admiring his work. You hear his breath: it runs ragged and deep, affected unmistakeably. This has turned him on.

He’s a bit of a sadist, then, isn’t he? But right now, with all the hormones pumping through you, you’re masochistic enough. You can handle it. You’re a good little patient. You taste so good, so sweet, a forbidden fruit. A sudden, heavy, sex-drunk thought hits him: what is love, if not taking a bite out of something, feeling the weight of it in your mouth and the copper of it sliding down your throat?

You pulse with the pain of it, a feeling distorted into pleasure by the natural opiate he’s dragged to your receptors. You manage to find purchase and grind down on his face, finally, and he doesn’t stop you. Instead, he lets a mangled groan tear free and his forearms wrap around your thighs, forcing you down on his face while he sucks and licks and swirls, head bobbing, utilizing what he’s learned from the entire experiment to bring you to a boiling crescendo.

You cum crying Wesker’s name in stuttered, puffing, swollen gasps as you buck against his face and cover him in you. It’s such a beautiful sight and he doesn’t want it to end, filling the void in him with ego at how he makes you keen and cry for him. You are so beautiful that it burns his skin; he’s flushed, cheeks rosy in your name, so uncharacteristically affected by your display that the contrast sustains both of you. He sinks his mouth onto you and forces the last vestiges of your orgasm from you with no mercy, and you writhe in his unrelenting grasp.

You stop slowly, then, aftershocks rolling over you as he, too, ceases the brutal assault, though he lets you up off him only fractionally as if in warning of what brews beneath a surface cohesion.

Your breathing slows down as you catch yourself, slowly fading back into reality, body drooping a little. You feel a fuzz caress the edges of your vision. “T-Thank you,” you say, sheepishly, as your faculties return to you. Did he enjoy it? Did you do well enough? It swims through you, suddenly conscious.

There’s a thoughtful, impolite hum from him, as if considering something, which interrupts your mounting train of thought. You cock your head a little, sighing, hair damp… why hasn’t he moved away yet?

He sounds deeply phased and disorderly when he speaks again, breath hot and heavy and a head full of excuses primed to crumble any semblance of your resolve. “I think… I think I’ll need more data than that.”

[ahbts]

Kinktober day 13: Jegulus - Wet Dream || NSFW || Words: 640|| Tags: Medical AU(sort of) - Resident/Doctor - Lingerie - rimming (Day 9 and 27 of @jeguluskinktoberr)

The way he is walking over to James is making his head stuffy. He walks across the hall in that white lab coat, clipboard in hand and an innocent look on his face. It’s insane how the boy looks so good in hospital clothes. No one should look this good. 

“Head surgeon Potter, you asked for my assistance?” The sweet voice asks him as the boy reaches his desk. James quickly stands, feeling his own surgical scrubs getting tighter as he looks the boy up and down, from the curls on his head to the crocks on his feet, he still looks like walking sex. 

“Uhm, yes,” James walks around the desk and leans against his as he regards the resident with the sternest look he can muster. “Dr. Lupin is indisposed and we need a set of hands on the kidney transplant, do you think you are up to it?” 

The boy looks at his clipboard before flinging it away and stepping in between James’ legs. “You tell me, Doctor, do you think I am ready?” The long neck stretches up to meet James in the perfect height difference. He feels a hand under his scrubs, touching his stomach and finding a nipple to pinch. 

James lets out a moan and pulls the boy closer. “I don’t know, maybe I can use some convincing?” 

The boy steps closer even and takes James’ bottom lip into his mouth, biting down and dragging it out as he steps back. The lab coat is gone and instead, the boy is wearing lingerie. A thong of deep burgundy lace, with matching garter straps holding up black meshing stockings that match the long-sleeved shrug top. James lets his eyes roam over the whole look and feels his mouth water. 

“Would this help?” the boy asks in a sultry tone, turning around slowly, which makes his black high heels click on the ground. “Doctor.” 

James grabs onto the boy's arm and makes him turn back around. “That will work perfectly.” 

He pulls the boy behind him, bending him over the desk and squatting down behind him. Pushing the lace aside he flicks his tongue over the small, tight, hole he had been imagining since the boy started his residency under him. 

“Oh, you taste as sweet as you sound, baby,” James tells the boy, slipping his thumb into the hole and stretching it with the digit as well as his tongue. 

“Please, Dr. Potter, I think I’m ready now,” the boy croons in a high tone. 

James stands, pulling down the thong quickly and pulling himself out of his pants. He is already so incredibly hard that he will come the second he enters the boy's tiny hole. He thrusts in with one easy thrust and groans in ultimate pleasure. 

“Doctor,” the boy moans, in a lower voice than before but James can hear him clearly. “Doctor?” This time it’s a question and James shakes his head not fully understanding what is happening. 

“Doctor Potter?” 

James blinks his eyes open as quickly as he can, feeling the paper stuck to his face and the crick in his neck from having fallen asleep on his desk for the umpteenth time that week. He smacks his lips, feeling his dry mouth before looking up and meeting the emerald green eyes that he had just seen in his dream. 

Oh fuck. 

He feels the wetness in his pants, realising what is happening as he meets Regulus Black’s eyes. 

“Dr. Black, I’m sorry that was highly unprofessional of me,” James apologises quickly, excusing his sleep habits. “Did you have a question?” 

The boy smiles at him, shaking his head but there is a twinkle in his eye that makes James’ spend cock twitch hopefully. “No, I just wondered if you wanted to grab a coffee, it looks like you need it?”

[glossysoap]

just you wait until i introduce the poly 141 fic that’s been rotting a hole in my rat brain. just you wait.

[robinzombiezz]

Some more Luis doodles, he won’t leave my mind

He’s like my version of brain rot, like, I genuinely tweak out of anything even remotely close is mentioned, I can’t stop drawing him to the point I forgot how to draw Leon and then tried to draw him again then ended up just drawing Luis…

[conceptualmedicine]

Interactive Case Studies: Developing Clinical Skills

Practical know-how is required by internal medicine residency programs. Case studies of Conceptual Medicine are interactive, and concepts learnt on paper are applied to clinical situations. The case developed here is a real-life case scenario that can guide the work of a resident in internal medicine in developing diagnostic skills with critical thinking to do good work with patients as well as in the field of medicine.

[reasonsforhope]

"Bria Peacock chose a career in medicine because the Black Georgia native saw the dire health needs in her community — including access to abortion care.

Her commitment to becoming a maternal health care provider was sparked early on when she witnessed the discrimination and judgment leveled against her older sister, who became a mother as a teen. When the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade in 2022, Peacock was already in her residency program in California, and her thoughts turned back to women like her sister.

“I knew that the people — my people, my community back home — was going to be affected in a dramatic way, because they’re in the South and because they’re Black,” she said.

But even though Peacock attended the Medical College of Georgia, she’s doing her obstetrics and gynecology residency at the University of California-San Francisco, where she has gotten comprehensive training in abortion care.

“I knew as a trainee that’s what I needed,” said Peacock, who plans to return to her home state after her residency.

Ever since the Supreme Court decision, California has worked to become a sanctuary for people from states where abortion is restricted. In doing so, it joins 14 other states, including Colorado, New Mexico, and Massachusetts. Now, it’s addressing the fraught issue of abortion training for medical residents, which most doctors believe is crucial to comprehensive OB-GYN training.

A law enacted in September [2023] makes it easier for out-of-state trainees to get up to 90 days of in-person training under the supervision of a California-licensed doctor. The law eliminated the requirement for a training license and also permitted training at programs such as Planned Parenthood that are affiliated with accredited medical schools.

“By allowing physician residents to come to California, where there are more opportunities for abortion training, and by allowing them to be reimbursed for this work, we’re sending a message that abortion care is health care and an essential part of physician training,” said Lisa Folberg, CEO of the California Academy of Family Physicians, which supported the bill.

The question of how to provide complete OB-GYN training promises to become more urgent as the effects of abortion bans on medical education becomes clear: 18 states restrict or ban abortion to the point of effectively stripping 20% of OB-GYN medical residents of the opportunity to get abortion training, according to the Ryan Residency Training Program in Abortion and Family Planning. That’s 1,354 residents this year out of 5,962 OB-GYN residents nationwide.

The restrictions in some cases aim to reach beyond state borders, spooking medical students and residents who fear hostility from anti-abortion groups and right-wing legislators...

Pamela Merritt, executive director of Medical Students for Choice, pointed to a Kansas law that requires repayment of state medical school scholarships — with 15% interest — if residents perform abortions or work in clinics that perform them, except in cases of rape, incest, or a medical emergency.

Doctors point out that abortion training is not just about ending pregnancies. Peacock recalled a patient who started hemorrhaging badly shortly after a healthy delivery. Peacock and her team at UCSF performed a dilation and curettage — a procedure commonly used to terminate pregnancy.

“If we did not have that skill set, and the patient continued to bleed, it could have been life-taking,” said Peacock, chief OB-GYN resident at UCSF...

Peacock, for her part, is adamant about returning to Georgia, where abortions are banned after six weeks. “I’m still going to provide abortions, whether that’s in Georgia or I need to fly to a different state and work in abortion clinics for a week out of the month,” she said. “It would definitely be a big part of my work.”"

-via The 19th, January 2, 2024

[meg2md]

Reading through my journal from intern year as a way to celebrate the beginning of R3, my first "senior" year of OB/GYN residency:

"Good news: lots of learning points. Bad news: I feel like a fucking idiot."

Glad to know nothing's changed.

[prince-liest]

I have officially seen my own patients for the first time! :D

I saw inpatient patients and street medicine patients yesterday, and today I got to see my own clinic patients! It feels like a milestone because the clinic patients in particular are the ones who are now establishing with me as their primary care doctor.

Anyway, that's the last day of residency orientation done with! This weekend is my last weekend as a free person and starting on Monday I'll be doing EM-peds for four weeks. We did a cute little last-day team bonding thing this afternoon and got to make our own succulent gardens, which was incredibly up my alley:

This has prompted me to finally look into proper succulent care, set up my remaining grow lights on a bookshelf, and repot my poor long-suffering jade plant to life alongside this little plant garden. And now I have a suitable place for, uh. Any more succulents I impulse purchase. :'D

[just-here-for-the-whump]

The Resident 3x1 From the Ashes

[ragri5]

American horror story

[nshtn]

thank you very much! @destinationtrekk

wesker handles the hard cases. wesker handles the cases least likely to make it. he handles the very young cases in very bad conditions, and the old cases that nobody has time for, and the people who come in with makeup-applied bruises seeking attention.

do you know how hard it is to do your job with everything boiling and foaming under the pot lid? did you know it all builds like a natural geyser, and then it builds pressure and blows that lid off, all hydrogen peroxide and potassium iodide of it?

he has to keep the person who activates these feelings in him so incomprehensibly close to feel secure about his attachment that he'd do better to just consume them whole. now, he comes home from work sullen, pouting until he sticks his head into your chest, and moves his arms around your back, and with an ease very becoming of a man with Progenitor, he lifts you into his arms, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he silently buries himself in you and inhales greedily. when he finally lets his breath escape him it's almost a whimper, and you can tell he needs this like he needs air. he presses his nose next into the space between your cheek and eye, pushing his lips into the gap and leaving a trail to your forehead so soft with his pale, thin lips you could cry. "you are a necessary evil," he whispers, and you flush at his attentions as his hands seek refuge in your tousled hair.

in this moment, you are just faintly aware that you are the red string attaching him to empathy and sympathy and love and lust and interest, such a damnable, incalculable thing, you. so organic. so fallible... so beautifully fallible. but that's what he loves about you: you're not made to last, packed with preservatives in a laboratory for later dissection - the only thing he can do to pick apart your mind and label his findings is psychologically vivisect you to understand himself.