I’ve performed about ten pterygium excisions in the operating room so far, and the biggest challenge I’ve encountered is operating on the LEFT eye. I’d imagine that any experienced surgeon would scoff at this hurdle, but the patient’s nose seems to impede my suturing abilities significantly (I use my right hand for needling driving).  The suturing in pterygia operations involves the medial bulbar conjunctiva, which is adjacent to the nose.

On my first few cases, I used a traction suture on the cornea to help rotate the globe for access. To minimize trauma on the cornea, I now ask my assistant/attending to help rotate the globe with a muscle hook. This is impractical, since most surgeons operate solo in practice. To remedy this problem, I’ve come up with three solutions:

1. Practice more–the obvious solution, but not elegant.
2. Use my LEFT hand to drive the sutures when operating on the LEFT eye. Use my RIGHT hand to drive sutures when operating on the RIGHT eye. Switch hitters in baseball do it, right? While I am not completely ambidextrous, I’m sure that my triple-digit hours playing Quake III and other FPS’s might have helped my dexterity.
3. Operate only on RIGHT eyes. After all, there are already too many subspecializations in ophthalmology. Why not specialize on just one eye?

Which one is your favorite?

medicine humor, ophthalmology

I got a call from the emergency room several weeks ago regarding a consult for an “exploded egg” in the eye.

“Bullshit,” I initially thought. The ED frequently calls me about corneal abrasions and other minor trauma at obscene hours.

The photo on the left does not do justice to the severity of injury. Apparently, the patient had left a pot of boiling eggs on the burner, and exploded in her face. A shard of eggshell pierced the cornea through the stroma, nearly penetrating through Descemet’s membrane/endothelium.

The eggshell was removed in the operating room the next day. Unfortunately, I did not get to do the operation (but exciting nonetheless).

medicine ophthalmology

I had the chance to meet ophthalmology residents from Europe recently, and it’s fascinating to hear about their medical training experiences.

In particular, I learned about ophthalmology training in Portugal. As with most professional training outside of the United States, specialization begins directly after high school. Medical school totals six years of schooling, although they do not have an equivalent to “college” as we do in the U.S. During the last year of medical school, students rotate through certain medical specialties much like we do in our 3rd year of medical school.

During this 6th year, students prepare for a cumulative exam on Harrison’s Principles of Internal Medicine. It is a 100 question exam on minutiae. Several of the Portuguese residents have told me they studied for over six months for the exam. Others have taken it 3 times. Your score on the exam allows you preferential ranking into the specialty and hospital of your choice.

That’s right. No application essays. No interviews. No traveling. Your career is determined by how well you do on one single exam. Mind you, this isn’t like the SAT’s that Toby-the-school-jock (who happens to have a reasonable grasp on English) can get a 1600 (or 2400 now) without preparation. Any sort of all-inclusive exam on internal medicine borders insanity.

As far as I understand, ophthalmology training in Europe has great variability. What you learn is certainly dependent on which hospital you train at. It seems to me that much of the cerebral knowledge comes from independent learning from textbooks. Surgical training, however, can be impressive. One of the first year residents I spoke with had already performed over thirty pterygia and over ten phacoemulsifications! I would be fortunate to clock even 15 pterygia this year. A vitreoretinal fellow from India had told me he did over 500 phaco’s in addition to hundreds of extracapsular extractions during his residency.

In a way, it is humbling to hear about experiences outside of the U.S. Indeed, we have an overwhelming amount of funding and resources, yet our training isn’t necessarily superior. Where do our investments go? Research labs? Lawyers? Administration and unionized workers? The abyss?

medicine ophthalmology

When I told one of my friends that many ophthalmologists operated without wearing shoes, she responded with an insightful remark: “Isn’t that dangerous?”

In medical school, we were forbidden to wear open toed shoes while in the hospital. After all, who wants to have ascites or a bloody mess on your feet? The potential consequences of walking barefoot in the operating room are even more severe. Imagine delivering a C-section without proper gowns! With needles and other dangerously sharp equipment lingering around the OR, who wouldn’t be wearing shoes?

Indeed, I was uneasy the first time my attending told me to take off my shoes when I was operating as primary surgeon. Since then, I’ve realized that it’s nearly impossible to control the microscope and the Infiniti (I’ve only used the cautery mode) while wearing shoes. The pedals for the operating microscope control the focus and zoom on the operating field. A four-way joystick is situated above the pedals. An additional four buttons are also on the platform surrounding the pedals. All of this is controlled using ONLY your LEFT foot. A similar configuration to control the phacoemulsification machine is  located on a separate platform for your RIGHT foot. Having tactile sensation on the pedals eases the difficulty of learning the machine, especially for newbies like me.

Still, I cringe every time we lose a needle (or #57 blade) on the ground.

medicine humor, ophthalmology

I always assumed that tertiary academic medical centers were bastions of excellence. We always received transfers from “outside hospitals” (OSH) with half-assed workups and piles of meaningless nursing notes. As a medical student, I’d spend some time in morning rounds with my residents and attendings belittling procedures done at OSH’s.

I’ve begun to reconsider the notion that these academic centers are anything beyond extraordinary. For one, academic centers are training centers. There are residents of all levels caring for the ill; no matter how qualified the housestaff are, there will always be shortcomings. I’ve been at the blunt end of poor decisions too many times already.

One morning, I received a page at 5am from a medicine PGY-2 resident who noted that one of my colleagues had written “I/L: 2+ NS OU” on one of the consults but failed to address any intervention in the plan (The consult was for diabetes evaluation, which is already a dubious inpatient consult). The same resident called me again last weekend at 5:09am requesting a consult for a gentleman with multiple myeloma who was bleeding from his gums and was anemic. He had read of some reported complications of central retinal vein occlusions in hyperviscosity syndrome. The patient had absolutely no ocular symptoms. Moreover, the medicine resident congratulated me for recognizing that there were no pathognomonic ocular findings for hyperviscosity syndrome, but demanded a stat consult anyway. Since when does the “consultee” openly flaunt demands to a consultant? At the same time, I had a corneal ulcer that I was managing in the ED.

It is disgraceful for a notable academic institution to have such prideful individuals with limited insight. I trained at a community center during internship, and never called a stat ophthalmology consult. Most people knew their limitations. In fact, most cases never need emergent eyecare intervention.

Some might say that the mission of the academic center is different from that of a community center. In these differences lie a training and research center that necessitates inefficient consults and a higher operating overhead. Not so much. The community center I worked in certainly had a higher inpatient load than my current academic institution. The community center isn’t burdened by deadbeat unionized employees who show up to work half the time. Many workups are governed by protocol; those that are not are rightfully so. The profit that the community center–a non-profit organization–is converted to education and expansion of the hospital. Complicated cases are indeed transferred to the local academic center, but rarely so. The more common cases are managed far more efficiently than their equivalents in a large academic center.

Indeed there is a role for each type of hospital in every city. However, the discrepancy in the two is startling. Academic centers should excel in “complex case report worthy” medicine, but they should not have to sacrifice quality and efficiency of the entire hospital in doing so.

medicine ophthalmology, rant