The Poser Coat

During the very first week of medical school, there is a ceremony where we are given our very first white coat. That day, you feel like the king of the world. Everyone, step aside, you are medical student! But, you quickly learn that this coat is not a gift, but a curse. A stigma.

The white coat of a physician is long (knee-lengthed) with your name, M.D., and your speciality monogrammed on the left chest. Your chest pocket is overflowing with free pens from pharmacuetical companies. Your other pockets are bulging with pocket books of pharmacology, lab values, and pertinent information to your speciality. You also carry in those pockets, your stethoscope, physical exam equipment, and countless scraps of paper with important phone numbers, notes on lab reports, and lists of things to do. You have places to go, patients to see. You own that hospital. You are doctor.

Now… my coat. My white coat is short, coming to the hip. There is nothing monogrammed on it, not my name, not the hospital’s name. And this barrenness extends to the pockets. I have one Community Bank pen in the chest pocket. I do have a stethoscope, but otherwise have stuck some incidental paper and small notebooks in the pockets to try to fake some credibility. It is also the warmest coat I own; for as soon as I put on that short white coat, I immediately begin to sweat with the overwhelming responsibility associated with it. Where is the Radiology Department? Ask the girl in the white coat. What is a normal BUN level? Ask the girl in the white coat. Unfortunately, I don’t know either of these things. I am just a kid playing dress up. And it scares the hell out of me.