Cover image for On call : a doctor's days and nights in residency
On call : a doctor's days and nights in residency
Transue, Emily R.
Personal Author:
First edition.
Publication Information:
New York : St. Martin's Press, [2004]

Physical Description:
242 pages ; 22 cm
Format :


Call Number
Material Type
Home Location
Item Holds
R154.T673 A3 2004 Adult Non-Fiction Biography
R154.T673 A3 2004 Adult Non-Fiction Non-Fiction Area

On Order



"On Call" begins with a newly-minted doctor checking in for her first day of residency--wearing the long white coat of an MD and being called "Doctor" for the first time. Having studied at Yale and Dartmouth, Dr. Emily Transue arrives in Seattle to start her internship in Internal Medicine just after graduating from medical school. This series of loosely interconnected scenes from the author's medical training concludes her residency three years later.
During her first week as a student on the medical wards, Dr. Transue watched someone come into the emergency room in cardiac arrest and die. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before-it was a long way from books and labs. So she began to record her experiences as she gained confidence putting her book knowledge to work.
The stories focus on the patients Dr. Transue encountered in the hospital, ER and clinic; some are funny and others tragic. They range in scope from brief interactions in the clinic to prolonged relationships during hospitalization. There is a man newly diagnosed with lung cancer who is lyrical about his life on a sunny island far away, and a woman, just released from a breathing machine after nearly dying, who sits up and demands a cup of coffee.
Though the book has a great deal of medical content, the focus is more on the stories of the patients' lives and illnesses and the relationships that developed between the patients and the author, and the way both parties grew in the course of these experiences.
Along the way, the book describes the life of a resident physician and reflects on the way the medical system treats both its patients and doctors. "On Call" provides a window into the experience of patients at critical junctures in life and into the author's own experience as a new member of the medical profession.

Author Notes

Emily R. Transue, M.D. is a native of Toledo, Ohio. She attended Yale University, where she received her B.S. in 1992 with distinction in Biology. As an undergraduate, she co-organized the D.E.M.O.S. program for science teaching in elementary schools, which received several state and national teaching awards and was featured on "Good Morning, America." She received her M.D. from Dartmouth Medical School in 1996, and was the 1996 recipient of the Pharnmacia and Upjohn Achievement Award for distinction in Internal Medicine. She did her residency training in Internal Medicine at the University of Washington in Seattle, and was then awarded a Chief Residency position, which she completed in July of 2000. She works as a general internist at a multispecialty clinic in downtown Seattle.

Reviews 2

Booklist Review

How does one progress from humble med student to self-assured physician? It isn't easy, and while Hollywood may be able to spin humor from the idea of medical residency, the reality is drastically different. As internist Transue learned on her very first day, despite a doctor's best efforts, people die. Being expected to simply hold the hand of someone saying a final good-bye to a son or mother can be traumatic for a recent graduate hell-bent on saving lives. Likewise, keeping a straight face while viewing a hilarious tattoo can present its own challenge. Transue found a way to put her residency experiences into perspective while protecting her sanity: she kept a journal. She jotted down thoughts, impressions, and entire conversations to help make sense of a stressful, often chaotic job. The result is something to share: an often heartbreaking, sometimes humorous account of a student wending her way through a labyrinth of medical hurdles to become a caring, compassionate healer. --Donna Chavez Copyright 2004 Booklist

Publisher's Weekly Review

During her three years as a resident in internal medicine at the University of Washington in Seattle, Transue wrote about her patients as a way to guard against burnout and share her experiences with friends and family. This moving collection of her stories conveys vividly, sometimes painfully, the atmosphere of overwork, exhaustion and insecurity in which a resident works; the long shifts and sleepless nights, the moments when she cannot contain her tears, the times when she is haunted by fears that she has made the wrong decision. But she never loses sympathy for her patients-the heart attack victim who regrets not remembering his near-death experience, the old woman who has a pet name for her walker, the psychotic who imagines he is in constant pain and just wants her to hold his hand, even the grumpy man with emphysema who smokes two packs a day and complains about the treatment he has to receive as a result, and the habitual drunks lined up every night on stretchers in a back hallway. It's reassuring to read that a doctor isn't afraid to express compassion for her patients and that she is eager to listen and learn as they talk about their hopes and fears. There are many touching moments here, especially when she's reminded by a patient who is dying that it's important to look out the window and enjoy the view on a sunny day. Her descriptions of medical procedures can be graphic, but she presents an intriguing picture of a side of medicine many people never see. (Aug.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved



PROLOGUE It was a misty New Hampshire morning, July 1994. The silence was broken by a siren, an ambulance racing toward the pretty white-and-green hospital in the woods. I was a medical student in my first week of clinical work. I helped wheel the woman on the stretcher out of the ambulance and into Emergency. I watched as her clothes were cut off and replaced with tubes and monitors. I helped pound on her chest until at last she was declared dead. How does a person react to an event like this? I had woken up that morning having never seen a death, and by lunchtime I had been part of one. Nothing in medical school or in life had prepared me for that moment. Amid the jumble of predictable emotions--sadness, fear, confusion, a certain excitement--I felt wrenchingly and terribly alone. I had seen a heart stop, I had felt ribs break under my thrusting palms. The people I loved best in the world were not in medicine. Would they understand what I had just seen and done? Would I be inevitably separated from them by this experience and those that would follow it? I did the only thing I could think of. I sat down that afternoon and wrote it all down. If I could tell my mother, my brother, my friend in film school, exactly what had happened, then I wouldn't be alone. And maybe, while trying to make them understand, I would come to understand it, too. That first story, sent out as an e-mail, led to more stories. What began as a way of staying connected to my loved ones outside medicine became a way of staying connected to myself. Writing became a part of the practice of medicine for me, a guard against numbness and burnout, a reminder to listen closely to each patient and to my feelings as I interacted with them. As I shared the stories, first with friends and later through publication, I discovered that my experiences, which often felt so solitary and isolating, resonated with those of other students and doctors. I was shy at first in confessing to my patients that I wrote, though I tried to ask permission when I wrote their stories down. To my surprise, patients and their families said the stories gave them a better sense of the "other side" of medicine. I graduated from medical school in 1996, and moved to Seattle to begin my residency--postgraduate specialty training--in Internal Medicine. I was twenty-four, a few years younger than most of my colleagues, having graduated from college at twenty and gone straight through to medical school. I would become an internist, a "pediatrician for adults," responsible for all aspects of adult care except surgery and obstetrics. My residency training would last three years, of which the first, the internship year, would be the most exhausting and intense. In Seattle's program, I would rotate among four hospitals: the university hospital, specializing in the more obscure problems, the county hospital, the center for trauma and indigent care, the Veteran's Administration or VA hospital, and a private community hospital. I would rotate among months in the Intensive Care Unit, on the general medical wards or "ward services," in such specialties as Cardiology and Oncology, and in the Emergency Room. In general, I would spend every fourth night "on call," spending the night in the hospital as well as the day before and after. I would get four days off each month. For half a day each week during the three years, I would have my own clinic, a "continuity clinic" where I would be a primary care doctor for a group of patients. I would also have "clinic blocks," months spent in my continuity clinic and in a variety of specialty clinics, with no weekend work or call. By the time I started internship, medicine and writing were entwined for me. As things happened I wrote them down, scribbling fragments of conversation on the backs of my patient notecards. Sometimes I would weave these fragments into stories right away, sometimes I waited months or years. In the most exhausting times, all I could do was keep a few barely intelligible notes. But even these reminded me to stay in the moment, to cherish my experiences, the hard as well as the happy ones, the shameful as well as the proud. This book is a compilation of those experiences, beginning on the first morning of my residency and ending on its final night. I have tried to capture some of what I learned in those long and difficult years. Names and other details have been changed to protect confidentiality, but otherwise I have tried to render both the people and the medicine accurately. If I had to describe my experience of becoming a physician in two words, one would be "fatigue." The mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion of this process is a theme that runs throughout this book. The other would be "gratitude." These difficult, dark years were brightened at every point by the friends and colleagues who taught me and learned with me. The medical training system can be brutal in some ways, but the people within it are deeply supportive of each other. I am honored to have such friends. Most of all, I am grateful to my patients and their families. I learned more from them than from anyone--medical lessons as well as life lessons. The great joy and privilege of medicine is being welcomed into people's lives in critical and quiet moments, being invited to share their stories. It is these stories that make up this book. CHAPTER ONE A Long White Coat Medicine is a secret society of sorts, a world unto itself, with its own language, codes, and symbols. One of the subtle but powerful codes is found in the hierarchy of the white coats. Medical students wear short coats, to the waist or hip. Interns and residents--recent graduates in their first and subsequent years of specialty training--wear long coats, knee-length, grown-up coats. Beyond that the distinctions are more subtle; attendings--teaching doctors, who have finished training--wear classier coats, with braided cloth buttons. But the primary difference is in the length: when you become a doctor, you wear a long white coat. For me, this was the strongest symbol of the passage into internship. More than the pomp and circumstance of graduation, with all of its glorious moments: turning to face the assembled crowd as my mentor laid a green stole around my neck, whispering in my ear, "Now you're official--"; the reciting of the Hippocratic oath; the proclamation of the dean and president, "I hereby bestow upon you the degree of Doctor of Medicine...." More than the heart-wrenching good-byes to my medical school friends, the abrupt and painful dismantling of my apartment, packing all my possessions into a truck and driving three thousand miles across the nation. More than any of those things, what made me suddenly realize I'd become a doctor was looking into a mirror on my first morning of work at the county hospital in Seattle and seeing my reflection in a long white coat. Probably it's a result of years of conditioning and constant reinforcement: people in short coats are students, long ones are doctors. There are places that don't use this system, a few hospitals in the country where interns, or all residents, wear short coats. But it's bred into me now: the long coat is synonymous with authority, with competence. The coat seems stronger than my own persona, I try to become the person who is wearing it. I notice myself adjusting my posture, my bearing, to match the coat. I occasionally allowed myself a certain frivolity as a student, which seems inappropriate in this new attire. Act your age, the coat seems to insist. You are a doctor now. My first morning of internship, I plan to get to the hospital an hour early, have breakfast in the cafeteria, arrive at clinic calm and settled. But the morning is fraught with delays, as I struggle to find my stethoscope, not seen since the move, I suddenly realize, my name tag, which was in one of the two dozen envelopes I've been given in the last two days, my parking pass, in yet another envelope, my pager. I get lost on the way to the hospital, then realize I have no idea where I'm supposed to park. I arrive with just enough time to find my clinic. Five South, my schedule says. I take the center elevators, the only ones I know, to the fifth floor, step out into a corridor of small doors with prominent locks and tiny windows. In fact, I realize as the elevator doors close behind me, 5 Center is a locked psychiatric ward. There is no door to 5 South, there's no reentry to the elevator without a key, there are no staff in sight. At the moment I become, officially, an intern--my first moment as a real doctor--I am involuntarily locked on a psychiatric ward. Despite my near tears of panic and frustration, I have to laugh at the image: I could imagine getting committed at some point in this whole residency process, but I didn't envision it happening quite this early... Copyright 2004 by Emily R. Transue Excerpted from On Call: A Doctor's Days and Nights in Residency by Emily R. Transue All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.