Medicine? For the community? Say what?

How important is it for us to really learn community medicine? Most Indian medical students consider community medicine to be the biggest waste of their time. Bigger, even, than sitting in the canteen discussing the latest movie or the new gossip about the surgery profs.
Today, for a community medicine class on polio, for which India is one of only 6 endemic areas, 29 people showed up. There are supposed to be 144 people in the class. I mean granted, major exams coming up, but still...29? The tragic thing is that even the professors subscribe to the myth that CM is only for the sake of passing the final exam which is mandated by the Medical Council of India. Today's class was peppered with the phrases "this is important for your exam" and "this will definitely be an important question for you", instead of "this will come in handy. Most subjects are taught that way, unfortunately, but at least with other subjects the students tend to realize that they need to know their stuff. Here, no one even dares to think that CM might actually come in handy; that we might someday need to know what the different strategies for polio eradication are.
In a country like India, where 70% of the population and only 20% of doctors are in the rural areas, it can't be stressed enough how important it is for the average student doctor John Doe (or Karthik Subramaniam, as the case may be,) to be thoroughly well versed with the principles of public health and community medicine. So what is it going to take to bring about a change in the student population?
I don't think the problem is one restricted to my university or even to India as a whole. The factors which manage to turn medical students away from community health and public health reform vary from place to place, population to population. Let's take the latest controversy surrounding Indian medical education, for example.
There is talk that there is going to be a new requirement that all Indian medical students should serve two years in a rural health center after graduating, before actually receiving their degrees. This rumor was enough to cause strikes and riots all over India. Government university students proclaimed that as they come from middle class families, it is unfair to ask them to give up 2 years of solid earning potential for the sake of villagers who dont' really need real doctors. Private university students retort that since government students pay so much less in tuition fees, they can afford to give up two years where private students cannot. Nowhere in the discussion, neither in the student dialogue nor in the media, was there a consideration given to India's need for health care for its rural and destitute sick. It appears to be a complete nonissue for people.
There is an increasing shift of perception from healthcare as a public service to health care as a consumer product, a commodity to be evaluated with respect to economic advantage and supply-demand analysis. Of course it's easy to put a moral spin on the whole issue and to say that we owe it to our poverty-stricken brethren and whatnot (which, for the record, is precisely what i believe). And perhaps that works in a semisocialist society like India. But how does that translate to a thoroughly capitalist system like the United States? Is it wrong to tell doctors that they shouldn't be allowed to sell their services to the highest bidder like those who bear other skills? What is it that makes medicine different?

food for thought... I'll be sure to bring this up again soon, perhaps with fewer questions and a few more answers from my side. Ciao for now.

and how are you feeling today?

Yesterday two colleagues and I went to the wards after classes were over to take a case. Normally we go during the day and we have our backpacks and books, and the wards are filled with students like ourselves. But this time it was just us, a few doctors here and there on afternoon rounds, and nurses. We had our stethoscopes around our necks and notebooks to take a proper case history. Of the three of us, I felt the most confident about taking the case, but even I didn't know very much. Something about being there at a time when there weren't very many other students and being there in the capacity of doctors rather than students made me feel somewhat overwhelmed by the whole experience. I felt like I was playing a game of dress-up, not much different from a six-year-old girl wearing her mother's high heels or a 10-yr-old boy carrying around his father's briefcase. It was an awe-inspiring experience, one that made me determined to learn everything I can to become the best doctor I can be. I came home and wrote this poem. Enjoy!

White coats parade through the blinding corridors
Some have faces perched on top
others with patent leather shoes polished to perfection
pink and blue and green scrubs shout orders
codes and meds and labs and scans echo
rattle the walls
Hospital gowns wheel loyal oxygen tanks and IV stands through days and nights filled with coughing and fevers and flat lines
Friends stop coming
Families are too afraid to look
But beds are always full
Every oxygen mask stuck to a nose and mouth
Eyes filled with anguish, faces pale and empty
Those eyes, those faces, turn to me
Grasping hands and speechless mouths plead for answers and ask for hope
But I am not yet a white coat
Nor am I a set of happy pink scrubs
I carry a stethoscope and put my ear to a chest
I dream of hearing answers and solutions and dreams and hopes and souls
But I do not yet have the key
So I hear life
And air
Soon I will feel a wrist and thoughts will come
But for now I walk the blinding corridors
And feel the walls shake
I see masks and tanks and stands and gowns and hands and questions
And I stand in awe
An impostor
A guest
Or perhaps just a traveler
Starting out on a journey
To nowhere and everywhere