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Dancer vs. doctor: one med student's struggle between her two worlds.

Article Excerpt
I knew what was coming. For months I had put off going to the doctor. As a dancer, I knew he wouldn't understand me. As a medical student, I knew the generic musculoskeletal exam he would perform and the findings (or lack thereof) that would steer his diagnosis.

I grabbed the sides of the examining table and braced myself--knuckles white, breath held, jaw clenched, abdomen tight, lump in throat, and body awkwardly leaning to the left to alleviate the pain on my right side.

Then, sure enough, the "urgent care" doctor said, "Well, obviously you've got to stop dancing."

I am very familiar with these urgent care doctors. These are the MDs who get an adrenaline rush from dire medical emergencies but are annoyed with patients who are not on the brink of death. They make patients wait five hours only to see them for five minutes. They eat the patient-oriented techniques I have been taught in medical school--NURSE (nurture, understand, respect, support, empathy)--for breakfast. Steel-guarded against tears and emotion, they speak only in medical-ese. I knew what was going to come out of the doctor's mouth the second he walked in the examining room. As a medical student I knew I was supposed to stay rational, factual, and professional no matter what, but my dancer's heart sank and my eyes filled...