Temple University School of Podiatric Medicine - Achilles Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

Page 15 text:

hat summer ended with the fabled “National Boards . The subjects you thought you did best on were your worst scores and vice versa. Oh, those curves. Actually, we should have all gotten an extra five points across the board just for finding the place. It would have been easier to find if we had taken it in Chicago. That really was tricky of them to have told us the wrong place. Then came our third year — The Clinic. This was the year that would make doctors of us. We all went our separate ways and compared notes the whole year: What clinician to present to? W'ho to avoid? Who likes injections? Who wants paddings? Rigids or BMO’s? Surgery upstairs or in the hospital? Ham and cheese or just plain bologna? All of these important questions would be answered. Stations $ o begin with, there was the PM menagerie. You could get a 2 on your evaluation if you were good enough to get Dr. Karpo to leave his desk and examine a patient. No one got a 21 There were always the Three Musketeers — Kwasnik, Orowitz, and Maglietta. They each had their specialities to teach; Kwasnik had the ulcers, Orowitz had the silicone, and Maglietta showed us how to treat and street and never touch the feet. There was Dr. Corecki who ran the department with an iron hand ... when he wasn’t injured. He was the only clinician to be on the disabled list three times. We all learned many handy tricks from kindly Dr. Masters; the old Pro., Dr. Sterns, taught us not to practice medicine or orthopedics; DPM’s just don’t do that. Our class was the first in the PM specialty clinics. The patients had arthritis, dermatitis, ulcers, poor circulation and geriatric feet.

Page 14 text:

hen came our Roentgenology course and, with it, Fillunisand the test that eight people passed. That first test proved to be the key to the whole course. After that test came our ten question midterm and the famous 10-40 point curve, dependent upon your astrological sign. All in all. it added some spice to the year for all of us doctors and ladies. With third trimester came our introduction to the Surgery Department. There was hip, groove Flo and her sweet smelling Candida. We learned that a yeast does indeed smell yeasty. Far out, Flo! Then came Dr. Green and a cast of thousands. Dr. Green is the only person who can make you feel stupid even if you know the correct answer. This was our first exposure to the stringent, but efficient, rules of the Surgery Department. By the way, will you stop reading and demonstrate a hand-tie for me. See 'all in clinic. But the “piece de resistance” was the man of a thousand dermatoses. Podiatric Pathology introduced us to our resident absent-minded professor. He is the only person who can quote the original paper on the histo-pathology of Cnna Thost disease, but can’t tell you what day it is. Who else could leave a final exam on the N.J. Hi-Speed Fine? He made up the new final in one hour. Was that obvious! Well, we’re halfway done. That summer we got our first taste of clinic. We learned clipping and chipping, padding and strapping, x-rays and whirlpool, and how to play that great game of “Find a Clinician”. After extensively learning how to work up and present a case, some of us even got the chance to — if we could keep the clinician’s attention for a whole minute.

Page 16 text:

iagnosis came with its cast of thousands. If one wanted to maintain patient-clinician continuity, the patient would have to wait till next year. The fourth year students did teach us all the important things; Now we know how to go for breaks, dodge patients, and avoid clinicians with charts. We all learned the I.emont 1-10 pain scale. We can elicit pain even from the most asymptomatic 90 year old lady. And, “when in doubt, inject it out”. I thought we’d have to go to odd-even steroid rationing. While taking histories, patients told us about their bouts with Screamin’ Mary Jesus, fireballs of the F.uharist, the Arthuritis. and the Gouch. And after all our in depth questions about their eyes, ears, noses, throats, stomachs, and rectums, they all asked. “Doctor, why can’t you just cut my nails?” Orthopedics was obviously a close-knit unit. Dr. Pressman set world records by flinging a BMO the length of the clinic floor. Dr. Jay showed us how easy it was to deal with kids . except on Tuesdays. The department chairman went natural with his hair. He figured that if nobody recognized him, he wouldn’t have to hear cases. But, the driving force of Ortho was the threat of traffic tickets or late and loitering offenses. Stay out of the halls, keep your drawers neat, and fill your bottles. We didn’t like it, but we went with it anyway. We learned BMO’s, UMO’s, and saw some UFO’s — the Unscientific Futile Orthotic — for patients you don’t want to see again. And with Ortho’s five week back-up, you won’t ever have to see them again.