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

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long and by the time the afternoons rolled around, the last thing on our minds was being forced to attend class. Granted, we slept through most lectures, but this wasn't the point. We had more important things to do, people to see, deals to be made, bets to be placed, money to be lost . . . Tony, Vic - you guys up for a trip to AC? 1 guess we couldn't complain too much though, since entertainment was provided for us each afternoon, a few minutes after the first hour of class began. There would be a mad rush to our seats as the ever flightly, ever flirtatious Suzy Synapse frol icked down the aisles, pen and paper in hand, fulfilling her most formidable task of the day. Guest lecturers never knew what to make of Suzy, and then again, neither did we. Honest Suzy, I was in class this afternoon - just ask Dave Schiettino. I d never skip class. 4. When conservative treatment fails, surgery prevails. Those of us who were fortunate enough to have had surgery clinic in the early Fall caught a parting glimpse of the ominous Dr. Mean Don Green. Men fell to their knees in his presence .. . and not just to get a close up view of extensor substitution. © OTttY A Dr. Green. 1 don’t feel so well. 1 Think I'm a .. . bout tooo . . . fafa . .. faint. Before he headed over the horizon to begin a new life in San Diego, he bequeathed his dueling slide projectors to his disciple. Dr. Mahan, who subsequently put them to good use. For the rest of us, our surgical exposure began in OR Protocol, under the relentless scrutiny of Nadine and Tina. They taught us the basics of sterile technique: we scrubbed with betadine until our skin turned raw -and this still wasn t good enough: we gowned and gloved, but never fast enough; we practiced passing instruments - pity the person who confused a Meyerding with a Senz; all this in preparation for our surgical debut. Recall our first case: the atmosphere in the OR was as tense as usual (You would have thought we were performing open-heart surgery!). We had begun to scrub but we forgot to put on our masks. A blood-curdling scream arose from Tina's office and sent chills up and down our spines. We finally entered the operating room and all appeared to be going along smoothly until we dropped the one pair of sterile needle holders on the floor. Nadine let out an incredibly audible sigh, and if looks could kill, we'd be dead and buried by the time she returned with the instrument. Wre were now sweating as much as Bernie on a hot summer's day. Conplications developed and what should have been a half hour arthroplasty turned into a three hour ordeal. It was now 5 p.m. on a Friday afternoon, and Nadine and Tina, anxious to hit Happy Hour in South Philly, had begun to clear off the table, leaving only two gauze pads and an ounce of betadine. Despite all he had been through, Dr. Sanner let us close the incision. Having witnessed this, Nadine and Tina storm out of the room. We felt we d be imposing if we asked for more gauze, so we dressed the toe with the drape sheet. Well, we made it through our first case - alive, but already dreading our next appearance in the OR ... if we ever got another case! Drs. Martin and Quintavalle attempted to teach us everything we didn't know about forefoot surgery. If they knew ahead of time exactly what this would entail, would they have even bothered? After all, some of us were still referring to bunions as Bunyans - thanks to Donnie. We appreciated their excellent lectures -for a guy who looked like he'd just woken up. Dr. Quintavalle surprised us with his presentations. Rearfoot surgery was taught by Dr. Dirty Harry Vogler and the Mahan from Tucker. We learned about Newtonian fluid and Blix curves, tendon transfers and triples (or was it cripples?), ankle arthroscopy and radio-dermatitis; and, of course, how to treat the inevitable complications. Dr. Mahan always managed to give excellent, extremely well-organized presentations but would we expect anything less from a Tucker man and Boston Celtics Fan? fifiiii Dr. Mahan s awesone, isn’t he? I wish I could grow up to be just like him someday. 5. The Magical, Mythical World of Orthopedics Whether we realized it or not, we were saturated with Orthopedics during the course of the year - and we still ended up knowing just as little as we did when we entered PC.PM. Dr. Big Al’ Whitney and Dr. Slo-Hand Sanner from San Francisco introduced us to the clinical world of Orthomagic. They left it up to Dr. John Orthopedic Surgeon Walter to expose us to real orthopedic medicine. His blood and guts, do more until you see more gore . Traumatology course was an inspiration to the RD's in all of us. No one dared to question his expertise (self-proclaimed, of course). 12

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training to defend my 'Best Tan championship. Still others were preparing for those dreaded clinical exams. There were three hurdles to cross before we would be allowed into the clinic. Most of us had no problem with the slide exam. Even the written exam was not too bad. But many of us met our match during the practical exam. Cowering like frighteded children, we were humbled by the neurological questions of Dr. Lemont or by Dr. Master's infant scaphoid pad. Nevertheless, we picked ourselves up, licked our wounds and eventually passed. Part Three 1. In the summer, in the city . . . The third year officially began in the summer of '83. Our extensive training in Clinical Podiatry was going to be put to the test at last. Armed with our black bags and white coats, we marched to the clinic with an air of naive self-confidence, assured that we could easily handle any corn or callous, or even the most grotesque fungal nail we encountered. After all, we had meticulously carved through mounds of wax with our scalpels; surely human skin would be no different. The patients soon became our innocent victims; the scalpel became a vis-cious. uncontrollable weapon For many of us, our experiences that summer enabled us to perform our first skin-to-bone procedures and also prepared us for future emergency room rotations. Honestly, Dr. Masters, I’ve been trying to stop the bleeding, but direct pressure isn't working. Should- I try a tourniquet? We all gathered together in August to take our National Board Exams, Part I. While some of us spent hours upon hours preparing for these exams, (namely those students who were stupid enough to apply to the N.V. school in the first place), the majority of us felt that as stu- dents from the Pennsylvania College, we could score above the national average without even studying. After all, PCPM was the Harvard of the Podiatry schools. As prepared as we thought we were, we had to admit that Biochemistry and General Anatomy did tax our brains, but ever so slightly. We laughed it off (Ha. Ha), assured that if they taxed our brains, they totally destroyed the brains of our fellow podiatry students from the other schools. Of course, we all passed and, once again, PCPM proved itself as the mecca of podi-atric education. 2. Is it too late to transfer?' W'e entered the fall term believing that the hardest years of our podiatiic education were over. We only had classes for half a day and these were to be graded Pass Fail. There was no way that we could ever fail a course now. no matter how hard we tried. However, our confidence was about to be shattered, ruthlessly and without any warning, by none other than Harvey. (You wouldn't think that a man with this name could do such a thing now, would you?) Yes, Harvey taught Podiatric Pathology on Fr iday afternoons (and on Monday evenings, when he felt like it or on Wednesday mornings if Friday oi Monday happened to be a Jewish holiday). His lectures were excellent, yet there appeared to be a communication gap between what was taught and what we were actually tested on. After our first exam, we learned a new word - photomicrograph. Definition: a cheap, obscure imitation of a histological specimen. Harvey was big on criteria. By the end of the term, we all knew the criteria for flunking Podiatric Pathology: a. A member of Sterling-Hartford Anatomical Honor Society b. Memorize the Primer of Rheumatology c. Know the notes cold d. Know the course, conduction velocity, and medical significance of Lemont's nerve. Some of us not meeting the above criteria were still confused as to why we failed; others knew the real reason. A I know why I failed. I never gave him a lozenger. Not even Harvey could keep us down We may have been discouraged, but we were not about to give it ail up at this point in time. We felt secure in knowing that we could always turn to Dr. Ferguson for encouragement and advice. We were grateful for her horse s . . . sense As if we hadn't been abused enough, images of Judy Rae flashed before our eyes with the mere mention of the word Neurology. What would Dr. Bhatt have in store for us? We soon learned that if we ever wished to have a nerve named after us, we had to take sides and, above all. we had to study old exams. I'm sorry I'm late Dr. Bhatt, but I was just reviewing these old exams. Oh well, so Gray's Anatomy would never feature D’Angelantonio's nerve, but hey, did we really want to memorize yet another nerve - let alone spell this one? For those of us who had had little sleep the night before. Tuesday afternoons provided ample opportunity to catch up on a few hours of nap time. Jim McKay Witkowski was the next best thing to Dalmane. Why, even Jerry was caught nodding his head a few times. It was amazing how much he could cram into two hours of lecture - and even more amazing how much we could cram into our heads the night before the test. By the time the final rolled around at the end of the second term, we had six-hundred pages of notes to contend with and rumors were rampant. 3. Is this chick for real? I know you have the Derm final, Ferg. I'm going to talk to Dr. Bates about you.' Lest we forget, it seemed that the days of skipping classes were over (for those of us who couldn t figure out a way to beat the system anyway). Our days were n

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 Dr. Walter, I just removed the pin. You wanted 20 minutes of whirlpool therapy now, correct? No, I'm not disagreeing with you. Dr. Walter. I'm sure you know you're right, o. Is it Up and Out, Up and Down, Down and Out or In and Out? Podopediatrics was a 24 week course taught by Dr. Phil Donahue” Jay. For 20 of these 24 weeks, we were told that Calcaneal Valgus was an ''up and out” deformity - those of us who learned more than this must have done some outside reading. He lectured the last four weeks on me-tadductus and internal tibial torsion. Time ran out before he could get to clubfoot, but no big deal - kids usually grow out of it anyway. You handle your patients like that and you’ll be shot.' 8. We work hard ... and play harder. While clinic and classes filled up a good part of our schedules, we still managed to make the most of our free time. The third year would not be complete without mentioning a few of the more popular social events. There was Friday night Happy Hour at Houlihan s. Whether single or married. Houlihan's was the place to be for maximum face-time.” Of course, there was the annual Christmas Party, with entertainment provided for us by John Evans and Doug Stabile, as well as the Supremes. The Chestnut Cabaret proved to be a memorable experience for a select few on a day in January. We ll just leave it at that. The lottery for externships marked the transition from out third to our fourth years. When it was all said and done, there were a few disappointments, but nothing we couldn't handle. After all, the hardest years of our podiatric education were over, right? Part Four Rub it like you love it. 7. Bits and Pieces Rather than give us an afternoon or two off, administration scheduled a few courses intended solely to make us feel as if we were getting our money's worth Dr. Rudnick was let out of the Pennsylvania State Hospital each week to lecture on Human Sexuality and occasionally Psychiatry. Dr. Saeve spent most of his lecture time answering Ed Bailin’s four-letter words in one hour than Eddie Murphy on his HBO Special. Dr. Helfand tried his best to convey the seriousness of the present health care situation, and he almost succeeded. torn m aecaaci 1. Trivial Pursuit the Podiatric Residency Edition Our CASPR applications arrived in June and we had to decide upon which residency programs we wished to apply to, for five dollars a shot. Wre were told by the outgoing fourth year students that if we had any doubts about any program, we should apply to it. It would just be another five dollars - no big deal. Well, it may not have been any big deal if you were only applying to ten programs, but since most of us were paranoid and hadn't an uncle with a hospital wing named after him, we were forced to take out another HEAL Loan to cover the costs. In fact, many of us took out all time high loans to ensure coverage of our traveling expenses as we traversed the country in search of a residency. The residency game officially began in mid-August, with the start of pre-screening interviews. These proved to be learning experiences for all of us, as we quickly found out how much we didn't know, even after four years of medical school. The ironic part about it all was that no matter how good or bad we thought we did, it didn t seem to make any difference Programs we felt we interviewed well with gave us the ax; others we knew we had screwed up sent us invitations for second interviews. Bob O Leary’s Victory Tour went into full gear with the start of second interviews. No longer would the programs come to us; if we wanted them badly enough, we had to go to them, no matter where they were located Schedule conflicts forced many of us to cancel precious second interviews; others managed to travel to more cities in a week than they ever dreamed possible. A few states arranged to have all their programs interview during a particular weekend. We fondly deemed one of these weekends the Michigan Massacre.' The interviews dragged on and the interviewers continued to mercilessly torture us with irrelevant questions. By November, a few of us had had enough. We would no longer take it anymore. We had to tell these arrogant interviewers exactly what was on our minds. You're ugly and your mother dresses you funny.' The game was almost over. Our program rankings were due by December 10th; after this, it was out of our control. (Not that we ever felt in control!) We breathed a sigh of relief on the 10th and hoped that we could endure the month-long wait. For the confident few. the game was already won.