A Rash Decision

As the first day of my summer preceptorship approached, I was filled with excitement as well as uneasiness. The possibility of seeing patients who were living examples of the detailed descriptions of illnesses in my textbooks fueled my interest to work in a clinic. On the other hand, horror stories of endless grilling and quizzing by preceptors made my stomach turn. I knew I was lucky, though. My preceptor had been my family physician since I was in kindergarten. This was the man who urged me, every time I visited, to come back to our rural town and take his place. I was excited about all he would teach me in the next 4 weeks. I was ready to impress him and wasn't going to let him down.

Soon after arriving at the clinic on day 1, I was ushered to Dr. Knight's office. I glanced around the office of the man who had been my mentor and my personal doctor for so many years. His awards hung proudly on every inch of the wall. He had been recognized as a valuable community leader not only by our town but also by the state and by his alma mater. Scattered about on the wall where a place could be found were myriad trinkets, plaques, and even handwork that expressed the gratitude of his patients.

I heard a distinctive, familiar voice call my name. “Miss Davis, are you ready to see what medicine is all about?” I eagerly jumped from my seat and rushed to meet the owner of that voice. Dr. Knight stood as tall and prominent as ever in his seventh decade of life, and he led me into a small, bright room.

Sitting in the corner was a white-haired elderly man who met my anxious, inquisitive eyes …