Three med students, fresh out of their first year, were bragging at a coffee shop. Each was convinced they were the best diagnostician.
“I saw a guy yesterday,” said Amelia, adjusting her stethoscope. “He kept complaining of seeing spots. Turns out, his apartment was just infested with ladybugs! I prescribed a good exterminator and boom – problem solved!”
“That’s nothing,” scoffed Raj, stirring his latte. “An old lady came in saying she felt like she was shrinking. I immediately recognized it as a rare form of self-deprecating humor. I recommended improv classes. She hasn’t stopped laughing since!”
Brenda, sipping her tea, raised an eyebrow. “Okay, you guys are amateurs. This farmer came in, pale as a ghost, kept moaning about feeling terrible and smelling strongly of manure, even though he swore he hadn’t been near his fields all day. After a thorough examination, I made the diagnosis!”
Amelia and Raj leaned in, eager. “And what was it?” Amelia asked breathlessly.
Brenda puffed out her chest. “He was… incontinent. Turns out his tractor seat was faulty and well… let’s just say it was a long day for him.”
Raj and Amelia looked at each other, slightly green. After a moment of silence, the barista, who had been eavesdropping, cleared his throat. “So, what you’re saying is,” he said slowly, wiping down the counter, “med students diagnose…crap?”
