I was a newly minted intern beginning an internal medicine residency in a city hospital, located in a gritty, working-class neighborhood. Sitting in an examination room, I awaited the arrival of my first clinic patient with a mixture of apprehension and eager anticipation. She was to be my patient and I was her doctor, a heady feeling after long years of medical school. I would try to look serious, and sound older and wiser than my 25 years. But would I know what to do? Of course not.
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