Learn from your patients. Not UWorld vignettes.

Talk through your shift on the walk to the parking garage. Debrief turns it into a library of cases, pearls, and growth moments, then feeds them back when you need them.

Scroll to see how it works
Capture

When you can't talk, just type.

Some rooms aren't for voice memos. Pull the scratchpad in from the edge, thumb a line, hit Process. Same pipeline as a recording, a quieter way in.

Record

Tap. And talk.

One terracotta orb. Press it on the walk to your car. The hard part of journaling is starting, so the orb makes starting free.

Voice

Ramble. Backtrack. It handles it.

Talk like you're presenting to a co-resident. The filler comes out, the thinking stays in. You don't have to be coherent.

Structure

The thinking happens after you talk.

By the time you've parked, your shift is a structured entry. Summary, key insight, cases, pearls, and the things you said you'd look up. The write-up you'd have done with two more hours.

Library

A library that listens back.

Every patient you've seen, by rotation, searchable. Find the case from three weeks ago by the way you described it then, not the way you'd describe it now.

Recall

Active recall, from your own patients.

Pearls you mentioned in passing come back as flashcards on a spaced schedule. Quiz yourself on the medicine you actually saw, not the medicine in a question bank.

Why it matters
You don't forget the patient. You forget what you learned from the patient.

You finish a 14-hour shift and you can name three patients on the walk to your car. By the time you reach the highway you can name two. By morning, the cirrhotic with the AKI, the asthma exacerbation you almost mismanaged, the lupus presentation you caught on history. They have blurred into a single feeling of fullness, vaguely productive, mostly gone.

This is the strange arithmetic of clinical training. The volume that makes you a good doctor is the same volume that erases what you saw. UWorld can give you a hundred new vignettes a week. Your own service handed you four real ones today, with smells and tone and a family in the room, and you will lose them by Tuesday.

The fix is not another notebook. The fix is whatever lowers the cost of capture to almost nothing, then does the slow, boring work of structuring and returning what you said. So the patients teach you twice. Once at the bedside, and again on the third Wednesday in May.