If my book ever gets written it will be like this. I have my feet up waiting for a case to go to the operating room.
Maya Angelo has a quote I read recently which goes something like, "Never whine. Whining only lets the bullies know who you are." Reading this has given me new resolve to figure life out. Which you would think I would have done by now. After all I have been at this more than half a century. But then maybe I have spent too much time whining.
Taking this job I believed I could make better use of the down time. Yet, in over 4 months I have not gotten the hang of it. I have yet to sleep on the mornings when I am on call. This is the best time in my twenty four hour shift to do so but I am either simply not tired, as today, or I have too much left over stuff to do. I have written lecture notes and articles. I catch up on odds and ends. Anything I can do from a laptop computer and the telephone, I will do in those quieter hours of the morning.
Before I know it, the downtime is gone. I am in the ER or doing a C-section or some other procedure with one of the first year residents. Surgery with them takes twice as long as it would for me to do it myself. I remind myself this is normal and make a mental note to buy some support hose.
Well, it is time to go upstairs to the OR but this is what I should be doing with the down time.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
The gift of life
Tonight I can either read or write. While I my body is screaming, "Lie down and open the book!" my mind is whispering, "please, tell this story."
It is about this lady from the emergency room. She makes me think of the woman in the Bible. That one who touched Jesus' robe and he knew, yet the risk this woman took was coming to the emergency room. She almost passed out at work. Bleeding for three years, she has been afraid to go to the doctor. At least that is the story I got when her daughter translated for me. Her blood count or hematocrit is 21%. Normal is 40%. She is not bleeding much now and the transfusion is running into her arm. Two units of packed red blood cells. The gift of life. There are T-shirts all over my house with this slogan on it.
Yet, the blood is not going to be the gift of life for this woman. She needs more extensive medical care which could have prevented such a precarious situation in the first place. I guess when you are in this country illegally, working a minimum wage job, all ways afraid of being deported, daring to get medical care is a bit like trying to touch God. Hopefully her story will work out as well as it did for the woman two thousand years ago.
It is about this lady from the emergency room. She makes me think of the woman in the Bible. That one who touched Jesus' robe and he knew, yet the risk this woman took was coming to the emergency room. She almost passed out at work. Bleeding for three years, she has been afraid to go to the doctor. At least that is the story I got when her daughter translated for me. Her blood count or hematocrit is 21%. Normal is 40%. She is not bleeding much now and the transfusion is running into her arm. Two units of packed red blood cells. The gift of life. There are T-shirts all over my house with this slogan on it.
Yet, the blood is not going to be the gift of life for this woman. She needs more extensive medical care which could have prevented such a precarious situation in the first place. I guess when you are in this country illegally, working a minimum wage job, all ways afraid of being deported, daring to get medical care is a bit like trying to touch God. Hopefully her story will work out as well as it did for the woman two thousand years ago.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Why health care reform?
Every time I pull open the door to the stairwell leading to the Emergency Department I am forced to smile at one of the retired CEO's of my institution.
"He's there in the hospital?" you exclaim.
"No, nothing like that," is my reply. "He and his wife have larger than life portraits in the hallway. I pull the door open and I have to face them before I can descend the stairs. Anyone waiting for the elevator sees them. Well dressed and glowing, they pose for the artist. They are currently living in a very up scale neighborhood of this city. That is of course when they are not in their other home in another state. This gentleman made a sizable fortune from the business of health care."
"What is wrong with that?" you ask. "This is America."
"Ah yes. America indeed." I muse. "America is the place where a hospital can be a not for profit, gather in large donations, charge patients, and the government. This is 'A great humanitarian hospital.' Make no mistake. We do good work here. And I have made a good living doing it. Yet, in all the years I have been in practice, my total salary (all 24 years of it) has not come close to what this man made from this hospital system in ONE year."
"Amazing," you say.
"No, America. And it is why America needs health care reform."
"He's there in the hospital?" you exclaim.
"No, nothing like that," is my reply. "He and his wife have larger than life portraits in the hallway. I pull the door open and I have to face them before I can descend the stairs. Anyone waiting for the elevator sees them. Well dressed and glowing, they pose for the artist. They are currently living in a very up scale neighborhood of this city. That is of course when they are not in their other home in another state. This gentleman made a sizable fortune from the business of health care."
"What is wrong with that?" you ask. "This is America."
"Ah yes. America indeed." I muse. "America is the place where a hospital can be a not for profit, gather in large donations, charge patients, and the government. This is 'A great humanitarian hospital.' Make no mistake. We do good work here. And I have made a good living doing it. Yet, in all the years I have been in practice, my total salary (all 24 years of it) has not come close to what this man made from this hospital system in ONE year."
"Amazing," you say.
"No, America. And it is why America needs health care reform."
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