Saturday, July 9, 2011

Duty Hours Pre-Form Part 2: No Sleep 'til (or in) Brooklyn.

*NOTE: no YOUMAN beings were hurt or injured during this blog post.
image credit

"Foot on the pedal - never ever false metal
Engine running hotter than a boiling kettle
My job ain't a job - it's a damn good time
City to city - I'm running my rhymes. . .
. . . .NO . .  SLEEP.  .  'til BROOKLYN!"

from The Beastie Boys 

____________________________
Today we continue the saga and fireside tales of life during internship and residency--pre-duty hours reform (aka "back in the day when nobody cared how long you worked," aka "The  Other Fight Club").

This is partly to underscore why having some limits on how long young doctors (and hell, old doctors) can work is a good thing. But like any great story, it's also to just a chance to just chronicle it--and then shake our heads while asking, "Dude, what were you THINK-ing?" Anyways. There's just something about hearing something that's cringe-worthy in that Seinfeld-y/Curb-your-enthusiasm-Larry-David-y/trainwreck-y kind of way that intrigues most folks. . . .okay, me.  
As promised, in a Reflections of a Grady Doctor first, we bring you this story from another sho' nuff and bona fide Grady doctor. . . . .
Now y'all put your hands together and show some gradydoctor love for Dr. Neil W. . . .
(Oh yeah--and just a suggestion--imagine a wonderful New York accent as you read this--makes it much more fun!)
______________________________
 No Sleep 'til (or in) Brooklyn: A series of unfortunate events.
Bellevue Hospital-- America's Oldest Public Hospital
 The date was February 1st, 1994—my first day in the medical intensive care unit (ICU) at NYU/Bellevue Hospital. Normally I would’ve been a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed intern, ready to get cracking. The problem, however, was that I was tired, like really tired. The night before I’d been on call finishing my month on the medical wards and rolled into bed at 3am. Dragging myself in, I was hoping to suck it up, push through the day and start fresh tomorrow. *
*(Those who read Duty Hours Pre-Form Part 1, already know that this isn't how it always went down.)
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed: Neil W.'s (pictured on left) first month of internship, July 1993

When I arrived in the ICU, the first order of business was to determine the call schedule. (Normally the chief residents did this, but for some crazy reason we were left to figure it out for ourselves.) The interns rotated overnight every fourth day, and somebody had to be first. I hoped that my haggard appearance would prompt one of my three colleagues to step up and offer to take the that night's call. 
The only thing was that all of them looked equally run down. . . .  
Houston, we have a problem. . . . .
Turns out that every intern was busting their butt on call the night before! For those less familiar with residency training, the odds of this happening are incredibly small (1 in 256 to be exact--wait, actually even smaller than that now that I think of it.) Rarity or not, someone still had to tackle this first overnight shift, and for whoever it was, it was going to royally suck.
Nowadays a calamity like this would send the residency leadership into a mad scramble to produce a fresh body from the "jeopardy" (emergency backup) schedule. Back then however, you didn’t go crying to the administration with every work hour-related problem (probably because we’d be simply told to suck it up)-- you fixed things internally. 
So we decided to do it the democratic way and drew straws. As fate would have it I pulled the shortest one. After a brief sulking session (and contemplation of demanding a recount) I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.
gradydoctor commentary: Unlike mine, this double-call was NOT voluntary--OUCH! (image credit)

That first day (and night) was a blur; getting to know the super-sick patients in the unit as well as the ones who were getting admitted rapid fire from the emergency department. Before I knew it the following morning had arrived without me getting even an ounce of sleep. My fellow interns arrived well-rested and were sympathetic to my plight. That said, there were still too many loose ends to tie down, so I plowed ahead into the early afternoon. With my back-to-back calls finally done (50 + hours), I headed out at 2:30 pm.
I walked to the Bellevue parking garage and jumped in my dad’s car, a 1977 Cadillac Coupe De Ville as mine (an 84 Eldorado), was in the shop. 
(Yes--the Winawers love late-model Caddys.)

It was the middle of winter in NYC and a snowstorm had blanketed the streets while I had been working. I headed out cautiously on the 30 minute ride back to Brooklyn, and as I neared my apartment house the driving became progressively worse over the unplowed snow. As I pulled into my driveway, towards the backyard parking lot, the wheels began slipping on ice and the Caddy became stuck, blocking several cars. After several minutes of flooring the gas and rocking the car in “drive” & “reverse”, I gave up. 
I pushed open the huge coupe’s door and landed in thick snow. Leaving a quick note (to apologize for temporarily blocking anyone who needed to leave) I waded several blocks in my scrubs to a local hardware store. I lugged back bags of rock salt and sand, strategically tossed the mix under the tires and gave it another whirl-- but the Caddy still had no traction. Finally, after several more gear changes and wheel spins, it was clear that this car wasn’t budging. Luckily I saw some friends passing by who graciously took pity and helped push out the car onto the street.
With my tumultuous afternoon finally behind me, I glanced at my Swatch which read 5 pm.
gradydoctor commentary: A SWATCH? Damn, now THAT'S old school, for real!

WARNING: This is where the story gets crazy. . . .
Okay, right then and there I should’ve called it a day and slept til morning, but you see, I had this basketball game back in Manhattan at 8 pm. I know, it sounds so incredibly ridiculous thinking about it now, but like Kim said, during your residency you’ll do anything to make yourself feel human. 
For me, it was basketball. I had played in college and breaking a sweat once a week while seeing my former teammates was the only connection I had with the outside world. My plan was to set the alarm for 7 pm and see how I felt. The game was on the Upper East Side, close to my girlfriend (now wife) Tamara's place, so I would just crash (bad omen) there.
I worried that a nap on my bed would turn into a full blown snooze fest, so I sat cross legged on the floor, back against the bed with my head slumped forward. I was trying to drift off, when a realization suddenly overwhelmed me with nausea. 


In all the excitement and rush to get some rest, I had locked the keys in my dad’s car.  


Now the spot where I lived--though close to the medical school I'd graduated from the year before (SUNY Brooklyn)--was in a very tough neighborhood. A typical Friday or Saturday of studying was always punctuated by gun shots in the distance followed by sirens. But hey, if you were a student they pretty much left you alone and the rent was dirt cheap. So even though I knew I'd be working in Manhattan,  I decided (after NYU’s subsidized housing fell through) to commute. In other words what I’m trying to say is that my dad’s car was not safe out on the street--let alone with an inviting set of keys in the ignition. I dragged myself up and proceeded to get a wire hanger out of the closet.
I was no stranger to breaking into cars to retrieve keys so I pretty much had the coat hanger loop trick down. But this Caddy had a metal frame running around the window which made it impossible. After an hour or so of trying, I gave up. I then realized that the security office at my old medical school might have a “Slim-Jim” to help me break in. After walking several blocks and waiting for what seemed like an eternity, the officer emerged and gave me the disappointing news.
“We can’t seem to find our Slim-Jim, but there’s a homeless guy who lives in a car on the corner gas station. I know he’s broken into several students’ cars to get their keys. “ (Not making this up).
I headed out to the gas station and sure enough in an unregistered car was this scraggly looking dude.
“Excuse me, are you the guy that helps break into cars?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“Can you help me out? I left my keys in the ignition.”
“It’ll cost you 20 bucks.”
“I got 17 in my wallet.”
“Let’s go.”

The guy then pried up the metal frame with a screwdriver (Why didn’t I think of that?) and asked me for my looped hanger (hey don’t I get some additional discount for tool rental?) Before I knew it, he had the door knob hooked and pulled open.
“There you go, my man,” he remarked as he headed back to his car seventeen bucks richer.
Okay, NOW I had the keys back in my hand, but my window of opportunity for sleep AND basketball for that matter had come and gone. It was now 8 pm.
gradydoctor commentary: Am I the only one wondering why Neil's so skilled at car break-ins?

WARNING: This is where the story becomes painful.
Any rational person would’ve then marched their butt right into bed, but I was so aggravated, so frustrated and hyped up, that I knew that it would take a while for me to settle down. I really needed to share my “day from hell” and sadly, I also knew that when I did finally settle down, I would need a mule kick to get me going again. I called Tamara and asked if she'd mind ordering dinner from my favorite pizzeria on 79th and 1st Avenue. I was on my way.
I headed out and crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge onto the FDR parkway with very little fan fare. I exited at 42nd St. and turned right at the United Nations, stopping at a red light. I still remember Beck's "Loser" blaring on the radio as I started accelerating up 1st Ave. . . .
“Soy un prededor,
I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me?”

Darkness suddenly overwhelmed me. I fell away into an absolute calmness and serenity, devoid of any conscious thought. That was until. . .  .

BAMMMM!!!!

My flaccid body lunged forward and was catapulted into the steering wheel at high force as the car’s momentum came to an abrupt halt. Parts of the dashboard went flying as I was thrown back into my seat. For a moment I had no idea what happened, let alone where I was.  I squinted up at the overhead street light and saw myself to be on the corner of 52nd Street.
People came running out of the nearby restaurant and I heard one concerned patron through my clouded consciousness.
“Hey man, are you alright? It sounded like a bomb went off!”
I motioned I was okay and slowly got out to survey the damage. 
 What had happened. . . .
Heading north on 1st Ave I had drifted across several lanes of traffic and veered right, eventually running out of real estate and colliding with a parked car along the southeast corner. The first vehicle I hit was a Toyota Corolla, whose trunk was now in the rear seat. Walking further ahead I noted that the Corolla slammed forward into the back of a Renault Alliance, crushing its rear bumper. As I walked even further, I cringed when I saw that the Renault had rocketed into the back of a brand new Benz--with the owner idling inside. 
He was no worse for wear, but the car did get pushed into the intersection--luckily with no oncoming pedestrian or automobile traffic. If I hadn’t been stopped by those parked cars, I might’ve drifted further rightward, over the curb and into the window of that busy restaurant. All I can say is thank God no one was hurt. 
It wasn’t long before the police were on the scene. I showed them my Bellevue ID and shared my story.  (Just for the record, there’s a bond between inner city police officers and inner city doctors--which reminds me of another story that I'd be happy to share upon request. . .)
One of the officers pulled me aside and I never forgot what he told me:
“Listen, we peel people off the side of the road every day. Just feel fortunate you didn’t hurt anyone. This here is property damage (30K + worth to be exact). That’s why you have insurance. Just use better judgment next time.” 
I thanked him and called Tamara from a pay phone (no cell phones back then if you can believe it). She hopped in a cab and arrived immediately.
While the Caddy sustained some damage to its grill and front bumper, the car was a tank and was otherwise unscathed. Unfortunately I couldn’t say the same for the other vehicles, as the tow trucks were lined up to whisk them away. With Tamara’s help, the Caddy cruised the final 25 blocks to her apartment.
Took a licking but still was ticking. . . . .
I did immediately notice however, there was a problem with the radio. While it could tune in stations, a tremendous amount of static was ripping through the speakers, even after the car was turned off. Why would the radio still be getting power? I knew the battery would be dead in the morning but I was too spent to deal with it. We went upstairs, finally had that Italian food I’d been looking forward to and slowly calmed down. 
After that I slept like a baby, but had to be up early to take my dad’s car on the 50 mile trek back to Long Island.  I called the Bellevue ICU and told them the news. My colleagues were amazingly supportive and offered to cover me while I was gone (the only sick day I would take in three years of training).
When I got back in the Caddy, the radio static was still roaring. I expected the car not to start, but surprisingly it turned over. I made it home and together with my dad, brought the car to the owner of a local auto body shop. I told him about the radio problem and looked confused when he asked for the keys and walked to the back of the car.  
WTF? Clearly the radio had been damaged from the frontal impact. 
He opened the trunk and right there--clear as day--was my brother’s boom box, which had slammed forward from the impact. It was turned on some random AM frequency, and was bellowing static with its speakers face up. I got the hairy eyeball, as he slammed the trunk shut, not even bothering to turn it off. I just looked down in embarrassment; things had to get better from here.

***
Living to tell: Neil and Tamara W. now.


Taking it to the Bridge: Grown Man Commentary 


Amid much controversy, the work hour rules for residency finally changed in 2003. Now, as Kim mentioned, they have changed again as of July 1, 2011. First year-fresh outta med schoolers (aka interns) will only be able to work 16 hours straight, whereas upper level residents can work longer. Is this a good thing? Certainly for the well-being of the trainees it is. The harder question is whether physicians will be as well trained and whether patients will be safer. Now I don’t want to be a hardliner and dare say that the hours we worked in training was an acceptable practice—it wasn’t. However, I also want to be clear (from the comments/questions raised in Duty Hours Part I) there are significant differences when comparing medicine to industries like trucking or aviation. When a driver passes over the truck keys or a pilot taxis into a gate there is very little information transfer required. Safety will be determined by the competency/alertness of the driver and a rudimentary checklist of operating systems. In medicine, information transfer is everything.
Getting to know a single patient with all their complexities takes time. When doctors have to leave the hospital they pass on this information in the form of a handoff. During that process as many as 10 patients may be handed over to the on call intern. That on call intern will then receive similar handoffs from 2 other doctors.  So you can see that information communicated during this period, if it is vague, poorly detailed or not thoroughly understood can mean all the difference in a patient’s outcome. Now envision that the on call intern who has received these handoffs needs to go home (16 hour rule in effect). That person will now have to handoff his own patients AND the ones he/she knows little about. It’s basically the telephone game with human lives in the balance. That is why critics of work hour restrictions believe we are simply trading one problem for another. They also worry about a “punching the clock mentality” which will erode professionalism.
The old way clearly needed changes but the pendulum may have just shifted too far in the other direction. It will be up to all of us in the medical community to design innovative strategies that maintain the rigorous standards of the profession while ensuring the safety of our patients.
 ***
Shout out to Neil W. for a great post--worthy of a Grady doctor fo' sho! (Now y'all know how we treat "company" when they come by to visit us. . . .drop a comment, why don't you?)
*** 
Now playing on Dr. Winawer's mental iPod. . . .
 
and still playing on mine. . . .


***
Happy Sabado, y'all.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Tales from The Fight Club: A Teaser

After your first call as an intern.


Well, it's July 8 and our interns are now one solid week into caring for patients.  As mentioned here before, we recently had some major changes in our rules for training that greatly limits the number of consecutive hours that interns can work.  I also said that, for the most part, change that allows for folks to get rest--in some capacity--is a good thing. Maybe not this much rest, but that's not the point of this post so I won't go any further with that.

Anyhoo.

Just wanted to tell y'all about a "first" that's about to take place on the-little-blog-that-could.  For the first time, I will be having a "guest poster" who just happens to be one of my favorite people in the whole-wide-Grady adding to the "Duty Hours Pre-Form" saga.  ("Duty Hours Pre-form" being my very witty take on the popular term "Duty Hours RE-form." W-ow, I'm so witty.)

Where was I? Oh yeah. . .a guest poster.

For the record. . . . even though you probably don't, I see this whole "guest" thing as kind of a big deal. For reasons based upon absolutely zero factual information, I have decided that when you have a guest blogger on your blog then you've officially arrived.  Ha.

Wait. Does it count if the guest just happens to be one of your best buddies?  Uuuuuhhhhh, excuse me? A guest is a guest.

Anyways.

Technically, this guy isn't exactly a guest. He's no stranger to this blog. In fact, he is so freakin' hilarious that I have included him in some of my favorite posts.  Who is this Grady doctor, pray tell? I will give you a clue:



You guessed it! None other than the Grady doctor who despite being in Atlanta is always in a New York state of mind, Neil W.!

Neil W. is not only one of the smartest people I have ever known, he also happens to be one of the most naturally funny. Don't let the fun spirit fool you though--this guy is one of the most decorated teachers at Emory and also excellent in front of the camera. Check him out here talking about how we're all going to drop dead from eating too much artificial food coloring:




Okay. . . .I know he's knowledgeable and all but seriously? The best part about Dr. Neil W. is this: Can this guy tell a story! He's my faculty mentor and honestly our meetings are half career related half story telling.  Seeing as we are both storytellers at heart and hard wired to be Grady doctors, this made us fast friends. (Not to mention the fact that he is the only other person I know who doesn't like cheese--but that's a whole different story.)


Anyways.

Stay tuned. I am finalizing the post this evening. Neil, who trained at the legendary Bellevue Hospital in NYC tells a tale that further underscores why the old school approach to residency training probably needed some revamping. . . . . interns, residents, and medical students listen up!

These are actually post call interns circa 1993.



I'll leave you with this thought about how I thought of some parts of pre-duty hours reform residency training.  Our rules were kind of like "The Fight Club Rules". . . .

#1 - The first rule of Fight Club is, you do not talk about Fight Club.
#2 - The second rule of Fight Club is, you DO NOT talk about Fight Club.
#3 - If someone says stop, goes limp, taps out, the fight is over.
#4 - Two guys to a fight.
#5 - One fight at a time.
#6 - No shirts, no shoes.
#7 - Fights will go on as long as they have to.
#8 - If this is your first night at Fight Club, you HAVE to fight.



Yeah. Kind of like that.

***
Stay tuned.  Oh, and if you want to read a few Neil W. shenanigans from this blog, just type "Neil W." into the search bar.  He's definitely been here before . . . . . .

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Where I'm From.

Warning: Extraordinarily random post ahead.
Literally where I'm from.
Okay.

Today I was thinking about my "Top Ten" and had nothing popping into my head worth listing. I put it on ice and decided to wait to be inspired. Well. . . .I didn't get inspired to make my top ten, but I did get inspired.

The inspiration came from a "blog meme" that I learned of while reading one of my favorite blogs this week and again today.

Before you ask what in the expletive-of-your-choice a "meme" is, I'll tell you. A "meme" is like an idea, a theme or a topic that somehow gets thrown out there that then goes viral. Well, not really viral per se. . .but an idea or thought that gets passed around. In the blog-writing world, a blog meme is something that prompts a topic on a blog. (Thanks for that definition, Ann!)

As it turns out, there's other memes, too. An internet meme might be that same email that everybody and their mama keeps asking you to forward to five thousand people, or some youtube video that no matter where you go, seems to be embedded in somebody's site--and that you just can't stop looking at.

Kind of like this one which I find equal parts horrible and hilarious:



Anyways.

My blog-friend (and author of the aforementioned) happens to be both a real blogger and a "stay-at-home-humorist" and she was the one who humored me with this . . . blog meme. . that she used for her last post. This meme--wait, can't we just say "theme?"--is called "Where I'm from" and its origin lies deep inside of a touchy-feely poem by George Ella Lyon (who I admittedly just heard of today but who does seem kind of cool.)

Okay. The way it works is that you make your own version of "Where I'm From" by including details applicable to you. Ann (the stay-at-home humorist ) shared this link that kind of explains how to do it in detail. (Thanks again, Ann.)

Yeah. So I read the details, reread Ann's post, felt inspired and decided to do it (since when it came to the top ten I had nothin.')

One of the things the description said about this exercise is that "the prompts have a way of drawing out memories of the smells of attics and bottom-drawer keepsakes."

Well. . . I don't know about all that, but I do know that Ann (the stay-at-home-humorist's) super witty version did make me laugh . . . . .and want take a crack at it. . . .




So here we are. Today, I bring you my version of "Where I'm From." And yeah, yeah I know today is supposed to be the Top Ten. . . but a girl has to go with her inspiration!



Drum roll please. . . . . .

***

Where I'm From: A Throwback Love Story
What you know about Chinese jump rope?
What you know about ice cream man?
What you know about Radio Raheem?

Where am I from?


Man. . . I'm from street lights that come on at dusk and butt-whoopin's if you don't get in the house before they do; from Skippy peanut butter and Welch's grape; from fried baloney sandwiches, Ramen noodles, and "breakfast for dinner."

I'm from green stucco houses sandblasted with precision, from one tree per lot, and from shorts on Christmas. I'm from metal swingsets that squeak from the rust that rubs off on your hands and pants but that still work just fine, and from go ask your mama if she can "loan" me a cup of sugar and some buttermilk.

I'm from "hot peas and butter!". . . from double-dutch on the corner from sun up to sun down with the good phone cord, from Chinese jacks, Chinese jumprope, and Chinese chicken salad. I'm from cornrows by my homegirl Bernetta complete with beads and tin foil on the end that let you swing your hair back and forth; I'm from sizzling Blue Magic under pressing combs in the kitchen and "hold yo' head still 'fore I burn you!"

I'm from Tom and Jerry, Schoolhouse Rock, and "Michael Jackson is on Soul Train!" I'm from "Damn! Damn! Damn!" after Florida lost James, from "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?" and getting socked in the eye real hard by a boy in my second grade class for calling him "Kunta"-- as in "Kunta Kinte" from Roots.
What you know about "Damn, damn, damn?"
What you know about Kunta Kinte and Chicken George?


I'm from concrete everywhere but beaches and mountains close by; from running after ice cream trucks that drive way too fast for kids to be around and sitting on the curb eating Now'n'Laters, Jolly Ranchers, and big fat dill pickles.

I'm from Rapper's Delight, La-di-da-di, backwards rollerskating, mean German shepherds named "King," and neighborhood drill teams. I'm from fights on the last day of school, from pop-locking at recess, beatboxing and breakdancing on cardboard boxes and yawning at sightings of Bloods and Crips.

I'm from family meetings, color coded chore assignments, and "Wake your behind up 'cause this kitchen is a mess"; from a pack of beef jerky for good grades and "Don't tell Daddy we got our progress reports, okay? 'Cause you got good grades and I got just okay grades, but not okay conduct and I really don't want a whoopin'."

I'm from Mudear, Sugar, Bunny, Skeeter, Boot, Chief, Pipes, and Bodena; from first, second, third and play cousins and from cross country road trips to Alabama in the back of a wood-paneled Plymouth station wagon.

I'm from "What did I say?" and from "the look" that made you close your mouth; from little penguins sewn onto homemade shirts in places curiously similar to alligators.

What you know about a double belt?

I'm from the Church of "Do Your Damn Homework and Clean Up That Damn Room"; from the "Every Blue Moon" ministry and the Figure-It-Out-For-Yourself Faith, and from "So what if I learned The Lord's Prayer from Prince's song "Controversy"--at least I know it!"

I'm from "I expected more out of you", "I'm so proud of you," and "I never expected anything less of you." I'm from standing ovations, T-ball coaches, PTA presidents, and "No, I can't skip class with you guys 'cause my daddy on the School Board."

I'm from consistent and predictable, from steadfast and selfless, from airtight hugs and kisses on the lips. I'm from historically black college graduates that seem exactly like the Huxtables and first ones to go to college that seem nothing like the Huxtables. I'm from perfect imperfection and a drive to always shoot for the stars that always was driven home.

Who me?

I'm from love. Yeah, man. That's where I'm from.

********
What you know about tinfoil on the end of your braids?


Hmmm. . . . that was actually kind of fun. Kind of like attic smells and bottom-drawer keepsakes even.

So tell me. . . . where YOU from? And no, Mom (aka the-typo-and-grammar-po'-po')-- I didn't mean to say "Where're" or "Where are" you from--I mean to say exactly what I said. Which was:

WHERE YOU FROM?

I can already think of several people whose version of this I'd LOVE to hear. . . . what you got?

***

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . . Digable Planets "Where I'm From"

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

The last word.

Annals of Internal Medicine, July 5, 2011


There was the most wonderful soul I had the chance to care for in the winter of 2010.  He was one of the loveliest human beings I've ever encountered, and he touched me deeply in my soul. Definitely an F.P. all-star of legendary proportions.

Anyways.  Although he passed away  from complications of cancer shortly after I cared for him, he left an indelible imprint on my heart.

My patient had immigrated to the states from Guatemala several years before and as it turns out, had earned both an M.D. and a Ph.D. in his home country.  He never had the chance to continue practicing in the states, but still. . . he was kind of a big deal.

I called him "Doctor." Because that's who he was--even though he wasn't in practice here--he was still a doctor. Two times over.  Doctor was the best. I'm talking the best of the best. He was wise and brave. . . .and scholarly. Would you believe that before he died he said, "I wished I could have had just one more publication in a medical journal."  Say what?

His health wouldn't allow him to write but I asked Doctor if I could write about him someday. He obliged.

Later on, I did write about him. Then I contacted his family and asked their permission to submit what I'd written for publication. I was so happy when they obliged.

So I aimed high and I sent it to the most high profile Internal Medicine journal I could. Hell, why not? And something beautiful happened next. . . .

The journal obliged, too.


And so. "The Lucky One" --the story of my experience caring for my dear, dear F.P., has officially been published. Right there in the most recent issue of The Annals of Internal Medicine.

Talk about feeling over the moon.

Man, I just know he is somewhere smiling. I just know he is. . . because this publication was his publication. And me? All I did was show up. 

***
Thank you, Doctor.

P.S.  The link to the story only gives an excerpt. Unfortunately I can't reproduce it full text right now, but will get a link to it as soon as it's authorized. If you have access or know any nerdy internists, just ask them to let you see their July 5 copy of the Annals and check out the "On Being a Doctor" section!

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

What remains.

*names and details changed to protect anonymity. . .yeah, yeah. . .you know the drill.
image from here


In Shel Silverstein's children's classic "The Giving Tree" he tells the story of a boy and his best friend, a tree. And though some people have real strong and sometimes negative feelings about the meaning behind this book--I mostly think the story is beautiful and selfless . . . .in that prodigal-son-kind-of-way, you know?

Kind of like many of the people who have given selflessly to me in my lifetime.


Anyways.

Early on, all that the tree has to offer the boy is obvious--outstretched branches for shade from the summer, sprawling limbs to climb, and ripe, juicy apples to eat. But later in that book the boy grows older. Eventually as an older man, the boy comes to the tree, who is now a stump.  At this point the tree feels convinced that he doesn't have what the boy is looking for but as it turns out his request is simple and doable; he wanted a place to sit.

Aaaaaah. 

My children are only six and four, so they generally need me for most things. I often wonder what things will be like when they grow older, and then secretly cross my fingers behind my back hoping they will always need me (but in that gainfully employed, fully independent kind of way, of course.) Just when I start to worry, I think of how much my parents have had to offer me in my adulthood and breathe a sigh of relief. And I tell myself of Isaiah and Zachary--of course, they'll need me.  Of course they will.

But raising up doctors is different. Especially resident doctors. They come to you as clinical babies, cooing and sometimes crying. Over those three to four years you stand behind them as they take their first steps, applaud their every achievement, place band-aids on their boo-boos, and offer tough love and redirection when they make mistakes.  Their learning trajectory is fast and furious, and one day, when you least expect it, they're just as tall as you.  Some even taller.

And so they grow. You sit across from them in clinic or stroll the wards on rounds realizing that your shoulders are at the same level. They speak of things cutting edge that just maybe you haven't heard yet and pull out electronics that perhaps you've never even seen. They prove to be responsible drivers so you let them drive sometimes without you, and when you do get in the passenger seat, you find yourself surprised at how well they can maneuver a five speed without your two cents. 

So you wonder. What can I do?  You've climbed my limbs and basked in my shade. What can I do?

Today I am reflecting on something that recently reminded me of the answer to that question.

image credit



Grady Hospital Primary Care Clinic, Spring 2011

"Okay, so we'll see how things go with diet and exercise in terms of his blood pressure. I think he's pretty motivated to work on shedding a few pounds."

"Didn't you say he had diabetes?" I asked with my eyes squinted.  With diabetes and a blood pressure reading of 161/94, "diet and exercise" didn't sound like the best game plan. At all.

I was slightly surprised considering who I was talking to. This resident was in the last half of his final year of training and usually gave such pristine patient presentations that I'd find myself grasping for teaching points. With some of our strongest trainees in the latter portions of their residencies, finding something to "teach" or "correct" can be downright intimidating. But this? This was odd.  And hearing this guy say that someone with diabetes and such poorly controlled hypertension should simply move more and eat less--without any medication changes--didn't quite make sense.

He sighed and looked down at the ink pen twirling nervously in his hand. "I know, Dr. M. But this guy?" He sighed again and chose his words carefully. "I mean, he's just. . .I mean he's totally against being put on more medication. I mean. . .and he's such a great patient. . .like. . .he really takes an interest in what's going on with his body. I just. . .I don't know. . .I just want to respect his wish and see what we can do without adding new medication that's all."

I stared at him and nodded slowly. My eyes then darted back over to the monitor displaying the patient's electronic medical record.  A few mouse clicks later and it was quickly confirmed that a conservative approach had been taken to his blood pressure at the last visit.  "Wow. His blood pressure wasn't controlled at this visit either." I scrolled downward and then brought up a page trending his blood pressures. Initially "borderline" but for the last two encounters, officially uncontrolled.

Next I moved to the page with lab values. Highlighted in bright red was one abnormal result--the patient's kidney function. I winced and peeked back at  my resident with an eyebrow raised.

"I know," he whispered. My resident pressed his lips together and shook his head.

I leaned my elbow on the counter and rested my chin in my hand. Keeping my eyes on him I said exactly what was on my mind. "Okay, I'm confused. What's going on?"

Because something was going on. This resident was an all-star. I was 100% certain that he knew the specific guidelines and the exact literature on management of high blood pressure in patients with diabetes and kidney disease. In fact, at this point he more than likely knew these kinds of details even better than me, his supervisory attending. So the question was simple. What was going on?

He shrugged his shoulders. "Dr. M? I need some help with this. Like help communicating," he finally said. "I mean. . .this patient is super nice, like I said. . .but so opinionated and firm in his resolve, you know? Like he's taking notes and asking questions and. . . it's hard to explain."

I nodded and waited for him to try.

"I think I want to. . . .like. . .I think it might help me to watch you talk to him. What I want to do is add a second medication.  He's maxed on an ACE inhibitor and I'd really like to add a calcium channel blocker. I mean, honestly? His cholesterol is slightly over goal, too, but I didn't even touch that today. I just didn't know how. He's not angry or difficult or anything. Just. . . .determined. I need help with this, Dr. M. Can I just watch you talk to him?"

And no, he wasn't throwing me under the bus. This all-star senior resident who could recite journals like the alphabet and conjure up obscure facts like a computer was asking me to teach him something. And it felt wonderful. Like that way I suppose parents feel when their kids are blossoming adolescents or savvy young adults but still come back for help with something simple. Or like in The Giving Tree when the boy just wanted to sit on the stump and that was it.

Watch me? Watch me talk to your patient and that's it?

And so I did my best to conceal the tiny wave of emotion that rolled over me and said, "Okay. I can try."



Mr. McCutcheon

When we came into Mr. McCutcheon's room, he immediately stood in deference. "Good morning, doctor!"

"Oh my," I laughed, "You don't have to stand!"

I liked his firm hand shake and pleasant demeanor.  My resident leaned against the sink as I initiated encounter.  With Mr. McCutcheon's permission, I repeated a few key elements of the examination and then gestured for him to sit down across from me.  The first thing I noticed on the desk was a neat stack of colorful papers.

"What is this, sir?" I inquired.

He turned two of the sheets around to face me.  One was a computerized graph of his blood sugars which had been beautifully controlled.  The other was just as colorful and consisted of two months worth of blood pressure readings, all averaging somewhere between 140's and 160's systolic (top number) and 80's to high 90's diastolic (bottom number.)

"This is amazing."  I said that because it was amazing.  I decided then to cut to the chase. "Mr. McCutcheon, sir, it's my understanding that you and your doctor have been trying to avoid adding more medications."

"Correct.  I lost four pounds since the last visit, and just started a walking club a few months back. I cut out bread and it's been going well. I am pretty sure I can do without another medication if I keep this up."  His face was still pleasant and just like my resident said, motivated.  Nothing about him was confrontational or difficult. Just. . . determined.

"I see."  I picked up the sheet with the blood pressure readings on it, and beneath that was a piece of notebook paper with a few notes he'd taken.  "I'd bet you were a good student during your school days."

"You know, Dr. Manning? I just always loved learning. Always.  School didn't come easy to me, but I always tried hard, you know?  My mama always said that I was hungry to learn."  He chuckled a bit, which made the redundant folds on his chin shake a little.

"Okay, Mr. McCutcheon. . . well that gives me an idea on how we can proceed."  He looked a little puzzled for a moment, but mostly intrigued.  I pulled out my pen and grabbed a sheet of blank paper. He scooted up his chair and craned his neck to show that he was fully engaged.  "What I want to do is talk about your visit as I would to another doctor or a medical student. Is that okay?"

His face lit up as he nodded in the affirmative. He reached for a steno pad out of his bag in case he needed to take more notes which warmed my heart.

And so the lesson started. First I explained to him the classifications for hypertension or high blood pressure. I wrote at the top of the paper--PRE-HYPERTENSION, STAGE I HYPERTENSION and STAGE 2 HYPERTENSION. "Once the top number or systolic is consistently160 or more, this is stage 2. And the thing I always remember about stage 2 is that 'two means two.'"

"What does that mean?" Mr. M stopped from his notetaking to ask.

"It basically means that if you have stage 2 hypertension, you almost always will need at least two medications to treat it." He nodded to show me that he was with me. "Okay, but now here's a more tricky part. You have diabetes, sir. Your last lab work also showed that your kidneys have weakened just a little bit--not so much that it is terribly alarming--but it's something we need to pay attention to. Were you aware of this?"

"Yes, ma'am, my doctor told me. Does that mean dialysis or what does that mean?"

"No, it definitely isn't at that point. See, we look at this test called the creatinine. It's something your body breaks down from muscle and your kidneys should be able to filter it out. We check the blood to see the level of the creatinine and if it creeps up, we know that filter is off some. Your number was 1.6. It really should be under 1.4.  Since we know that diabetes and high blood pressure affect your kidneys, experts recommend that we get pretty hard core when it comes to getting blood pressure down in people with both diabetes and kidneys that are getting weaker. We call the weaker kidneys 'nephropathy.'"

"Like a nephron, right? A kidney cell?"

"Exactly, sir. Exactly." I drew in a sigh and continued.  In block numbers I wrote a 140 and a 130 on the sheet with a big arrow next to the 130.  "In people without diabetes, we want to see the top number under 140.  But in people with diabetes and especially with diabetic nephropathy, that number needs to be even lower." I drew an 'x' over the 140 and circled the 130.

"Like under 130?"

I nodded.  From there I even launched into cholesterol guidelines and how they relate to heart disease prevention in diabetics and simple things like taking a daily aspirin. Mr. McCutcheon hung onto every word and yes, his mama was right--he was hungry to learn it all. "So here's what I need you to do for me.  With the student doctors and resident doctors, this is the point where I ask them to tell me what should be the next step in the treatment plan. I want you to take a second to look at your notes. Then look over this blood pressure graph you brought in, your cholesterol level and at your medications. Now what I want you to do for me is tell me how you would manage yourself as a patient if you were the doctor--not based on what you want, but now that you know what you know. You are the doctor trying to prevent a patient from getting worsening kidney function or heart disease."

And you can guess what happened next. Mr. McCutcheon obliged me--big time.  Over the next three minutes, he looked over those notes and jotted things down on his paper. He circled things and drew arrows and scratched the side of his head.  Finally, I playfully told him that his time was up.

"Okay, doc, tell me how you have assessed this patient and what you plan to do for him." We both smiled, feeling connected during our little role play.

My was he a great sport.  Mr. McCutcheon broke everything down and then some. He told me that his 'patient' had stage 2 hypertension, yet was only on one agent.  He explained that 'two means two' and that although the patient was reluctant to do so, the right thing to do was add another medicine. Then he added that if the patient continued losing weight, that maybe we could revisit it. Genius! Next he told me that having 'sugar' is like having had a heart attack before so the cholesterol level needs to be lower.  "The LDL," he said firmly, "and just remember that the 'L' stands for 'lousy' because that's the bad one."

I glanced up at my resident for the first time during the encounter whose face was painted with a big, proud smile.  Mr. McCutcheon recommended that in addition to the daily aspirin to protect the patient's heart that it's time for us to go ahead and get him on some cholesterol medication, too.  But of course, if he keeps losing weight, we could revisit that, too.

And so, that's exactly what we did. We followed every one of Mr. McCutcheon's recommendations and he willingly accepted them all.  It was one of the greatest patient-doctor communication moments I've had in a very long time.

When clinic ended that day, my resident pulled me to the side. "Thank you so much for taking all that time with Mr. McCutcheon, Dr. Manning.  You have no idea how much I learned.  But you know what? I always learn something when we work together."

You do?  


See? The person who criticized "The Giving Tree" missed the point. They misunderstood it all, thinking that the tree gave and gave but got nothing in return. . . .

Au contraire, mon frère.

Yes. There's something in it for us. We are more than just old stumps . . . and no matter how much time goes by, our branches are still sprawling and fit for climbing whether we realize it or not.

***
Happy Tuesday. May you, too, be a giver that takes the time to also recognize the gift.

***

Oh yeah, and if after all that you are still feeling like reading-slash-goofing off-slash-not studying-slash-not working-slash-whatever important thing you are supposed to be doing instead of reading my ramblings, you might enjoy this post from last year (full of more ramblings) on "The Gospel According to Shel Silverstein." ('Cause I love me some Shel Silverstein, y'all.)

Monday, July 4, 2011

The Village People.


Dear Mommy and Daddy,

Having a nice time. Wish you were hear here.
Love,

Isaiah and Zachary

 ___________________________________________________________________________

 Picture it: Two little boys, one tireless and hard core granddad, and one fanny pack full of Chapstick, Band-aids, and snacks.  . . .


Next, picture this:

Four weeks of uninterrupted spoiling in California--far away from Mommy and Daddy.  One trip to Legoland on one day followed by one visit to the The San Diego Zoo the next day, divided by one San Diego hotel with two pools that of course, you can go swimming in at seven o'clock in the morning, of course you can--and that's just within the first three days.

Yep. It's that time of year again.

2009 - curbside service


"Camp PaPa" -- the west coast sleep away camp that includes front door child pickup, flight arrangements, reading lessons, haircuts, swimming lessons, and (on at least two occasions) 100% guar-own-teed potty-training-on-demand. Yep. Camp PaPa is as good as it sounds.

The best part of Camp PaPa, though, is that it includes hefty doses of the stuff that helped me to grow up feeling whole and alright with myself.  You know--all the stuff that makes you think that what you have to say is worth hearing and that your best effort is definitely worth giving because it can amount to something good.


This year is Camp PaPa 2011--the fourth year the boys have gone and the most special one to date.  Why is that, you ask? Simple. Isaiah is six and Zachary is almost five. I know for certain that it's the first one that they will both remember.

Sure, they'll see the pictures from the others, but this one? They will be able to see in clear sight. And yeah, that memory might be fuzzy and run into the other years, but you know? I'd say that's a good thing.

I just want them to remember. For themselves.

Camp PaPa 2011  - Legoland


Someone asked me, "Four weeks! Aren't you sad about them being gone for that long?"

My answer? "Kinda-sorta-but-not-really."

Firecracker day 2008
Lights out.

And that's the truth. Because I miss them yes, but honestly? I know it takes a village to raise a child and that my village was a good one. One of the most important parts of mine (my amazing mother) is less than thirty minutes north of Atlanta, so fortunately my kids get meaningful time with her on a regular basis. But I also know that one of the other most pivotal huts in that same village just happens to be more than 2,000 miles away in California and just happens to be that very unusual combination of willing, able. . . and trustworthy. So for the past four summers they've gone 2,000 miles to their grandfather's hut for the impact that only that kind of time can give. Which means, as a parent, sometimes you just have to be a little bit sad.

Kinda-sorta-but-not-really, that is.


Camp PaPa 2011


You know what else? If both living for forty and a half years and being a Grady doctor have taught me nothing else, it's taught me this:  Whether we like it or not, the village is ever-evolving. The village people come and sometimes, when we least expect it, they go. Morbid, I know, but true indeed. Yeah. When they do go, the best you can offer are stories under a shaded tree of who they were and what they taught and what they meant to the little village kids listening.

That relies on memories and experiences so rich in detail that with a little effort someone can weave into tales that bring them back to life. So that's why, if you can,  it's good to remember. For yourself.

My sweet mother-in-law lives in Cleveland and gets down here for wonderful visits when her work schedule allows. If I could move her to Atlanta, I so would, and---I am not kidding---would dance a jig if she were moving today. Because she, too, is a part of our village. . . .and of their village.

Harry's father passed away before I or our boys ever got the chance to know him. Aaaah, but the memories and the experiences Harry's father left behind? Priceless.  And thank God Harry has those memories. For himself. For his village. For theirs.

Learning to "skip rocks" -- Firecracker Day 2010

Sometimes those village people are living and are breathing and are still able to create their own stories.  They're right there in your face or up the road or on Skype or sometimes could be there but require planes, trains and automobiles to see and touch and know. And effort, too.

So, if it's important to you, you do it while you can. . . even if it means loosening the reins a bit and being a little bit melancholy on Firecracker Day. And you know what? It is important to me.

I hope someday it will be important to them, too.

I think it will.



Camp PaPa - 2010

 Yeah.  I guess I could be sad to be away from my kids on the fourth of July. But seriously? How can I be?

Just how?


Some fireworks never end.

May your day be filled with the richest of memories, with the brightest of fireworks and of course, with mischief of one kind or another.

***
Happy Firecracker Day, y'all.