In an Age of Terrorism, do Something!

Here we go again.  In London three are dead and many injured thanks to the low-tech use of a car and knife in yet another act of cruelty and cowardice in the name of terrorism.  If you’ve been on a retreat, in a coma or hiking the AT, here’s a link:

http://www.bbc.com/news/live/uk-39355505

Brits rise up in unity and solidarity, etc.  Great.  We should all show unity and solidarity.  But we should all be able to DO something since the political class as a whole, around the world, seems to think the whole terrorist thing is like a teenage phase and has nothing to do with any particular belief, ideology or policy.  Witness the endless handwringing we usually see as police and officials struggle to figure out the attacker’s motivation.  ‘Gee, what could it be?’

Fortunately, the Brits have put more police on the streets.  ‘Armed and unarmed.’  It’s a great strategy really.  One of the dead was an unarmed police officer who clearly distracted the attacker and absorbed the knife so that others could use, you know, weapons to aid him in his pursuit of martyrdom.

I rant on.  But what I want to say is this.  We individuals cannot predict terroristic acts, and we certainly can’t stop them before they start. That’s the job of law enforcement and the military.  We can only do what we can, when these events happen, if we happen to be present.

So I’ve been thinking about things people should know how to do.  First of all, we should know how to PAY ATTENTION!  I have recently seen a commercial for a cellular company in which a young man streams movies and TV everywhere he goes, on the street, on the sidewalk, on the bus. The world around being, apparently, just too boring.  This is dangerous.  We should watch and learn.  Is that a suspicous package?  What does it mean that smoke is coming from under the hood of that parked car in the crowded area?  Is that a real gun the scary man pulled out?  Or is it just an oddly shaped, giant cell-phone? Why is that gentleman speeding towards me on the sidewalk?  Wait, am I on an episode of Impractical Jokers?  Paying attention to danger leads to running or fighting which leads to being the guy interviewed the next day about what happened, instead of the one remembered as ‘a really great guy who will be missed.’

We should also read.  Learn, from news, books, websites and classes, how to identify concerning behaviors and situations.  What does a firearm sound like?  What does a bomb blast look-like? (Clue, TV and movies get it wrong a lot.)  It’s easy to hear or see something dangerous and immediately think it’s nothing; we want it to be nothing, after all.

One of the sites I visit is Active Response Training. They have lots of articles about self-defense, as well as reviews of mass terror events, etc.  They also have excellent classes; I’ve taken one myself many years ago.

http://www.activeresponsetraining.net

Furthermore we should stop being lazy slugs and get in shape.  Sheesh, America, there are lots of great reasons to be fit; being attractive to your mate or potential mate is a good one.  So is living long and staying away from ER doctors like me.  But another is that when you are fit, you can run and fight.  This isn’t some right-wing way of looking at things.  It’s called an ‘evolutionary advantage.’   Run, bike, lift weights, hit the punching bag.  Do it until you’re exhausted then do it some more.  Say it with me:  Fitness = Survival.  It isn’t hard.

As a child I loved the Chuck Jones cartoon production of Rudyard Kipling’s mongoose story, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi.  In the movie, Rikki the Mongoose says:  ‘A fat mongoose is a dead mongoose.’ That is, a fat mongoose can’t fight poisonous snakes.  I’ve never forgotten that lesson. Thanks Rikki!  And thanks Mr. Kipling!  (Not sure if it’s in the book, but the cartoon message really impacted this kid…)

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So what else can we do in an age of terrorism?  Emergency physicians like me understand  how to manage serious injuries, but we need to encourage citizens to learn 1) first aid with hemorrhage control and 2) CPR.  CPR classes are everywhere and typically include use of Automated External Defibrillators or AED’s.  In fact, in trauma situations like those involving terrorism, CPR and AED’s are probably not going to be very useful.  But it’s good to know for other sorts of emergencies.

DHS has a website and initiative called ‘Stop the Bleed.’  It’s worth a look as there are training videos.  Many companies also sell bleeding control kits that citizens can, and I think should, keep in their vehicles or on their persons.  A tourniquet and dressing don’t take up much space.

https://www.dhs.gov/stb-learn-how-stop-bleed

I would encourage young people to consider taking local First Responder or EMT basic classes.  It’s information you’ll never regret having, and it looks great on a resume.

We need a veritable army of first responders out there, ready to help while police and EMS are either tied up, on their way or being attacked themselves.  Physicians should be part of the effort to teach this material as well.

Last, but not least.  Those so inclined should learn to fight.  Obviously, the average person isn’t Rambo or an Army Ranger.  Most of us will never be up the the level of an MMA fighter.  But it may not take all that.  MInd you, self-defense classes can be absolute crap.  Especially the stuff they foist on nurses and physicians in order to handle attackers and dangerous patients (since security is usually told not to touch anybody…).

And self-defense skills need repetition like all motor skills.  But those people who want to learn can learn.  Learning to fight, whether boxing, wrestling, martial arts, etc., is hard, painful work.  It isn’t for everyone.

.However, sometimes, it takes just a willingness to do something, or anything. I saw a video this week in which a citizen and CWP holder shot, and killed, a man who was holding down a police officer and beating said officer badly.  Now, he was armed with a pistol, but might just as well have used the shovel I keep in my truck to hit the guy on the head.  Or might have thrown a rock.  Or picked up a stick.

In a building, a fire-extinguisher might be just enough delay and distraction.  A can of wasp and hornet spray kept in the office is mighty nasty stuff if sprayed in the face.

If so inclined, as many of us are (and far more physicians, nurses, medics, etc. than you might imagine), carry (legally) a firearm or reasonable knife.  If the attacker is bent on killing you anyway, can you do worse than fight?  You may slow him (or her…sorry). You might keep them from killing anyone after they kill or maim you.  Or, if you’re in good shape and have trained in some sort of class or fighting discipline (or just get really lucky…or have angels fighting with you), you might win!  Sure, sure, people will call you a monster.  But lives will be saved.

It’s a dangerous world, and always has been. But there are things we can do to make it less so.

Sitting back while the danger grows with our fear, apathy and inability?

Those are just bad options.

So:  Put down the phone, pay attention, read and learn, get in shape, learn to help the injured and learn (or at least consider) how to resist.  America, heck, civilization, needs this now more than ever.

 

 

Back Pain, a Prisoner and a Lenten Reminder of Mercy

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She was large, and heavily tattooed.  She was in a striped uniform with handcuffs, her feet shackled. She sobbed because of her back pain.  Her life a long history of mistakes and bad choices; alcohol, drugs, criminality.  Her family, husband and children, a victim of her lifestyle, her addictions, her misdeeds.

They can’t have narcotics in jail, and in fact, narcotics don’t have much role in back pain, we’re finding.  But in jail, she lay on a thin mattress on a concrete pad.  Getting up and lying down were, she said, agonizing.

Was she lying?  Her drug screen positive for amphetamine, it was possible.  The officer with her said, ‘I’ve known her for 15 years.  This is her. Crying and moaning. But what if she really has pain?  It’s tough doc.’

It’s tough for sure.  Knowing as I did that if she went back to jail, she might really be suffering. Knowing, also, that she had a reported history of heart disease even though she was only  in her 30s.  Knowing that she would surely come back with chest pain or back pain, legitimate or illegitimate, if nothing were done.

Ultimately, after two visits, she seemed worse.  She seemed to have difficulty standing.  Her sobs continued.  Her officer and I sympathetic but worried about being tricked.  She was given pain meds and transferred for an MRI.  Maybe there was something going on in her spinal cord. Maybe a hematoma, maybe an abscess.  Who knew?

Here is the conundrum of compassion, as it were.  The compassionate will be cheated, fooled, and lied to.  This is life in the ER. This is life on earth.  The right thing is often, in the rear-view-mirror, exactly the wrong thing, as those who fool us laugh and drive away.

But we have the last laugh.  Because the right thing is just that.  The right thing.  And it’s a great lesson here in the Lenten season.  To show kindness, to give mercy, to expect to be the butt of the joke, the patsy, these are all the ‘price of doing business,’ when our business is being like Jesus.

I believe she had pain, but even if she lied to me, even if she gamed me, it’s OK.   I’m not offended.  She was vulnerable. She was wounded. She was broken.  She was a prisoner. And here’s what Isaiah, God’s prophet, said about captives and prisoners.  And notice, no mention of guilt, or of punishment deserved or earned.  Isaiah 61: 1-3

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,a
2to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
3and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord
for the display of his splendor.

Jesus said the same thing at the beginning of his ministry.  Luke 4: 16-21.

Jesus returned to Galilee in the power of the Spirit, and news about him spread through the whole countryside. 15 He was teaching in their synagogues, and everyone praised him.

16 He went to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and on the Sabbath day he went into the synagogue, as was his custom. He stood up to read, 17 and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him. Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written:

18 “The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
19 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”[f]
20 Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fastened on him. 21 He began by saying to them, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”

In this passage is healing and liberty.  And nobody is a ‘jailbird’ or ‘scumbag’ or ‘crook’ or ‘junkie.’  Jesus wants to offer this to all.

This Lenten season, can I do any less?  I, a captive of sin as all of us are, delivered and healed? I with blind eyes, seeing clearly thanks to my redemption?  God knows if I lie to him, if I try to trick him. And loves me anyway.

And if it takes showing mercy to the meth-using prisoner with back pain to honor the mercy I received, well it’s a small price to pay.

Edwin

The Women and Men who Love Emergency Physicians

This is my February 2017 column in Emergency Medicine News. Now, doctor, go hug your  husband or wife.

http://journals.lww.com/em-news/Fulltext/2017/02000/Life_in_Emergistan__The_Women_and_Men_Who_Love_EPs.20.aspx

When I go to work I take a lot of things with me. Everyone has their ritual, right? I take my backpack with my computer inside. I take my phone. I take charging cords, the true modern life-line. I take lunch. I carry a pen, flashlight and pocket-knife.
On a more abstract level, I take the wonderful education I received as a medical student and resident, coupled with my years of experience as a physician. I take my drug-store +2 diopter glasses, not only to read and suture but equally important, to look venerable and wise.
But I take something else. It’s certainly as important as all of the other stuff, if not more so in the long run. I take the love and support, encouragement and care of my wife Jan. Now mind you, this is not some hyper-sentimental claptrap. A spouse, for better or worse, is part and parcel, warp and woof of our lives. And in the best of circumstances (which I enjoy), my dear bride gives me encouragement, laughter, stability, passion and the not-so-rare kick in behind when I’m lazy, whiny or grumpy. (As I am so often wont to be.)
She reminds me of my priorities, reassuring me that I matter to her and the children however I may feel. She reminds me that feelings are often terrible lies. (A lesson we would all do well to remember.) In times past she has guided me through career changes because she could sense my unhappiness and dissatisfaction. This is because she loves me and knows what I need; often better than I do. In short, she is my most dedicated advocate.
While I work in the ED, she works hard to manage the children (rather, the teens who require more diligence than mere children.) She looks after the family finances, a thing which is useful in keeping me out of prison for delinquent taxes and in keeping the banker away from the door so that we keep our home.
And in order to keep me moving forward through busy, difficult runs of shifts, she ensures that I have things to look forward to with family when she does our ‘master schedule.’ Even though two of our children are in college, she tries to arrange family events around my days off so that I don’t feel left out. In addition, so that I can enjoy our life together for a long time to come, she takes me to the gym. She sometimes makes me plank. I hate to plank but I do it.
This might sound, to the modern ear, as if my wife is living out some sort of domestic indentured servitude. It is not. It is teamwork. It is unity. It is covenant. We are one. We have common cause in our marriage and offspring.
The result of her remarkable effort is that when I go to work, I can focus on my job. I can carry the love and care I feel at home into the exam room, into the resuscitation room. I am secure and happy. This makes me a far more effective, calm, satisfied physician than I would otherwise be.
Thus, I make the money that we share equally as partners. Not only in our personal corporation but in our lives. I don’t get paid for me; I get paid for us and for ‘clan Leap’ as a whole.
When I come home from work, I come home to smiles, hugs and a welcome-home kiss. I come home to laughter and dinner, or date-night. To stories of her day, and the many other lives she touches, in our family and beyond it.
Sometimes I come home to strategic family planning sessions. Occasionally I come home to a tired or angry or sad wife and it’s my turn to be the one in the supporting role. My turn to fuss at teenagers or call about car insurance claims. My turn to shoo her to bed early and manage things. My turn, on days off, to send her for sanity breaks.
Those of us who are married, or in long-term committed relationships (which we in the South call a common-law marriage) must admit that without our wives or husbands, this whole gig would be much harder, and much more lonely than it is with our dear ones. Furthermore, that the patients we care for are touched and loved on, vicariously, by those who love us. Their role is not subordinate but intrinsic.
Through me, through our marriage bond, every sick child in my care has my wife’s eyes looking down on it gently. Every struggling nursing home patient has some of her kindness. Every difficult, irritable complainer has her patience and every smart-aleck teenager (or grouchy consultant) has her raised eyebrows and crossed arms gazing firmly on their behavior.
All of us owe so much of our professional lives to the women and men brave and loving enough to stay with us through all of our stupid, arrogant, surly behaviors. And to those men and women, let me just say: you are as much a part of our practices as we are. Thank you for being the other half, the silent partner, standing invisibly by us as we do the hard work of medicine.
We couldn’t do it half so well without you.

Life and Limb: the Rural ER

Welcome, readers, to my new column in the Daily Yonder!  It will concern rural emergency medicine and things I see through that particular lens.  Have a great day and feel free to share liberally!  I’m honored by the Daily Yonder to be included on their team, dedicated to all things rural.

Life & Limb: In Rural E.R., Exams Include the Obvious Questions, Like ‘Did You Get a Turkey?’

What Jesus would do, and say, today…

My most recent Greenville News column.

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2017/02/10/commentary-some-thoughts-what-jesus-would-do/97743538/

Some thoughts on what Jesus would do today 

(As we all grow more and more divided and arrogant in our views.)
Given the current political climate, a lot of our citizens are reasonably sure they know exactly what Jesus would do if he were here now. I happen to have a few thoughts on that topic myself.
It seems to me that first and foremost he’d disappoint us all by not debating the way we do. He’d actually love the people he was talking with, and want the best for everyone. Screaming matches and endless point-counterpoint were never his thing, or so it appears in the scriptures.
I think that while everyone was trying to convince everyone else about their opinion (and not changing anybody’s mind), he’d be on some street-corner healing sick people. And he’d be doing it in a way that was so dramatic people would think he was a charlatan. ‘There’s no way that paralyzed kid can walk now! It’s just a trick to convince simple-minded, unscientific people!’ That’s what some would say. And Jesus would keep right on healing cancer, HIV, gunshot wounds, schizophrenia and other awful problems.
And those people who were so full of inner pain that they wanted to die, and kept thinking that they had no worth? He’d heal their pain, and cast out demons from them. That’s what the Bible says he did, anyway. He said he was God and he taught about things like demons. People probably wouldn’t like that much; neither atheist skeptics or solid, staid, educated Christians. But the people he healed would love it.
Of course, he’d talk to people at the marches, the rallies, in the halls of legislatures and in the churches. Unlike our milquetoast, pale-faced images of gentle Jesus from Bible story-books, he would sometimes look (and be) angry. Angry about injustice and cruelty, angry about the neglect of the needy. He would also be angry about false teachers and others who robbed men and women of faith in God and left them nothing to comfort them. As before he would be angry at anyone who led others to sin. Occasionally, he would be sarcastic and insulting. He’d have harsh words for lots of pastors and sanctimonious believers. Read the Bible; it’s how he was.
Our many-flavored hatreds would give him plenty of fuel for parables, in order to guide us to the truth. But he would also be unhappy about the division and ideas heaped on people that leave them feeling worthless. Like the idea that humans are a scourge, a virus on earth. Or the obsession with hungry, sick animals while children face the same. And the way men and women are weighed down with one of two burdens, endless victimhood and its chiral image, the belief that some people’s ‘privilege’ causes all the world’s problems. He came to liberate everyone from beliefs that imprisoned them. He condemned religious leaders in his day for giving people burdens but not helping carry them; he would do the same for modern politicians and educators, ministers and mullahs who create anger, tension and violence in order to control and manipulate others.
Obviously, would talk about ‘sin,’ from greed to sexual immorality to idolatry and all the rest. He talked about those things a lot. He’d preach about the coming Kingdom of God and eternal life and redemption and judgment. He was serious about sin, but kind to all sinners, right, left and moderate. Conquering sin and death was his main mission, after all.
That would be just about enough for lots of folks. Because they didn’t come to be pressured about morals or lectured about their personal lives or told stupid fairy tales; they came for justice! For revolution! And they’d ask him to leave. Or maybe scream at him, because it’s what we do when we’re angry and sure we are right.
Ever the gentleman he would leave if asked. But before Jesus left, he might remind all of the passionate, angry people of what he said before:
“You have heard that it was said, ‘love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes the sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.’
It seems to me that in his absence he remains present, and his teachings still condemn our hatred 2000 years down the road. If only we’ll listen.

A Happy Family and God’s Beautiful, Abominable Creatures

Call me Dr. Doolittle…

Once upon a time, a loving couple moved from the cold, bleak land of Indiana to South Carolina and bought a house in the woods. It was a lovely first home, and they enjoyed all their time in the house. While they were there, they learned about the beauty of nature; the birds, the raccoons, the deer; the ice storms that shattered trees, the flash floods, the brush fires, the stray dogs trapped in the creek, the giant hornets nests in the woods. It was beautiful all around. Nature is awesome!

Then, after they had brought four amazing children into the world, they said to one another: ‘What the heck! Let’s move further into the wilderness!’ And they had someone build them a house of logs, high on a hill near the state forest. While it was being built, they discovered rattlesnakes. Which are natures wonderful creatures. And soon after it was built and they moved in, they learned about wild hogs. Just one more amazing thing in the yard.

In time, the family learned all about the veritable Noah’s Ark that their home had become. Having grown up without scorpions (how poor life was!), the family learned to shake out shoes and watch where they stepped. Inside the house as well as outside. Gradually, centipedes stopped in. ‘Hello human family, we’re God’s creatures too! And we sting like everything else! Welcome!’ By now the family was not only amazed but mildly annoyed. They learned the centipedes are much harder to kill than scorpions. They felt sad doing it. The first time.

A charming family of giant rats lived under the porch. Such a cute family! And they set the dogs on them, who went to work with canine glee. The dogs later made peace with most of the forest creatures and started to completely ignore them.

One magnificent, exciting year, the family saw a cute little lady-bug (or what they thought was a lady-bug) in the kitchen. And the next day they woke to find, oh, about ten-bajillion of them hanging out all around the house and in the house and in their food and bathroom and on the windows and drapes. Some in the family, it turns out, were allergic to them and wheezed and developed rashes. But oh they were so cute. The family sprayed a chemical around the doors and windows that, years later, still seems to kill the creatures and probably cause cancer.

The house in summer was all abuzz with wonderful things. Carpenter bees slowly, with great dedication, began to bore holes all over the wooden beams of the big log house. The children made great sport of swatting carpenter bees with badminton rackets. It didn’t really help, but a dead bug is, well, you know. Eventually it is believed that the house, like a great building of brittle Swiss cheese, will collapse and kill everyone. Except the bugs, that is! Isn’t that wonderful? Nature…who knew?

Later, various wasps began to engineer amazing nests on the log house; which then developed into entire wasp civilizations. The wasps loved the house, and the family, so much that sometimes they went to bed with them and took showers with them! Stinging is like hugging to wasps. Except it really isn’t. The people engaged in campaigns to kill all the wasps, and enrich pesticide companies. The wasps are silly and always come back. The wasps live in the attic above the bedrooms too. We’re all a family.

Then stink-bugs came, and what a joy! They sing their happy, buzzing sounds all day and night, inside and out, and land in cooking food and brewing tea and onto the hair of unhappy females in the house. And when smushed, they smell terrible! What fascinating little nightmares. The family was told that stinkbugs prey on ladybugs. Isn’t that just a kick in the pants?

Lately, above the bedrooms, there have been noises. Adorable, furry bats have appeared in the big log house on the hill. Flying around inside the house, dropping onto the table. What incredible creatures! They are, apparently, rooming with flying squirrels. Will either of them eat the stink bugs?

The family still loves nature. Maybe, part of loving God’s critters is being in a constant struggle with them. At least then you learn about them in person, not from some sterile display or chapter in a book.

Maybe, just maybe, an apartment in the city would be nice sometimes. Because the creatures, so far, are winning.

Sanitized Human Experience in a Reality Challenged Culture

 

My column in today’s Greenville News.

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2017/01/27/commentary-hollywood-sanitizing-human-experience-reality-challenged-culture/97136066/

I love a good action movie. I tend to prefer the Marvel franchise over DC. I think Superman is too perfect and Batman just too moody. I mean, which rich guy would you rather party with? Bruce Wayne or Tony Stark? Exactly.
But I have always been amazed at the amount of destruction wrought by my beloved X-men and Avengers when battling monsters, aliens, gods and other ne’er do wells. Buildings and freeways and bridges destroyed, untold cars exploding, earthquakes and giant holes in the ground. It’s apocalyptic! In fact, if that were really happening, the toll of human dead would be staggering. Tony Stark could probably make a fortune selling coffins, and ER docs like me would be overwhelmed.
Movies like that are obviously meant to be outlandish; and to take your hard-earned vacation money. But I fear that television and movies sanitize too much of our bitter human experience, making misery somehow palatable.
Take regular action films for instance. Whatever the underlying story, it seems that gun-fights are everywhere! Bullets fly in all directions. Then, at the end of it all, bystanders aren’t injured. Nobody lies moaning or screaming for help. We don’t see the pools of blood spreading across the ground, the skin becoming more clammy, more pale as police call for an ambulance, as the paramedics or surgeons try frantically to stop the flow. We don’t see, or hear, the family member of the dead when they’re told what happened. I’ve done that a bunch and it’s something you never, ever forget. Scenes like that don’t make for fun entertainment.
In our movies nobody sees survivors, good and bad, condemned to paralysis, or with colostomies or amputations from those exciting gun-fights. What about characters punched and kicked to a pulp, their faces bloodied until they can’t breathe? They get chronic headaches, brain damage, vision problems, inability to chew or smell. I have seen them die too.
But we’re oblivious to more than real violence. When we watch trials and cheer for justice, when we want this or that person to go to prison for their crime, we sometimes forget that the imprisoned don’t see their families much, and their families miss them for years, or for life. And let’s not forget that prison, real prison, is a place where violence, rape and drug addiction are far too common.
I hate it when someone says, ‘guess he’ll get it good in prison; I hope he enjoys his cell-mate,’ or some other bit of cruelty. It’s never OK to wish for someone to be raped, male or female. Ever. Although prison has a necessary role, maybe we need to revisit the boundary between punishment and torture. We should want better for even the worst; especially if we call ourselves Christian.
There are others disconnects, of course. When characters in movies have multiple sexual partners, it looks like nothing but fun to modern, sexually liberated viewers. But we seldom see the misery of loneliness that comes from all of those connections, made and broken. Films and television do a poor job of showing us the pain and terror of HIV or hepatitis, the anxiety of unplanned pregnancy and the reality of abortion. They fail to reveal the suffering brought by cervical cancer associated with HPV. The don’t show the tears shed over infertility caused by chlamydia or gonorrhea infections; the danger to newborns caused by herpes. It’s also hard to fathom the fact that many who work in pornography are miserable in heart, mind and body, and some around the world are compelled to do it against their will, working as sex slaves.
On screen, getting drunk is just what you do. We have all laughed at intoxicated characters, for as long as actors have played them. But we seldom consider the mortality and disability from car crashes. We rarely think about the way men and women die from head injuries or asphyxiation due to alcohol or drug abuse. We don’t get to witness the abuse and neglect of children, the cruelty to spouses, the lost hope, lost productivity and broken families from both.
We have to remember that what we see in movies and television is seldom the whole story. Sometimes, the truth is better. And sometimes, unfortunately, the reality is a lot worse, and far darker than the screenwriter, producer or director can ever, or would ever, convey to our entertainment soaked, reality challenged culture.

Once Upon a Time in Medicine

Gather round kids! Let Grandpa Doctor Leap tell you a few things about the old days of doctoring in the emergency room…

Back in the good old days, medicine was what we liked to call ‘fun.’  Not because it was fun to see people get sick or hurt or die, but because we were supposed to do our best and people didn’t wring their hands all the time about rules and lawyers.  Sometimes, old Grandpa Leap and his friends felt like cowboys, trying new things in the ER whether we had done them before or not.  Yessiree, it was a time.  We didn’t live by a long list of letters and rules; we knew what was important. And we were trusted to use our time well, without being tracked like Caribou through electronic badges.  Those were the salad days…

When I was a young pup of a doctor, we took notes with pen and paper and wrote orders on the same. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t always fast. But it didn’t enslave us to the clip-board.  We didn’t log-into the clip-board or spend twenty minutes trying to figure out how to write discharge instructions and a prescription. We basically learned in grade-school.  EMR has brought great things in information capture and storage, but it isn’t the same, or necessarily as safe, as the way humans conveyed information for hundreds, nay thousands of years.

Back then, kids, the hospital was a family!  Oh yes, and we took care of one another. A nurse would come to a doctor and say, ‘I fell down the other day and my ankle is killing me! Can you check it out?’  And the doctor would call the X-ray tech, and an X-ray would get done and reviewed and the doctor might put a splint on it or something, and no money changed hands.

In those days, a doctor would say to the nurse, ‘I feel terrible, I think I have a stomach bug!’  And she’d say, ‘let me get you something for that,’ and she’d go to a drawer and pull out some medicine (it wasn’t under lock and key) and say ‘why don’t you go lie down?  The patients can take a break for a few minutes.’ And she’d cover you for 30 minutes until you felt better.

We physicians?  There was a great thing called ‘professional courtesy,’ whereby we helped one another out, often for free. Nowadays, of course, everybody would get fired for that sort of thing because the people who run the show didn’t make any money on the transaction.  And when you have a lot of presidents, vice-presidents, chief this and chief thats, it gets expensive!

When medicine was fun, a nurse would go ahead and numb that wound for you at night, policy or not; and put in an order while you were busy without saying, ‘I can’t do anything until you say it’s OK or I’ll lose my license.  Do you mind if I give some Tylenol and put on an ACE?  Can you put the order in first?  And go ahead and order an IV so I won’t be accused of practicing medicine?’ Yep, we were a team.

There was a time, children, when doctors knew their patients and didn’t need $10,000 in lab work to admit them.  ‘Oh, he has chest pain all the time and he’s had a full work-up.  Send him home and I’ll see him tomorrow,’ they might say.  And it was glorious to know that.  Or I might ask, ‘hey friend, I’m really overwhelmed, can you just come and see this guy and take care of him?  He has to be admitted!’  And because they thought medicine was fun too, they came and did it.

In those sweet days of clear air and high hopes, you could look up your own labs on the computer and not be fired for violating your own privacy.  (Yes, it can happen.) You could talk to the ER doc across town about that patient seeking drugs and they would say, ‘yep, he’s here all the time.  I wouldn’t give him anything,’ and it wasn’t a HIPAA violation; it was good sense.

Once upon a time we laughed, and we worked hard. Back then, we put up holiday decorations and they weren’t considered fire hazards.  We kept food and drink at our desks and nobody said it was somehow a violation of some ridiculous joint commission rule.  Because it was often too busy to get a break, we sustained ourselves at the place we worked with snacks and endless caffeine, heedless of the apparent danger that diseases might contaminate our food; we had already been breathing diseases all day long, and wearing them on our clothes.  Thus, well fed and profoundly immune, we pressed on.

In those golden days of medicine, sick people got admitted whether or not they met particular ‘criteria,’ because we had the feeling there was something wrong.  We believed one another.  Treatment decisions didn’t trump our gut instincts.  And ‘social admissions’ were not that unusual. The 95-year-old lady who fell but didn’t have a broken bone and didn’t have family and was hurting too much to go home?  We all knew we had to keep here for a day or two and it was just the lay of the land.

I remember the time when we could see a patient in the ER and, because my partners and I were owners of our group, we could discount their bill, in part or entirely.  We would fill out a little orange slip and write the amount of the discount.  Then, of course, the insurers insisted on the same discount.  And then nobody got a discount because the hospital was in charge and everyone got a huge bill, without consideration of their situation.  The situation we knew, since we lived in their town.

Back when, drug reps left a magical thing called ‘samples.’  Do you remember them, young Jedi?  Maybe not.  Young doctors have been taught that drug companies, drug reps and all the rest are Satan’s minions, and any association with them should be cause for excommunication from the company of good doctors.  But when we had samples, poor people could get free antibiotics, or antihypertensives, or all kinds of things, to get them through in the short run.  And we got nice lunches now and then, too, and could flirt with the nice reps!  Until academia decided that it was fatal to our decision-making to take a sandwich or a pen.  Of course, big corporations and big government agencies can still do this sort of thing with political donations to representatives. But rules are for little people.

When the world was young, there was the drunk tank.  And although mistakes were made, nobody pretended that the 19-year-old who chose a) go to the ER over b) go to jail, really needed to be treated.  We understood the disruptive nature of dangerous intoxicated people. Now we have to scale their pain and pretend to take them seriously as they pretend to listen to our admonitions.  They are, after all, customers.  Right?

These days, we are perhaps more divided than ever.  Sure, back in Grandpa Doctor Leap’s time, we were divided by specialty and by practice location; a bit.  But now there’s a line between inpatient doctors and outpatient doctors, between academics and those who work in the community, between women and men, minorities and majorities (?), urban and rural, foreign and native-born and every other demographic.  As in politics, these divisions hurt medicine and make us into so many tiny tribes at work against one another.

And finally, before Grandpa has to take his evening rest, he remembers when hospitals valued groups of doctors; especially those who had been in the same community, and same hospital, for decades.  They were invested in the community and trusted by their patients and were valuable.  Now?  A better bid on a contract and any doctor is as good as any other. Make more money for the hospital?  In you go and out goes the ‘old guys,’ who were committed to their jobs for ages.

Of course, little children, everything changes.  And often for the good. We’re more careful about mistakes, and we don’t kick people to the curb who can’t pay. We don’t broadcast their information on the Internet carelessly.  We have good tools to help us make good decisions. But progress isn’t all positive.  And I just wanted to leave a little record for you of how it was, and how it could be again if we could pull together and push back against stupid rules and small-minded people.

Now, Grandpa will go to bed.  And if you other oldies out there have some thoughts on this, please send them my way!  I’d love to hear what you think we’ve lost as the times have changed in medicine.

Love,

Grandpa Doctor Leap