Grandmothers as an ER Preventative Measure

This is my column in the latest edition of the Daily Yonder.  Enjoy and share as you see fit. Link followed by text.

Life & Limb: Grandmothers — An Ounce of Prevention for a Pound of ‘Freak Out’

 
I have a theory that engaged, wise grandmothers could save families a lot of money by helping avoid hospital visits. Personally, my grandmothers were very important to my well-being as a child. Not only did they feed and dote on me, they kept me healthy and safe. I remember the time I made a spear out of a sharpened stick. (OK, one of the times.) I was running with it, and as I drew back my arm to fling it across the field I must have stumbled. It ended up going through the top of my shoe and between two toes, scraping them on the way to the ground.
I limped to the big white house under the maples where Grandma Leap helped me take off my blood-soaked shoe, cleaned the wound, probably applied Merthiolate (didn’t we all spend our summers painted orange?), and said ‘don’t tell your grandpa, he worries!’ Maybe she knew he’d take my now cool, blood-stained spear away. I was none the worse for the wear.
I have seen injuries like this time and time again in the emergency room. Relatively minor affairs; scrapes, bumps, bruises, stings, nevertheless brought to the hospital by anxious mothers and fathers, new to parenthood or simply far more worried than necessary.
I also remember the smell of Vicks Vaporub, slathered across my coughing, wheezing chest. I remember cool cloths applied during fevers. My grandmothers had those simple skills down pat. Honestly, I don’t ever remember coming to the hospital for a fever as a child. And yet, fever is one of the most common complaints for which parents bring kids to the hospital.

‘He started having a fever an hour ago, so we rushed him to the hospital!’
‘Did you give him anything for the fever?’
‘Nope, we just came straight away. We freaked out and decided it was better safe than sorry!’

I hear that a lot. There was a bruise. ‘I freaked out.’ There was a tick, ‘I freaked out.’ There was a rash. ‘I freaked out.’ The baby’s nose was congested. ‘I freaked out.’ Freaking out never helps anything. And from what I can remember, it was simply something my grandmothers never did. Their job was to draw on centuries of collected cultural and family wisdom, apply personal experience, mix it all with loving attention (and food), and bring calm to all situations. Or bring switches as the situation required.
I’m not suggesting that a family member is all that’s necessary in times of medical need. And admittedly, there are plenty of grandmothers who are as ‘freaked out’ as everyone else. (I’ve met them.) Furthermore, lots of grandmothers and grandfathers are already doing this job as primary caregivers of their children’s children. God bless them.
However, it seems to me that we have an unholy confluence of problems that make people seek healthcare for things our ancestors wouldn’t, or couldn’t have. First of all, families are separated for various reasons from wise older relatives; or don’t have any. Second, people have 24/7 access to online health information that often only increases fear. Third, we have enormous numbers of young individuals and parents who never learned much about their bodies. Add that to the general increase in anxiety that mental health workers report across the land, and families are completely overwhelmed by the sorts of ailments that have afflicted mankind since well before modern medicine existed.
It seems to me that with our long history of self-sufficiency, and our deep-rooted connections to place and family, rural America should be one of those places where grandmothers could make a real difference in an era of limited medical access, coupled with enormous medical anxiety.
Maybe, in the mountains, valleys, bayous and plains that make up rural America we can be health pioneers! What we need to do first is educate young people about how to give simple medical care to themselves and others. First-responder and First-Aid/CPR courses are a great place to start. Second, those of use who are more experienced can reach out to young people and young families; neighbors, church-members, strangers at the food-bank, and offer to be there to teach them how to manage life situations. And how not to ‘freak out.’
Finally, those of us in medicine, whether nurse, physician, medic or other, can spend time educating the people we see so that they know when, and most important when not, to worry. And never to freak out.
A thing that grandmothers, in times past, taught us oh so well.

 

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.

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.

New Year’s Eve With My Best Friend

This is my column in today’s Greenville News.  Official link not up yet at the News website, but I’ll post it when I can.

IMG_3368

 

I remember being an adolescent, ringing in the New Year with my family. My mother a nurse, and my father a pastor, we just weren’t big ‘party people.’ Their mantra (which is now mine) was ‘nothing good happens after midnight!’ (I have plenty of anecdotal doctor stories to back up that assertion, by the way.)
We’d shoot some illegal fireworks off, or fire a gun from the back porch at midnight, and we’d eat some shrimp as the ball dropped in far-off, sparkling, exciting NYC. Then mom and dad usually fell asleep early and I wished for something to do. They were busy folks, and reasonably tired, so New Year’s Eve wasn’t much different from any other night. My wife’s childhood memories were similar, as her parents worked hard and rested when they could. Furthermore, those were the ‘dark ages’ when the Internet wasn’t part of life, and communications to the rest of the kid world were restricted to the house phone and the postal service. (Can you imagine?)
So it was no surprise that Jan and I celebrated a remarkable event on December 31st. For the first time in 22 years, we spent New Year’s Eve together… with nobody else. No kids, no relatives, no friends. Zero.
We aren’t opposed to enjoying the holiday, mind you. Over the years of our dating and marriage we’ve had lots of wonderful New Year’s Eve celebrations, from small affairs with friends to dress-up evenings in crowded restaurants.
We’ve had many parties at our house on the hill, with plenty of food and fireworks, bonfires and chaos. We’ve had church youth group events where dozens of young people played capture the flag in the freezing cold, the night illuminated only by flashlights, after which shivering teens (and leaders) warmed themselves by the fire and passed out on the floor from fatigue.
Most years the attendees were simply bunches of our kids’ friends and our own, along with as many family as possible, whom we promised that the fun and laughter would outweigh the danger of stray bottle rockets, brush fires or jackets set on fire by sparklers.
But this year, all of our ‘children’ from ages 15 through 22 (not so much children now), had things to do, people to see and places to go. Based on our own experience as young people, we could hardly blame them. And rather than try to make them feel guilty, rather than be stuck on some dead-end, potentially toxic nostalgia, we said ‘be careful and have fun! Keep us posted where you are and what you’re doing!’
I had worked all day in the ER and arrived home, where Jan had a yummy meal waiting. I took dinner to our room where we settled in for a very, very uneventful evening. Good Clemson parents, we periodically paid attention to the score of the Clemson-OSU game. Good former homeschool parents and life-long nerds, we watched Tolkien’s Return of the King on TV. We weren’t cold, nobody around us was intoxicated, we didn’t have to drive anywhere and the wait for food was non-existent.
I seem to recall learning that Clemson had won, and the dark forces were pouring out of the gates of Mordor, right as I said, ‘I love you baby! Happy New Year!’ At that point the dark forces of fatigue enveloped me and I was out around 11:30. Jan, with more fortitude than I, stayed awake until after midnight.
Emotions are funny things. And we humans can keep lots of competing emotions in constant tension together. That night, even as we missed our children and thought back on all the beautiful, laughter-filled evenings of the past, we were buoyed up by the deep, underlying love and friendship that we have had since our first date almost 33 years ago. We rang out the old, and rang in the new together, with joy and contentment.
Parents everywhere should try to remember that as wonderful as our kids are, and as delightful it is to spent time with them and others, our marriages are the deep, holy bond that will remain, and see us to the end. We know there will be parties again. But party or not, the best New Year’s Eve, the best day, the best night, the best life, is the one we spend together.
How do the vows go? In sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, at parties or at home with only you? I do. Always.

The Christmas Gift we All Desire

My Christmas column from Christmas Day, 2016

Merry Belated Christmas!

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2016/12/25/commentary-christmas-gift-we-all-desire/95788966/

The Christmas Gift We All Desire
It’s here at last! What seemed to take forever for children arrives and passes like a shooting star for adults. But joy of joys, it’s Christmas morning! And a special morning since it’s Sunday. Families who attend worship services will, based on personal experience with small children, be up at zero dark thirty, as kids rush to the presents and the chaos begins.
Photos will be staged. (My parents made us stay in the hallway while they prepared the camera…Jan and I have since done the same, forcing children to stay on the stairs while we took our time tormenting them, they like horses headed to the barn for oats.) Families will have systems, as gifts are handed out in a manner devised to avoid wholesale riots.
Food will be prepared; in our home Christmas breakfast is bacon and cinnamon rolls. Cats will be watched carefully to avoid the climbing, and tipping, of trees. Mostly they will busy themselves with wrapping paper,licking and pretending not to be as excited as the kids. The dogs (at least our dogs) will look in through the glass of the door in puzzlement, and wait for partially eaten anything (and any chance at cat food).
Gifts will be opened, as parents and partners hope that they have given joy to those they love with this gift or that. There will be joy and squeals, hugs and kisses. Hours will be spent enjoying new items or searching through wrapping paper for batteries or lost instructions.
Those off to church will have to pry the kids away from their recently obtained treasures, or take some along. Older children will wear new clothes. Parents will fall asleep in chairs, as they were up until the wee hours wrapping, assembling items or simply enjoying the sweet wonder, the special silence of Christmas Eve. That stillness, in a dark house with tree lights, is every drop as precious as the big day itself. Personally I find a much greater connection to the whole nativity story on Christmas Eve, as if I were watching the tale unfold in a starlit lens to antiquity.
And yet. There are those families where the above is as fantastical as Santa and his reindeer. For some, for those in poverty, those with family members separated by prison sentences, those whose homes are the slave-quarters for addiction, Christmas will not look this way. Nor for those with loved ones far away in school, in work, in war. For many the separation from loved ones is the great gulf of death, and even sweet memories are painful reminders of what is no more. Still others find the day hard because of recent illness, injury, surgery, diagnosis of cancer. Our family walked through some of that too. However beautiful the wrapping paper and lights, however delightful the gifts, a pall hangs in the air and the thoughts turn to what was, or what might be, ‘if only.’
But that is, ultimately, the purpose of this day. It is not, it turns out, a day especially made for the joy of the now, nor for pets to get new sweaters, or adolescents to stock up on electronics. The joys and wonders of Christmas, from Santa to gifts, from feasts to surprise visits, are magnificent side-effects of the joy and purpose of the day. The day we remember the one born to set all things right.
The passage that I have come to most associate with Christmas (having lived life a bit) is not found in the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ nativity. It is found, oddly enough, at the end of the Bible, in Revelations, chapter 21. Dear old St. John reports:
‘And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man, and He will live with them. They will be His people, and God Himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death, or mourning or crying or pain, for the former things have passed away.” And the One seated on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.”’
That’s Jesus telling us that one day, things will be more grand than we can ever imagine; even better than our best dream of Christmas. He will meet our deepest needs and desires and banish suffering. Forever.
Now that’s a Christmas gift I can’t wait to open. Merry Christmas!

Sports Impairment and My Southern Man-Card

 

This is my column in today’s Herald-Dispatch.  My hometown newspaper in Huntington, WV!

http://www.herald-dispatch.com/opinion/edwin-leap-don-t-worry-you-won-t-lose-your/article_3706dd19-3472-520d-856d-09e3580d3886.html

It’s a terrible confession to make as a Southern male, but here it goes. I don’t care a lick about sports; not leagues, not high school, not college not pro. It feels liberating to say so. I figured I might as well be honest about it, because I’m forever confronting the reality of my sports-impairment in various and sundry ways.
One way my dilemma arises is I’m standing in the check-out line at a store, wearing my WVU t-shirt when another customer asks what I think of the Mountaineer’s chances this year. I usually make some sort of generally non-committal remark about how ‘I sure HOPE they do better this year!’ Which means that at some point in the distant future, if they manage to win a championship, I’ll have to be more careful and say ‘well, if LAST year was any indication this should be a good one!’ I try not to make eye-contact. It’s too uncomfortable.
What I usually want to explain, but never bother, is that I wear the shirt because I grew up and went to school there. And it was awesome and I have wonderful memories (same reason I wear my Marshall shirt). But it’s hard to stop a die-hard sports fan and say, ‘well, the truth is I really didn’t have time for sports because I was studying a great deal, but I’m proud I graduated!’ That makes people go to the next checkout line and shake their heads.
I’ve noticed the same thing at church. I remember finding myself in deacon’s meetings with little to contribute to the discussion at zero dark thirty Sunday morning. As everyone made the rounds of the previous day’s games, it was ‘Ed, Marshall did well yesterday didn’t they!’ ‘Sure did…(I guess).’ I put my head down, ate my biscuits and gravy and (since I live in South Carolina) I just let the orange or garnet wave pass over.


I’m not trying to be a snob, please understand. In my childhood I just wasn’t formally taught anything about athletics. Admittedly, my dad built a basketball court for me in the back yard. All the neighborhood kids and I had a great time there at all hours of the day and evening. But the rules were not exactly formally enforced. It was as much social time as athleticism. I also learned a little about football in the front yard. Specifically, I learned that ‘touch’ can be widely interpreted. I realized that lying on my back gasping for air one day, looking up at the fading blue sky.
I remember once around sixth or seventh grade that I went to the mother of one of my more athletically inclined friends and asked about joining a basketball league. She was kind, in a ‘bless your heart’ sort of way, and said we might be able to cram on the rules but it wasn’t looking good. Age 12 and I was already too old to start. I got the message and moved on without looking back.
Instead I filled my days with walks in the woods, turning over rocks in the creek for crawdads, seining for minnows, riding horses with my grandfather, shooting arrows into bales of straw, carrying my BB gun everywhere, shooting bigger guns whenever the opportunity afforded itself and generally acting like a joyous junior barbarian. Those became my preferred activities, until I discovered martial arts, then girlfriend, in high school.
My wife Jan grew up with brothers playing football. If I don’t understand a game that’s on, I just ask her and she guides me through. Two of my children attend Clemson University, and the other two are also fans, which is great. But they didn’t get it from me. Just recently they were all talking about the season and daughter Elysa said, with surprise, ‘why look at us, talking about sports like a normal family!’
I have great respect for all those devoted to their teams, who can quote stats like chapter and verse of scripture. May your team get all of the touchdowns, field-goals, runs and everything else it needs. But to all those who never got it, who never fell in love with sports, it’s alright. You aren’t alone.
Do your thing. You aren’t less of a Southerner or less of a man. And when the discussion turns to yesterday’s contest, learn to smile, nod and just say this: ‘that was some game!’

Idols All Around

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2016/11/14/commentary-humans-easily-deceived-idols-every-sort/93588762/

One of the consistent themes that runs all through the Bible is the theme of idolatry. And if we can learn anything from its writers down the thousands of years and hundreds of generations since they lived, it’s that humans are easily deceived by idols of every sort.
It’s arrogant for us to laugh off the idea of stone and wooden deities, and shake our heads at the fish or dragons, serpents or elephants that they represented to our ancestors. (That’s right, all of our ancestors!) Because we’re no less susceptible despite our assertions that we are modern and rational. Twenty-first century man remains a remarkably idolatrous creature.
This is rarely as evident as it is during a presidential election cycle, when we believe that vast power, and all our destinies, rest with the office and person we are electing. If only we elect him, or her, all our problems will be solved and our enemies smitten! We elevate candidates and politicians to places they were never meant to be, not by God, nor indeed by the founders of our republic, who doubtless had a much more suspicious view of human character than we do; else they would never have built in so many checks and balances.
In fact, during elections we also make idols of government in general, constitutions, courts and legislative bodies. We worship commentators and media outlets and anyone and everything connected with the process. We idolize our own opinions and spend far more time in our own personal echo-chambers than we do either worshipping God or (for the non-religious) simply pursuing secular knowledge or simple joy. Pity, as our self-adulating tirades and tantrums change few minds.
But it isn’t only politics. We all have our idols. Thanks to social media, young people take constant photos of themselves in a kind of self-worship. Social media have also allowed Americans to make an idol of the approval of others, whether in likes for one’s selfie, or agreement with one’s views. The disapproval of others is a bitter pill whose side effects include exclusion from friendly society; a kind of excommunication for heresy. How many opinions would be shared more honestly if not for the fear of being shunned or attacked en masse online?
Conservatives often idolize guns or military prowess, as if they could save us from all danger. And yet the Bible says ‘Some trust in chariots and some trust in horses, but we trust in the Lord our God.’ (Psalm 20:7) (The chariot being the main battle tank of antiquity, by the way.) And liberals make an idol of choice, as if replacing the word ‘killing’ with a euphemism makes it less like the reality of killing an unborn child, less like a modern adoration of the dark god Molech.
We idolize the freedom of sexual expression and sexual orientation, as if all that mattered in this life were who could have sex with whom. And on the other side, we idolize morality, as if our sanctimonious attitudes about sexual sin were anywhere as important as the forgivingness and redemption offered in the Bible to those who sin sexually, gay or straight. Grace matters more than moralism.
America idolizes the idea of compassion and charity without understanding the moral and spiritual underpinnings that make it reasonable and possible. And yet, we also idolize the American concept that everyone can simply succeed if they try, which is simply untrue. The deck is sometimes stacked and there are those who need our assistance, personally and through state programs. Some idolize capitalism, some idolize socialism, but both can become monstrous deities when not applied with Godly wisdom and caution.
The Decalogue begins with ‘I am the Lord your God who brought you out of slavery, out of the land of Egypt.’ And follows it immediately with ‘you shall have no other gods before me.’ And of course, after receiving the Ten Commandments, the people promptly made a Golden Calf and ignored God, the source of all their good things. You can be an atheist and still see the truth in this tale. This is the story of all mankind. The worship of those things we shouldn’t, and the rejection of those things that are truly, ultimately good.
Whether a citizen is religious or not, we can surely agree that we all have idols we should take from their altars. Maybe it’s a good time to start.

Rare Gems in the Rolling Seasons of Life

http://journals.lww.com/em-news/Fulltext/2016/10000/Life_in_Emergistan__Rare_Gems_in_the_Rolling.15.aspx

My column from the October edition of Emergency Medicine News

It’s August. I’m looking out the windows of our log house and across the immense variety of green leaves, on oak and birch, mountain laurel and sycamore, magnolia and honeysuckle. It’s a rain forest here. Indeed, after a long dry spell, we’ve had days and days of soaking rain, with breaks in the clouds so that the sun can raise steam from the earth like water coming up in the garden of Eden.

Figure. No caption a...
Image Tools
Figure. No caption a...
Image Tools

But the greens have hints of yellow. And the clouds are not just summer thunderheads but low, fast, and broken. The dogs are lazier than normal, as their crusted red-clay coats begin to flake off to reveal the fur underneath. Even the cats seem less mobile, if that were possible. The evenings, despite the blast furnace of August, cool more than in July.

All in all, the signs are there for those who watch. I grew up watching the weather, watching leaves flipped before storms, listening to the sound of winter winds, smelling storms on the air. I know Autumn is hiding across the Blue Ridge Mountains, a child peeking over and shaping the weather, teasing us, reminding us that summer will soon go on its own vacation and the wind will chill us and drive down the leaves, their red, orange, and yellow as varied as summer green.

But for all my love of Autumn, for all my desire for cool air and the smell of wood smoke, Autumn hurts me. It is the end of summer and the beginning of fall that takes my children from me and forces them back to school and schedules. It’s difficult enough to leave them for work, more so to know that my schedule and theirs conspire to separate something so vital, so elemental, as the time families spend in communion with one another.

Even as I write, my daughter Elysa, a high school sophomore, is finalizing her summer reading. Her brother Elijah, a high school senior, is spending his last days with his girlfriend Tori, who leaves for the University of South Carolina all too soon. My oldest boys, Sam and Seth, will return to Clemson in a few days, closer and closer to independence. The leaves change, the sky is darker, the children are growing up and moving on, with the imperatives and requirements of their own lives, their own passions, their own needs and desires, their own loves.

As difficult as this can be, I recognize that I did the same, as did my wife Jan. And our parents and theirs. This is the cycle, the natural history of the world. We raise and guard our precious children and launch them forth to do the same. And we hope that the chords that tie us remain intact; that the circle remains unbroken.

Back to Top | Article Outline

Time is Fleeting

What has any of this to do with our work? Our physician lives? The lesson is this: Time is fleeting; life and love are precious. Wives and husbands and children are rare gems in the rolling seasons of life. So waste not, want not, as it were.

The seasons will turn. The clouds race, the school buses arrive, and the graduations loom. In the midst of this, we must never delude ourselves that our money, our directorships, even our retirement accounts will ever be sufficient solace if we look back and feel that we did not use our time wisely with the ones who mattered most of all.

Our work, our patients, our skills all matter to the extent that they help others to live long and well, that they help those parents and children to enjoy the passing years together. Beyond that, they are important but less so than our own people, the ones we are committed to, bound to by vows and rings, by birth and blood, by adoption and choice.

So as the year turns and new opportunities and shifts arise, be honored. But be circumspect. Keep before you the fact that everything changes, but with attention and love, all of our connections can remain intact despite years and geography. If only we value them more than we do our certificates, degrees, incomes and positions.

The clouds will roll and the leaves will fall, my friends, and we might as well watch them pass with joy, not regret.

Copyright © 2016 Wolters Kluwer Health, Inc. All rights reserved.

I Love America! My latest Greenville News column.

It’s an ugly political season.  But I still love America!  This is my most recent column in the Greenville News.  Please share liberally.

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2016/10/23/ed-leap-love-america/92453876/

Over the Summer I was working in the ER at North Greenville Hospital, doing some temporary work for GHS. I arrived in Traveler’s Rest early one morning to get some breakfast and a drink for work.
As I pulled into a drive-thru, I looked at the nearby gas-station. I was amazed at how busy the place was. And I was suddenly overwhelmed with love for America and her people. It was about 6:45 in the morning, but there were cars and trucks of every variety. I saw utility company trucks and pest-control vans. Those pulling trailers full of lawn-equipment, with mowers and weed-eaters. Electricians, plumbers, contractors, police and EMS workers were getting out of all manner of vehicles. Many essential, difficult jobs were represented, as men and women were headed to work. Motivated by dreams of success, and by love for those they support, they were up with the sun. There were people of every race and ethnicity, many of them working on the same crews, for the same companies, laughing together.
It was going to be a long, hot day, so they were loading up on breakfast, coffee, snacks, water and other drinks. Trucks were being fueled, the staff of the gas station hurrying to keep up. There was an energy there that was quintessentially American. I felt honored to see it.
The wonderful thing is that America and Americans, for all our contentious behavior, remain wonderful. We work and innovate. We strive and create. We educate and parent and look after our loved ones young and old. And despite the reality of bias and discrimination, we are one of the most welcoming nations on earth. We adjust to social changes, we generate and rapidly adapt to technology, and even when it looks bizarre, the average citizen and average politician try to make democracy work.
We are conflicted at times, but usually over means, not ends. We want to help refugees even if we reasonably fear terror. We may worry about immigration but typically enjoy immigrants as our friends and neighbors. We desire to see the poor and their children lifted up. We still, as a nation, want to see justice done. Thus we are equally offended by false imprisonment of the poor and by the way the wealthy and connected sometimes stand apart from the law.
I meet all kinds of Americans in my work. I meet poor, rural Southerners struggling to find jobs, and facing chronic diseases with limited resources. I meet immigrant families trying their best to care for sick children. And even though we live in the South (where popular media loves to paint us as just so hateful), I regularly encounter doting white grandmothers and grandfathers cuddling and adoring their beautiful, mixed-race grandchildren, looking after their sons and daughters-in-law who have different skin colors, and sometimes different languages. I am often amazed at the men and women whose English grammar may not be perfect, but who learn Spanish out of love for a partner; not for a grade in a class or semester abroad.
I see my colleagues care for everyone, with never a thought to treating them poorly because they are gay, lesbian or transgender. I watch as physicians and nurses struggle mightily against the death and suffering of people different from them.
There are churches and pastors, congregations and church groups as well as government and secular organizations (and individuals) who help provide housing for the poor and drive people to work who are battling the nightmare of drug addiction. Those same people adopt children and spend time and money to give food to hungry families.
In America the laborer and the academic are both passionately devoted to fairness and those who never graduated high school are as important to the republic as those with advanced degrees.
Are there exceptions? Obviously. And it doesn’t take many hateful, cruel, manipulative people to cause great damage. ‘A little yeast works through the whole batch of dough,’ said St. Paul.
And yet, the lovely reality is that we remain a great nation, going through a hard time. I don’t know where it will lead. Maybe to darker places, maybe not. But for now in America, the America I see every day that I work, the America that starts the day early and ends it late, working together for common cause, the love outweighs the hatred, the strength outweighs the weakness, every time.
That’s something to celebrate.