This was my most recent column in the Daily Yonder. Unfortunately, the Yonder website is down or I’d give you a hot link.
It’s Spring now and all across the land things are bursting with life. Flowers are in bloom, yards are bright with new grass and the sun is high in the sky. My car was, for a while, covered in a thick, green coat of pollen. Carpenter bees are still turning my log-house into Swiss Cheese. It’s pretty out, the sky is blue and the days are warm. Blah, blah, blah. I for one don’t really like this time of year. And it’s mainly because warm weather brings me patients with all kinds of injuries; some of them pretty nasty.
In rural America, there are dangers that seldom occur to people in more populous, metropolitan areas. Ironically, though, rural folks often assume that life in the city is more dangerous. And indeed, murder rates are higher.
However, according to the CDC, deaths from unintentional injuries are 50% higher in rural than urban areas; https://www.cdc.gov/media/releases/2017/p0112-rural-death-risk.html. These differences in death are due to several causes; rural citizens are further from necessary health care and are closer to large lakes and rivers, use dangerous equipment and firearms. Doubtless there are many factors involved in the difference.
Of course, some of the perils of rural life are just the result of living in close proximity to nature and all her deadly charms. In Spring and Summer, we encounter creatures that bite and sting. Just last year, while mowing our lawn, we must have run over yellow-jacket nests at least half a dozen times. By the end of the summer I just let the grass grow. ‘You win!’ I screamed to the little jerks, hiding in their holes. Whether it’s scorpions, hornets, wasps, centipedes, spiders or some other tiny monster, we simply encounter such creatures more in the warm months. And their various stings and bites, while rarely fatal, can cause dangerous allergic reactions. And make your spouse want to leave the area and move to a condo.
Fortunately, deaths from allergic reactions of all sorts are rare, and around 99 deaths per year in the US. https://www.aaaai.org/global/latest-research-summaries/Current-JACI-Research/death-anaphylaxis. Still, If you or your loved-ones are afflicted with such allergies, please talk to your physician about what to keep on hand; hopefully epinephrine injectors will get cheaper. And there are some other brands besides the ‘Epi-Pen’ that should be less costly. They just hurt a lot (the Black Widow) or make ugly wounds (the Brown Recluse).
Poisonous reptiles (Copperhead, Rattlesnake, Cottonmouth and Coral snakes) are also a feature of rural life in many areas. Those who ‘ooh and aww’ in city zoo reptile houses rarely have the singular delight of encountering these wonders in their own yards or whilst walking through the woods. But these creatures, while important to the eco-system, can deliver nasty wounds and in rare cases can be lethal. They’re certainly dangerous to your finances given the cost of anti-venin to treat the bites. So be aware as you go about working and playing in places where snakes are also enjoying the summer sun, or cool evenings.
Remember also that at least in the US, many snake bites occur because people are 1) intoxicated and 2) trying to mess with the snakes. And yes, ladies, this is a peculiar affliction of men that starts with ‘hey, betcha’ I can catch him!’ Actually, I have it on good authority that snakes don’t even like the taste of drunk people and would like to be left alone, thank you very much.
Now, other dangers of rural life have to do with the necessity of power-tools. In my own life, the chain-saw, weed-trimmer and lawn-mower are absolutely essential to keeping nature from simply over-running our house. But as the dear reader knows, these are things to be treated with great respect. Please use appropriate protective gear, like safety glasses, gloves, appropriate clothes and heavy shoes. Of course, those who work on highways or farms use much bigger types of tools and heavy equipment and have to be ever watchful. This is probably more true in Spring and Summer because that’s when farms are busy, roads need to be fixed, bridges repaired, pipes laid, power-lines connected, houses constructed and all the rest. God bless all those folks who make our lives better by doing hard, dangerous work on the hottest of days.
And of course, warm weather brings assorted recreational dangers. Hiking and camping are delights, but someone always manages to fall off of a waterfall or cliff-edge, break an ankle, sustain a laceration or encounter said biting and stinging creatures.
Bicyclists and motorcyclists look forward to warm months so that they can enjoy the open, dry road. But helmets really are important as is appropriate protective clothing, reflective material and good education. I’ve seen patients who left their tanned skin on 50 yards of asphalt. Nobody enjoys that.
Lakes and rivers are warm, and filled with persons who typically want to be dragged at high speed behind a power-boat while skiing, clinging to a large inflatable item for dear life, or kneeling on a wake-board. Likewise, fishermen head to their favorite spots (either in tournaments or alone for peace and quiet) and other aquatic persons kayak, canoe and raft the rivers that draw so many to rural America for vacations. All of which is fantastic! But remember to learn to swim, always wear life-jackets and follow local laws when doing all of the above.
Obviously there’s always the danger of heat exhaustion, heat stroke, dehydration and sunburn. We all have to remember to be careful to stay hydrated and remember that beer and caffeinated sodas don’t help. Also be reasonable about sun exposure and wear sunscreen to hep protect against skin cancers.
And if the gentle reader wishes to avoid painful foreign bodies and sutures, here’s another bit of advice. Wear shoes all; all the time. Simple and to the point.
Spring and Summer are glorious in rural America. But the dangers are many; I’ve only skimmed the surface here. Please remember to be safe, think before doing, follow the laws, don’t drink and boat, drive, ride, ski, pick up snakes, work with power-tools or do just about anything else. If you’re going to drink, find a chair and sit in it. That bit of advice would keep many an ER quiet all night long. Also remember that everything I said you shouldn’t do when drinking is something you shouldn’t do while taking narcotic pain medications.
I hope everyone has a great summer, free of emergencies. And that you can still be around when that first breath of cool air dips down from Canada and a proper season comes back once more.
Just please, please, be careful out there, OK?
(If you’re interested, here’s another link to a nice discussion of the unique injuries common in rural America. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1448517/)
Today is the day that new resident physicians begin their training all across the United States. Today, our future family physicians and pediatricians, neurosurgeons and emergency physicians, plastic surgeons and laser tattoo removal specialists (OK, not really a specialty, just a side-line) will begin learning how to be physicians, having completed four years of expensive college and four years of even more expensive medical school. Anxiety-filled and debt-ridden, they will embark on four to seven (or even more) years of training to make them knowledgeable, technically proficient physicians.
I will occasionally wax poetic and philosophical for their benefit. But not today. Today there are practical matters. Today I want to give them a few pointers, to ease their transition into the maelstrom of post-graduate medical training.
1) Any flat surface that holds still, is free of gross body fluids and not used as a walk-way or cook-top will serve for a quick nap. Practice sleeping in odd positions: sitting upright, reclining at various angles, lying sideways or with your head cradled in your hands.
2) In my day (always wanted to say that!) we filled our fresh, white lab-coat pockets with review books, algorithms, reference manuals, scissors and calculators. And candy bars. You, doubtless, have a smart-phone of some incarnation, which contains all that we had, as well as the Web. Which means, where we had to play video games in the lounge and find answers in giant, antiquated things called attending physicians and books, you can look up fun facts on hyponatremia and instantly play Angry Birds, whether you’re on rounds, in the cafeteria or hiding in the call-room, pretending you didn’t hear ‘code blue.’
3) Eventually, you may decide the lab-coat isn’t worth it. Don’t be surprised. Your kids will eventually wear it for Halloween.
4) If you keep the lab coat, what with the extra space in your pockets, carry extra candy bars. Or protein bars, or whatever it is you crazy kids snack on these days.
5) Watch where you step. Trauma patients and cardiac arrests are exciting! But there’s almost always some body fluid on the floor when the shouting is over. Try not to get too covered in blood early in your call night. It’s sticky and gross.
6) You know so much. You don’t know anything. Keep those two ideas in constant tension. Odds are, your command of modern evidence-based medical research is extremely impressive. Eighteen years after residency, I can still leave you in the dust when it comes to making decisions and knowing who is sick and who isn’t.
7) See above. Learn, as quickly as you can, who is sick and who isn’t. Hopefully medical school helped; but don’t count on it. If you know this simple thing, you will know when to go for help, when to panic (or not) and what to tell your upper level residents and attending physicians on rounds. And you will become that greatest of commodities: useful.
8) Look professional, develop your own style. Be comfortable. My friend Sherri used to wear pearls on call, with her green scrubs. They always made her appear elegant, no matter how much pediatric vomit had been hurled her direction.
9) Patients can be frightening. But remember what they told you at camp, about bears, raccoons and snakes. ‘Don’t worry, they’re just as afraid of you.’ This is kind of true. Except patients really aren’t afraid to ask for pain medicine or call attorneys, whereas you are afraid to do anything since you can’t believe you know anything yet.
10) You may be more frightened of physicians than patients. But remember, the people assigned to train you are smart, capable and experienced. And they put their tentacles in their pants just like everyone else. Ask them questions, listen and watch. And remember what I said above: be useful. My surgery resident was fond of saying, ‘Help me, don’t hurt me!’
11) You will soon have a thing called a paycheck. It will have a stub that shows how much the government is taking from you. Do not be surprised. This happens to everyone. It’s just that you owe a lot more money than most people. Cheer up! Everyone expects you to be rich someday, so they can complain about the fact that your rich. (Whether you will be or not remains to be seen.) Remember that no matter how little or much you make, never tell a contractor or car-dealer you’re a physician. Tell them you work in customer satisfaction, or something nebulous like that.
12) Crazy people, even really crazy people, are sometimes terribly ill. Pay attention.
13) Ill people, really ill people, are sometimes very crazy. Pay attention.
14) Medicine is inexact. I promise you will make mistakes. Don’t live in fear, and don’t let error define you. No one in medicine, or law, is capable of perfection. Except for being perfectly insufferable, of course.
15) If you poke things that look like they are filled with blood or pus, they will explode into your face; if you tend to hold your mouth open when you focus, well you know what will happen.
16) Scalpels really are sharp. Pneumonia and HIV and TB and Hepatitis really are communicable. Psychotic patients really will try to choke you. Medicine is dangerous. Be careful out there!
17) Human beings are really frail, vulnerable and hurting. Be gentle and kind whenever possible.
18) Have fun! Don’t think of it as residency, think of it as a chance to spend most of your waking and many of your sleeping hours in a huge, cold-building where people are dying!
19) Everyone is proud of you.
20) Pay attention to what the nurses say. They aren’t always right. But for quite a while, they’ll be right more than you are.
21) Only three to seven years to go! Hang in there. Remember, it’s no different from Boot Camp. It just lasts much, much longer.
Pandora’s Pill Bottle
‘Patients who suffer from painful conditions
Should always be treated by caring physicians,
Who never forget to give good medications
For problems from fractures to awful menstruation.’
‘The fifth vital sign is your bright guiding light
The pain scale will lead you to do what is right,
So doctor remember to show some compassion
Since giving narcotics is now quite the fashion!’
Thus we were told for a decade or two
As patients stopped breathing and turned rather blue.
But hospitals loved their new high survey scores
And doctors were turned into pill-writing whores.
Yet things are now changing across the whole nation.
There’s blame all around and new drug regulations.
‘What were you thinking? What were you doing?’
‘How could this happen? Someone will start suing!’
In ER’s and clinics and every location
We docs shake our heads with increasing frustration.
We did what they told us despite all our fears
And Pandora’s Pill Bottle spilled out for years.
The pain scale betrayed us and caused too much trouble
The fifth vital sign is a big popping bubble.
The statistics we’re reading have left us quite nauseous.
So we’re trying new things to save lives and be cautious.
Dear doctors it’s you that must make these decisions!
Push back against administrative derision!
And when those ‘above us’ make policy errors
Stand in for the truth to prevent further terrors.
This is my column in the latest edition of the Daily Yonder. Enjoy and share as you see fit. Link followed by text.
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.
This is a post by the good folks at Social Orbit, an excellent new social media application. Which, by the way, has been giving away signed copies of my book ‘Life in Emergistan.’ I encourage you to check it out and sign up. There’s a banner add over to the side that will take you directly to their site to learn more.
Medicine is changing. A lot of the comradery and connection with our physician peers has been eroded because physicians are all so busy worrying about CPOE, EMR, TJC, metrics, billing, pop-up alerts, patient satisfaction surveys…the list goes on and on. Orbit was founded to create a community where doctors can connect with each other and reconnect with what they love about medicine. Greg Hadden, MD FACEP (co-founder of Orbit) notes, “There is an overwhelming feeling in medicine that the physician is turning in to just another cog in the medical machine. The providers are the heart of medicine and the center of healthcare delivery. While every other company and organization is focused on trying to make medicine more efficient, they are forgetting the individuals in healthcare that actually make it all work.” Orbit wants to focus there.
Orbit is a unique product unlike anything else out there. By putting together a resource that has things that doctors value and by creating a fun environment of collaboration, Orbit hopes to provide something that doctors want to contribute to and engage in. The ultimate goal is to see all physicians sharing, collaborating, and supporting each other. The app also wants to be a one-stop-shop for doctors. Orbit can keep them up-to-date with breaking medical news, help them plan their CME travel, help explore job opportunities, do HIPAA compliant chat, and learn…all while winning some really awesome prizes that focus on helping them recharge their emotional batteries.
The future of Orbit is bright and the developers have a lot of grand plans for the app! “In order to get there, we need doctors to give us a shot.” More Orbiters means a bigger community, more collaboration, more sponsorship, bigger prizes, more frequent prizes, etc. There is incredible potential with this and the developers have a lot of fun stuff they are constantly working on adding and integrating. In addition, Orbit has big plans for expansion into other specialties in 2017 with the ultimate goal of developing additional platforms for APPs, RNs, EMS, and international healthcare providers. However, it’s important to the developers that the rollout is measured and strategic. Says Hadden; “We need to be confident that when we get to that stage we are still able to serve our members by protecting the integrity and privacy of the group. US-based physicians are the only group that our app currently is able to verify and validate. We want to ensure that we are not letting in attorneys, MBA/MHA hospital administrators, recruiters, etc. Also, I think there are a lot of physicians that want to connect in a physician-only platform. As we build out the app, our users will be able to customize the content they see and with whom they interact. As an example, as we progress to include APPs, if a doctor wanted to participate in a physician/APP community then they would be able to do so. On the flip side, if an APP only wanted to connect with other APPs, then they could customize their account to exclude physicians as well.”
ACEP16 marked Orbit’s emergence out of beta testing and its introduction to a larger audience. The Orbit booth at ACEP16 was packed the majority of the time with most of those people coming up to find out what the tagline, “Seriously Fun Medicine”, was all about. Hadden explains, “In Orbit, medicine is a serious business…but it can also be fun!
Apple Store link: https://itunes.apple.com/us/app/orbit-medicine/id1120695349?mt=8
My column in this month’s SC Baptist Courier. Feel free to share as you like.
This is my February 2017 column in Emergency Medicine News. Now, doctor, go hug your husband or wife.
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.
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.
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.
Grandpa Doctor Leap