Thoughts on the Death of a Colleague

Heading north-east on Kennesaw, make a left onto Armstrong Mill. Go up the road past the farms, over that narrow bridge to Delong. Make a right. Enjoy Delong. The rolling hills, beautiful views, horses, trees, the wind in your face, the challenge of the ride until you get to Walnut Hill. Hang a left. The beauty continues. At the corner of Shelby Lane, hang a right or just keep going on Walnut Hill. The former brings you to Jacks Creek which then gets you to Old Richmond, the latter to Old Richmond. Whatever your choice, head north on Old Richmond and soon you’ll see Delong. The circuit is almost complete.

I love riding this route on my bicycle. Challenging ride but beautiful. Broken only by the cars and trucks that whisk by, sometimes dangerously close, sometimes close enough to end your life.

David Cassidy wasn’t on the route I love to cycle. He was riding in another part of town but he faced the same dangers that every cyclist who loves riding on the street faces. This past weekend, he was killed while doing something he loved – cycling.
He wasn’t a friend. He was a colleague and a very good and helpful cardiologist. On the occasions we met in the dining room at St Joe’s at lunch time, we talked about riding. He knew the coolest routes.
I didn’t know him well at all. However, this strange ether in which we all humans swim has the uncanny ability to reverberate with the experiences of others. And those reverberations forces one to pause and look around. Sometimes they redirect you. Sometimes they puts things in perspective. Other times, they makes you ask questions. Questions like “Why?’ Then are the occasions where realization hits, like, “It could have been me!”
In an instant, David was killed doing something he loved to do and had done tens of times. In an instant, his life was no more. And it could have been me. It could have been anyone of us who loves to ride our bicycles.
Matter of fact, for all of us, life could end in an instant. Poof! Just like that.

All day, I have lamented about this – what does this life mean if it is just like a “candle in the wind”?
Then it hit me – we cannot change that! It is what it is! What we need to do is make each day count. Live each day like that is the day the flame will go out.
Kiss your spouse with passion, hug your kids till they gasp, enjoy that steak with gusto, make love like it’s the first time, call your parents, have dinner with your brother, smile at that stranger, sing, dance, cry….make the day count. For life is “… even a vapor that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away”.

Dr David Cassidy, rest in peace.

That Killer Instinct

Last Wednesday, Kobe Bryant played in his last NBA game. He dropped 60, wowing us his fans. Even as we swooned over his last stand, his haters and detractors pointed to the fact that he took 50 shots in order to make those 60 points. Kobe – the Ball Hog!
It was almost like the one thing that his fans love is the very thing his detractors hate the most – that he takes too many shots!
Which got me thinking:
In this life, there are people who never discover their talents. Then there are those who are talented but quite passive about the extent of their talents. Lastly are those who are talented and are driven to be the best. People like that have one focus in life – to be the best at what they do and to always come out on top. They cannot help it. That is how they are wired.
To the rest of the world, they may come across as selfish and narcissistic egomaniacs. With this breed, the line between selfishness and the will to win is razor thin.
We see it and describe it as a killer instinct. They do not want to kill anyone. They just want to be the best there is.
This is the breed that Kobe belongs to. His will to be the best basketball player there was meant that he was going to dominate in every instance. In a team sport like basketball, the description of selfishness will unfortunately come fast and furious with such an attitude.
So would Kobe have been better of playing a non-team sport like golf or tennis? I say yes. I think his will to dominate would have been seen as excellence by most, not as selfishness. Beside these single-player sports, there are certain positions in some team sports that would have suited him well.
Let’s explore them:
An NFL Quarterback
No one would have described him as selfish and a ball hog. He would have received accolades as a winner and a killer! I’ve never heard Brady or Manning described as ball hogs. Now a wide receiver would be a terrible position for his nature.
A Baseball Pitcher
Again, a position that would have suited him well. Alone on the mound, pitching fast balls, befuddling batters. No ball hog!
A Soccer Striker
Look at Messi. Who can call him a ball hog? Look at Renaldo! Kobe actually plays soccer. In that position, he would have been expected to score and score often.
Personally, these are two traits I admire in people – talent and the will to be best. When they come together in people I know or in celebrities we watch, read, and/or hear about, I don’t only admire. I also bow!

Keep it Simple

Back in 1998, I heard a trauma surgeon talk about communicating with patients. His words have stayed with me all these years.
The gist of his message was:
Physicians are as a group, are highly educated. A lot of the patients we deal with do not understand medicine, surgery, anatomy or physiology like we do. If we need to explain a procedure, the need for it or a disease process to a patient, we need to keep it simple.
Now that coming from a surgeon is deep!
It’s one of those things I’ve never forgotten. To keep it simple.
One can tell a patient:
“I am going to place a central line in your right internal jugular, float a pulmonary artery catheter and also place an arterial line in your left radial artery. You need that for your aortic valve replacement.”
Or one can say:
“To better take care of you during your operation, I need to place a larger iv in that vein in the right side of your neck. It helps us give you blood faster if you need it. Also, we feed a tube through it into your heart that helps us measure how much blood is being pumped in an out. You also need a better way of measuring your blood pressure. Feel your left wrist. Feel that pulse? That is an artery. I’ll put a small tube in there that will help measure your blood pressure better.”
Sure, the latter takes longer but you don’t have a patient who stares at you after you are done speaking like you just dropped from Pluto! We must all try to talk to patients in terms that are understandable to them. Terms that we take for granted may sound like Greek to most lay people. Even a term as simple as “colonoscopy” has befuddled some patients.
Some steps that can help me are:
I imagine explaining a procedure or even a disease process to one of my older uncles or aunties or to my kids. I break it down to a level they can understand.
I use diagrams that I sketch. I find drawing out the anatomy and pointing structures out and what is going to be done helps immensely. A lot of patients in Kentucky believe epidurals are the number one cause of paralysis in the world. A small drawing of the layers a needle goes through to reach the epidural space and it’s relatinship to the spinal cord helps immensely to allay some fears.
I encourage questions. If a patient can repeat what you said and base a question on that, your work is done.
Do not look at patients with disdain. It is not their fault that they do not understand what a myxomatous mitral valve is. I bet you do not know what Capital Structure Theory is either. A degree of empathy is needed to understand where patients are coming from. Without that empathy, it is difficult to relate to the patients and explain things to them at a level that is understandable.

Is it really that hard

Once upon a time, a white, middle-aged man was having major surgery at a University Hospital somewhere in the US. The surgery’s nature was such that, he needed the care of two anesthesia providers. On call for the procedure of that nature were two brown-skinned anesthesiologists. Let’s call them Anesthesiologist A and B (AA and AB).
When AA and AB met the patient prior to surgery, he appeared nervous and uneasy and they attributed it to anxiety. Who wouldn’t be nervous before such a big operation? AA asked a nurse to give the patient an anxiolytic.
They saw the patient again about thirty minutes later in the operating room. He was already on the table. While AA got stuff together to place invasive lines, AB exposed the patients upper arms and torso to place external monitors. The sight that met his eyes took him aback. The patient’s upper chest and arms were covered with tattoos. That was not the problem. It was what the tattoos said that rattled him. They were signs, symbols and abbreviations from a rather dark part of this country’s and European history. AB pointed to an abbreviation on the patient’s left shoulder. It was made up of a letter, repeated three times. Even though AB knew what it meant, without knowing why, he asked the patient:
“What do those letters mean?”
“The patient at this point had gone pale and had a sheepish, frightened look on his face. He muttered:
“I was young and stupid then”.
“Is it like a secret fraternity? Can I join?”, AB probed.
There was no answer from the patient. An uneasy silence filled the room.
At this point AA came over, having noticed the tattoos and the exchange. He stood close to the patient on the left side and smiled at the patient.
AB broke the silence:
“I guess it must be really secret. Don’t worry, we will take good care of you.”
And take care of him they did.
The patient did well during the surgery and was taken to the intensive care unit afterwards. About ten days later, he left the hospital for rehab.
What is the point of this rather true narrative?
If two doctors could bring themselves to take care of a man, who probably hates them for the color of their skin and in other circumstances would do them harm, giving him world-class anesthetic care for a complex operation,
HOW HARD IS IT TO BAKE A CAKE OR EVEN MAKE A BOUQUET FOR TWO PEOPLE OF THE SAME SEX WHO WANT TO SHARE THE REST OF THEIR LIVES TOGETHER?
A CAKE? A BOUQUET?
Think about it!

Story Time with Jooma

“The universe is made up of stories not atoms”.
– Muriel Rukeyser from “The Speed of Darkness”

She would shuffle in every evening as the sun set, stooped over her old, trusted cane. Her old, haggard body harbored an indomitable spirit, the fire of which lit up in her eyes. To a five-year-old, she was the oldest person in the world.
As she moved slowly across the courtyard, eager eyes would follow her.
She would head for her stool set in the corner of the courtyard like a throne. The dancing flames of the kerosene lamps that lit the courtyard always cast ghostlike shadows on the walls, enhancing the moment in intrigue and suspense.
The minute she sat down, three generations of descendants would form an arc around her stool. She would always cast her gaze over the assembly, as if to make sure no one was missing.
We always sat in suspense, riveted and waiting for the opening lines. We never knew where Storytime with Great-Grandma Jooma would head out to. It could be into the world of Kweku Ananse, about great kings and queens, a fable, an event from long ago or trips over hills and far away. We just waited and knew it would be good.
And then she would clear her throat and go:
“Kwezi wo dze ndze oo!”
And we would respond:
“Wo gye dze wo ara!”
Then even as the red flames of the lamps danced in her eyes, they’ll open up to usher us into her universe. Her universe of stories. Soon it became my universe too.
Over the years, I may have travelled the world, learnt the secrets of science and even marvelled at the stars and planets but at heart, my universe is made of stories not atoms.

An Audience with the Father

After several months of pleading, I was granted an audience. I don’t even know how I got there but all of sudden, I found myself before this large, rather ornate gate. As I looked around, the gate opened as if by remote control. The mansion that was revealed was breath-taking. It arose from the carefully manicured grounds like a symphony from an orchestra.
I walked along the only pathway visible. It was marble! As I walked, I marveled at the landscaping. How expensive it must be to keep that, I thought. The pathway brought me to a massive wooden door. Just as I was about to open it, it swung open. Standing in the doorway was an old man with flowing white hair and a white beard. He beckoned me in. He introduced himself as Peter and asked me to follow him.
Words cannot describe the beauty of the decorations, paintings and statues that graced the mansion. Soon we came to another door and this one opened by itself too. It revealed a large hall. At one end sat a throne.
Peter turned to me and said, “He will be out soon. Sit in that chair and wait. Once he appears, you have thirty minutes. Good luck.”
He turned and walked off even as the door swung shut behind him.
Then I heard a voice go, “Nanadadzie my son, how can I help you?”
I spun around to see an imposing figure sitting in the throne.
Somehow, around him was a certain glow. His face was lit by a broad smile that illuminated the lines of wisdom that gave his face such depth of character. His eyes were deep and seemed to hold a lot of something. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Nanadadzie, you have 30 minutes. Use that time well”, he continued.
“Are you God?”, I asked.
“The One and Only”, he answered.
“Where is Allah? I wanted to meet both of you”, I asked.
“I am One and the Same”, he pointed out.
“May I call you just God or Dear God”, I asked.
“Call me Father”, he said.
“Father, do you know the mess going on down there on Earth in your name?”, I asked.
“I know, Nana, I know. It’s OK to call you Nana, right? Most people call you that”, he said.
“Of course you can, Father”, I answered. “So you know there’s a lot of bad things being done in your name and you are fine with that?”, I continued, incredulous.
“Nana, they use my name in vain to do these bad things”, he answered.
“So why do you allow that?”, I asked.
“You humans have free will, you know that right?”, he asked me.
“Father, free will to use your name for the Crusades? The numerous European religious wars? Slavery? Apartheid? Al-Queda? ISIS?”, I asked.
“Nana, the human ultimately has to discover the Truth”, he said.
“But, but the carnage is great. Did you see Brussels? And Paris? Have you seen what Boko Haram is doing in Nigeria? The attacks in Mali, Bukina and Cote d’Ivoire? The beheadings in Syria? Syria? Iraq? 9-11? What truth do you find from such carnage? That religion leads to violence?”, I asked, my voice rising.
“Nana my son, I could with a stroke of my finger, wipe all out. What lesson would that teach mankind?”, he asked.
“That you cannot mess with God. You did that back in the day!”, I volunteered.
“I might have but did it teach mankind anything?”, he asked, looking at me sternly.
“So we have to go through all this pain to learn? To learn what?”, I asked.
“To learn to live together as one”, he replied.
“Father, call me cynical but that isn’t happening. The Church you left down there is in shambles. You heard of all those priests and the kids, right? That was a disaster. Islam has been hijacked. The races hate each other. There are wars everywhere. Large swaths of the population is starving or dying from diseases. And we are supposed to live together as one? I’m sorry but I have no faith that will ever happen”, I declared.
“Nana, do you believe in me?”, he asked.
“Father, to be honest, there are lots of times that I have my doubts”, I offered.
“Nana, you are bound by time and space. I see eternity. Good always overcomes evil. The right shall dominate the wrong”, he said.
“You sound like my late dad. By the way, is he around?”, I asked.
“Yes he is but he is not the reason you are here”, he replied then continued:
“There is always a dark side to light. A bitter side to the sweet. Those who use my name for evil are the dark side of light. Ultimately, the light shines so bright, the darkness is unseen and unheard. Believe and be strong”, he said.
Suddenly, I heard a sound behind me. I turned to see Peter in the doorway.
“It is time”, he said.
I swung around to ask God a last question but the throne was empty.
I sighed and walked out of the hall behind Peter. With each step, I heard a ringing sound. As we neared the main door, it got louder. The minute he opened the main door, the piercing scream of my alarm broke through, waking me up to another morning of life on this Earth with it’s violence, pain and hopelessness. Or is all that leading to a time of peace, love and hope?
That is when it hit me. What I had seen in his eyes. His eyes were full of certainty. Certainty that all will be well. That good will overcome evil. That the right will dominate the wrong. Certainty.
I sat at the edge of my bed and realized that I wasn’t so certain. That good will overcome evil. That the right will dominate. I wasn’t at all but wished I had faith. Wished I believed. I didn’t.
I sighed.

The Healing of a Nation

“That is not a drug, it’s a leaf.”
– Arnold Schwarzenegger

In the next few years, two of the many areas that could be interesting areas of medical research and therapy may be the the fields of cancer immunotherapy and the medical use of cannabinoids. Yes, cannabinoids – those extracts from cannabis aka marijuana aka weed!

No other plant is as controversial as Cannabis. In spite of an almost 5000 year-old history of use around the world, it has been a banned substance in most countries in the last 100 years or so.

It’s ill-repute stems from it’s psychoactive effects which can be significant.
Some of the chemicals inherent in the most common species of this plant, Cannabis sativa, have been isolated and they are called cannabinoids. There are about 85 of them. The two most researched are:

– Delta-9 Tetrahydrocannabinol (THC) and
– Cannabinol (CBD)

Whereas THC is responsible for most of the psychoactive effects (the high), CBD has none of the high effect. Both cannabinoids have some very significant therapeutic effects.

THC – analgesic, anti-spasmodic, anti-tremor, anti-inflammatory, appetite stimulant and anti-emetic
CBD – anti-inflammatory, anti-convulsant, anti-psychotic, anti-oxidant, neuroprotective and immunomodulatory effects

Even more interesting is that the human body has cannabinoid receptors. This has been an area of research for the last 20 years or so. Two types of cannabinoid receptors have been found so far – CB1 and CB2. CB1 receptors are present in the brain and spinal cord and in certain peripheral tissues. CB2 receptors are expressed primarily in immune tissues.
Now if the body has cannabinoid receptors, then humans must produce natural cannabinoids. At least 3 have been isolated so far – arachidonoyl-ethanolamide (anandamide), 2-arachidonoyl glycerol (2-AG) and arachidonyl glyceryl ether (noladin ether).

These endocannabinoids are involved in areas of the brain responsible for:
– movement and postural control, pain and sensory perception, memory, cognition, emotion,
control and reward centers in the brain (limbic system and hypothalamus)
– cytokine release from immune cells and immune cell migration

So when one uses marijuana, do the cannabinoids from the weed react with the natural receptors? That is the thought and that is how they exert their action.

The push is then for strains of Cannabis high in CBD to capture the medicinal sans psychoactive effects. This is achieved by altering the genome of the cannabis plant to get strains that contain mostly CBD. An example of a strain with high levels of CBD is Charlotte’s Web.

In the forefront for drugs made out of CBD is GW Pharma, a company out of the London, UK. They have a drug out named Epidiolex for Dravet Syndrom. This a condition marked by intractable seizures in kids. These kids can have over 20 seizure a month. It reduced the incidence of seizures in a study of 120 children by close to 40%. FDA approval is pending.

CBD-based drugs are also being studied for Multiple Sclerosis. It reduces the incidence and severity of muscle and bladder spasms as well as the intensity of neuropathic pain.
CBD has been shown to reduce the incidence of psychosis in Schizophrenics and may modulate symptoms of fear in patients with PTSD.
CBD has been shown to be very effective in the treatment of chronic pain with a much safer safety profile than opioids.
There are a few studies out showing the cytotoxic effects of CBD on breast cancer cells.

All these examples are but a few of the therapeutic possibilities being researched actively.

CBD however still remains a Schedule I substance and thus viewed as illicit when used without a prescription or in a state where the use of marijuana is not legal.

Maybe Bob Marley was right after all:
“Herb is the healing of a nation, alcohol is the destruction.”

What you do afterwards

“To err is human, to forgive, divine.”
– Alexander Pope, from “An Essay on Criticism”

Probably, the most important lesson I learnt in all of residency can be summed up in these words:
“It’s not the mistake! It’s what you do afterwards that matters”.

These words have accompanied me all these years, I practice by them, taught that to my residents when I was in academics and pass it on any chance I get. It is not only true in medicine but also in the criminal justice system and even at home with our children and spouses. For this discussion though, we’ll stick to medicine.
To elucidate, we have to take a trip back to 1999.

“To Err is Human: Building a Safer Health System” was a report issued in 1999 by the U.S. Institute of Medicine that detailed medical errors in the US healthcare system and the human as well as financial toll it was exacting. The figures were sobering. Between 44,000 to 98,000 people die each year as a result of preventable medical errors. They have been estimated to result in total costs of between $17 billion and $29 billion per year in hospitals nationwide!
It was pointed out in the report that, system failures and less individual provider mistakes were responsible for most medical errors. The push since has been to reduce medical errors and improve patient safety and the results have been encouraging.

However, the fact remains that physicians are only human and like the saying goes, “To err is human…” and that is where my lesson comes into play.
Sooner or later, every physician is going to make a mistake. Show me a physician who hasn’t made a mistake before and I’ll show you a doctor who hasn’t practiced long enough or doesn’t practice at all.
So if we are prone to make mistakes, shouldn’t there be a readiness to face and deal with these errors when they happen? Beyond the checklists and time-outs, beyond the constant threat of loss of accreditation and fines, shouldn’t we as physician on an individual level be ready to deal with that mistake?
That mentality of “It’s not the mistake! It’s what you do afterwards that matters” takes away the fear that dogs one when a mistake is made. It makes one communicate clearly with the patient if possible and explain what happened and what will be done. It allows one to keep a level head and work alone or with a team to reverse or limit any damage. It also reduces the incidence of lawsuits.
This mentality demands something from the physician. It demands a certain honesty and strength of character. One should be able to say, “I screwed up. Now how do I fix it?” It demands empathy with the patient à la “If it was me…”
I know, it is much easier to sweep things under the rug of unintelligible medical speak or blame someone else but that only stokes the fire of trouble down the road and possible harm to the patient.

To help develop this mentality, a mantra that was drummed into me during residency helps. It was, “What is the worst thing that can happen now and what would you do about it?”
With that kind of mind set, one tends to be prepared for whatever but most importantly, one tries to prevent whatever form happening. One tends to see all those checklists on a personal level and that readiness on a personal level ultimately translates to one on the team level too.

Most physicians do as Hippocrates said and try do do no harm. However since the human is plagued by fallibility, maybe accepting that and factoring it into our daily practice may help. So even as you go about your day, remember, “It’s not the mistake; it’s what you do afterwards that matters.”

The Five Senses and You

“Half of us are blind, few of us feel, and we are all deaf.”
– Sir William Osler

This incident occured in my third or fourth year of medical School in Leipzig (outside the US, most medical schools are 6-year programs). We were on a medical-surgical (med-surg) floor one afternoon with one of our instructors for a session on the Physical Exam. Before we went off to terrorize our patients, he warned us to pay attention and observe. He asked us not to be too distracted by what the patients said – to listen but also to watch. To use all five senses.
I marched off to my patient – a 60-something year old woman who was in the hospital with an unknown-to-me cardiac condition. My job was to talk to her, examine her and figure out her condition and the cause. The patients are usually asked by the instructors beforehand not to divulge their diagnoses.
Well, my patient was as garrulous as they come. She thought I was the cutest thing she ever saw and I allowed her to pinch me cheek and pull my hair (I had a ‘fro then!). Soon she told me what her ailment was – Atrial Fibrillation (a condition where the heart beats iregularly) – and all the medicines she was on. Well, who was I to complain? I had my diagnosis and treatment. I stepped out, feeling like the second coming of Hippocrates. I had totally forgotten why I was in the room in the first place.
Well, I presented my patient to my instructor who promptly asked me what the cause of her Atrial Fibrillation (A-fib) was. Having neglected to examine her, I promptly responded that it was idiopathic, a fancy term for ‘I don’t know’. He asked me to list the causes of A-fib, which I did. He asked me if the lady could have Hyperthyroidism (an overactive thyroid gland and a cause of A-fib). I said no.
At this point, most of the other students were back. He introduced my case to the group and asked me to lead the group to my patient’s room. The instructor was a tall man and he was right behind me when I opened the door to the patient’s room. From the door, one saw the patient resting in bed and she turned her head to look at us as we entered. From about 12 feet away, one could see the goiter (a large swollen thyroid gland) bobbing in her neck. I wanted to vanish!

It’s a lesson I’ve never forgotten – to observe, to watch, to feel, to smell and listen. Do I do it well or all the time? Of course not but I try.
The power of observation is as important to the practice of medicine as the power of taste is to a chef. A doctor needs to be able to notice that jaundiced skin, that throbbing mass in the abdomen, those engorged veins in the neck, those blue lips, the child who is alwsys squatting instead of playing, those trembling fingers, that deviated tongue, that strange gait.
We need to listen to the patients’ answers but above all know what to ask. We need to examine patients and really listen to those breath sounds and make out those murmurs. We need to be able to smell those almonds on a patient’s breath.

The practice of observing the patient has been dealt a serious blow by the use of technology in medicine. In this age of CT-Scans and MRIs, why even bother? What not let technology do all the work? An echo will soon tell you if the patient has valvular disease so why does one need to know what aortic stenosis sounds like?
First, it makes one a better doctor then it forces a one to be interested in that human in front of him or her. You have to be truly interested in another person to observe them closely.
It also does save time and money. It cuts down the amount of useless tests. Sure, we do a lot of tests to cover our butts (Defensive Medicine), but there are also cases where a good physical exam does make a huge difference.
Further, it gives one a better picture of the patient. One may pick up other ailments that the patient may not even know about.
Our colleagues who practice in developing countries will tell you most times, all you have are your five senses.
(At this point, a shout out to all the doctors in Ghana and to two esteemed colleagues – one who spends half his time working in Haiti and the other who volunteers with Doctors Without Borders).
Recently, the practice of observation has been dealt another blow. Since electronic medical record-keeping became mandatory in most medical practices and hospitals, I often take time to observe other colleagues and nurses working. It is a sad sight. One sees extremely well-trained and dedicated professionals observing not the patient, but a screen. A culture that already suffered from the lack of observing the patient has been worsened by the need to chart electronically.
Then is the notion that the practice of medicine is nothing but a series on protocols and best practices and that the best results are obtained when everyone sticks to these protocols and best practices. Well, the jury is still out on the wisdom and effectiveness of that. As most practitioners will tell you, no two patients or two cases are ever the same.
Lastly, just the volume of patients one has to deal with plus production pressure make it sometimes really challenging to really observe well.

I look on in despair and wonder what William Osler would say if he was alive today. He aptly once wrote:
“Learn to see, learn to hear, learn to feel, learn to smell, and know that by practice alone can you become expert.”
We have all become experts but are we in the process forgetting how to see, hear, feel and smell? If we do forget, what kind of experts do we become then? I wonder, I really do…

What if…?

Like life, the practice of medicine is filled with the highs and lows, the moments of heartbreak and euphoria of success, times of hair-pulling (if one has any) frustration and uplifting encouragement.
Loosing a patient unexpectedly is very traumatic. It happens to every doctor and it is a pipe dream to think it would never happen to you. It is a fact that some specialties are less prone to experience it than others. However, when it does happen, most physicians have no one to talk to.
Fellow physicians are the worst group of people to seek solace from. The majority have their own professional and personal issues. Then is the judgmental bit – “If you had done A instead of B, maybe…” Which leaves our significant others, the majority of whom have already been overburdened with medical talk to the point where they are insensitive and frankly do not care anymore. And then is the small issue of “..anything you say can be used against you when the family sues you!’
Would it not be great it there was a ‘listening ear’ for physicians in those times? I am thinking a 1-800 number one could call and be able to unload the disappointment and pain. Say 1-800-i-LISTEN.
A physician could call and talk anonymously to a listening ear about the death one had in the operating room (or emergency room or cardiac cath lab or floor).
About the fact that the team did all it could? About the fact that the patient had undiagnosed SAM or carcinoid or an unknown tight left main? About the fact that you were in the operating room for 15 hours? About the fact that you bonded with the patient and his wife gave you a hug and his kids shook your hand? About the fact that the malignancy was inoperable? About all those things we are supposed to keep inside because we are supermen but really aren’t?
What if you could just open up without fear of judgement or medico-legal action?
What if…?

scream

“The Scream” by Edvard Munch, 1910

Then are those times where one out of pure frustration wishes to yell or scream or throw something. My surgical colleagues, can I get an Amen? Yet you cannot yell or swear or throw anything. It is unprofessional and creates a hostile work environment. It is absolutely disrespectful to the team busting their chops to make it happen. You may have done it in the good old days but we are in 2016 and that kind of behavior will get you in trouble quickly. However, every doctor has had a day where frustration rolled down like waters and impediments like a mighty stream. Where that surgeon didn’t understand that blocks sometimes don’t work, where that anesthesiologist cancelled that case even though the best cardiologist in town “cleared the patient”, where that cardiologist wants you to do that CABG today and not on Monday, where you are stuck in the OR because the PACU is full, where you find out that some administrator decided to pull your favorite suture or antibiotic because it’s too expensive, wherw you have to work with the scrub tech you cannot stand….. the list goes on.

You want to scream and yell and call someone names that would make Tony Montana wince, don’t you? You want to do that because long before you became a doctor, you were a human with emotions and long after you cannot practice anymore, you will still be that human!… And humans get frustrated and sometimes, just sometimes, want to yell and scream and hop up and down on one leg and then the other.
So won’t it be great if there was a Scream Room?
“Scream Room?”, you wonder. “What is a Scream Room?”
The Scream Room would be a soundproof room somewhere in the hospital where one could go and scream and throw things of one’s choice for as long as one wanted to let out pent-up frustration. One could use as many four-letter words as one wanted and jump up and down like Rumpelstiltskin if one wished to.
The room would also have a 100-lb punching bag hanging from the ceiling. There would be boxing gloves available. One only has to pin a picture of the cause of one’s ire on the bag, don appropriate size boxing gloves and punch away.
What if there was such a room?
What if…?
Like I wrote earlier, before we become doctors, we were humans. Humans are strong but can also be weak. They can be wise but sometimes folly reigns supreme. They can be patient and understanding but occasionally brash and irritable. It’s only in accepting our strengths and weaknesses that we become whole. Whole humans. Whole doctors.