the first snow is here. my kids ran outside barefoot. contrast.
into the white. the cold. is this real? is this really where we are?
a day full of patients. it's busy. there are schedules. everything is pale. everyone is pale. life feels devoid of color. but there is contrast everywhere.
it's between what i see and what i feel.
what i live and what i remember.
we had a meeting today about office protocols. about the seconds lost in our current system when an ambulance needs to get called and transport a patient from our medical office to the emergency room. i had to do this a few weeks ago for a patient of mine who was having a heart attack. i thought it went well. she'd had her EKG, an aspirin, oxygen and the ambulance came in under 5 minutes and she was on her way and in the cath lab in 30 minutes having her coronary arteries investigated. they were talking about the fastest way to get the ambulance to the right room. we are talking seconds.
* * * * * *
he had HIV/AIDS and TB at least i'm pretty sure it was TB. he was panting for air, wasting away, vital signs were not good. he needed to get admitted from our little clinic in uganda to the big referral hospital. there was no oxygen. there was no ambulance. i wrote a note and asked if someone could organize a ride for him- that he needed to go quickly to the hospital. yes- they could- yes he would. i went on to the next patient. a few hours later i saw him still in the clinic looking worse. i found the nurse and asked what was happening. the man with the key to petty cash is gone she said. she couldn't get money to get fuel for the car to take him to the hospital. she hadn't wanted to bother me with the details.
these are the contrasts i live with. that we hold.
i was listening to someone today. to their lungs. the air going in and out. i was thinking about how many times a day i listen now and how most of the time they sound fine. and of how many doctors each of my patients here have. i am one of so many. a piece in a giant machine. standing beside those lungs today i almost started to cry. i thought what if i do ? what if i just started to cry right here in this exam room in the middle of danvers massachusetts?
and the patient would look perplexed and horrified and ask what on earth i had heard in her lungs that was so awful that i had begun to cry? and i would say it's nothing at all. that's just it. it is nothing at all.
into the white. the cold. is this real? is this really where we are?
a day full of patients. it's busy. there are schedules. everything is pale. everyone is pale. life feels devoid of color. but there is contrast everywhere.
it's between what i see and what i feel.
what i live and what i remember.
we had a meeting today about office protocols. about the seconds lost in our current system when an ambulance needs to get called and transport a patient from our medical office to the emergency room. i had to do this a few weeks ago for a patient of mine who was having a heart attack. i thought it went well. she'd had her EKG, an aspirin, oxygen and the ambulance came in under 5 minutes and she was on her way and in the cath lab in 30 minutes having her coronary arteries investigated. they were talking about the fastest way to get the ambulance to the right room. we are talking seconds.
* * * * * *
he had HIV/AIDS and TB at least i'm pretty sure it was TB. he was panting for air, wasting away, vital signs were not good. he needed to get admitted from our little clinic in uganda to the big referral hospital. there was no oxygen. there was no ambulance. i wrote a note and asked if someone could organize a ride for him- that he needed to go quickly to the hospital. yes- they could- yes he would. i went on to the next patient. a few hours later i saw him still in the clinic looking worse. i found the nurse and asked what was happening. the man with the key to petty cash is gone she said. she couldn't get money to get fuel for the car to take him to the hospital. she hadn't wanted to bother me with the details.
these are the contrasts i live with. that we hold.
i was listening to someone today. to their lungs. the air going in and out. i was thinking about how many times a day i listen now and how most of the time they sound fine. and of how many doctors each of my patients here have. i am one of so many. a piece in a giant machine. standing beside those lungs today i almost started to cry. i thought what if i do ? what if i just started to cry right here in this exam room in the middle of danvers massachusetts?
and the patient would look perplexed and horrified and ask what on earth i had heard in her lungs that was so awful that i had begun to cry? and i would say it's nothing at all. that's just it. it is nothing at all.
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