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I was what you would've called the typical superficial jock type who thougt the world of himself and had the ego the size of Texas. I wanted to go into medicine for the sole modus operandi of making alot of money and to elevate my social status in hopes this would ingratiate myself with the ladies.
All through the pre-clinical years I studied voraciously to ensure the highest marks for the sake of obtaining the most competitive residency in whatever specialty I desired. I wanted to be praised for my skill and perceived status as the best in my field.
At the start of third year I was very anxious to start my very first rotation. It was gong to be internal medicine. I would prove to everyone that I was a very hard worker and knew my "stuff." The first week went beautifully and things were going as planned. I was gaining a reputation with the interns, residents, and attendings as "one of the stars."
The internal medicine team was a sight to behold. We were like the Nazi Gestapo patroling the streets of Jewish ghettos. At the head was the attending physician without feeling and hell bent on getting things done NOW. He was flanked by the residents, with the interns and medical students trailing behind. We would barge into the patient's room with reckless abandonement and gather at the bedside like the Spanish Inquisition. Patients would never be acknowledged by their first name and never looked at directly in their eyes. The diabolical efficiency at which we would go from patient to patient was maddening. There were so many patients. How would we remember them all? We didn't use names. Instead, faces would be associated and remembered by the disease(s) they had. It was so much easier that way. It was just cleaner that way.
It was getting really late and I was relishing the thought of going home, taking a long hot shower, and falling asleep in a nice warm bed.
After the team finished with the last patient, I found myself in the ICU. Patients in the ICU always had very interesting disease pathoogy. They were usually the sickest and required the greatest amount of care. It was always so goddamn crowded with all the friggin family member in here acting crazy and basically getting in the way. I was gonna make my quick exit after I finished with the end stage liver dz guy with massive upper GI bleeding secondary to grade III esophageal varices.
As I was leaving the ICU, I saw someone in a bed out of the corner of my eye. It was in a secluded corner of the ICU away from the general ebb and flow of controlled chaos that I grew accustomed to. I asked the charge nurse who he was.
"Oh, that's the DNR guy....he's got end stage CLL."
I walked over and saw a lifeless, cachectic figure lying motionless staring at the wall. IVs of narcotic pain killers were coarsing through his veins doing their job in comforting this gentleman in his last few moments of life. This man was dying and yet there was no one here by his side. He had no family, no friends, no loved ones, no wife, or children. I grabbed his chart and frantically looked for someone to call and tell him or her that their father, grandfather, brother, uncle or husband is dying. I found no one...absolutely nobody.
Harold was a mechanical engineer by trade and served in the infantry in the vietnam war. His wife of 45 years passed away 3 years earlier due to a massive stroke. They never had any children.
I went back to Harold's bedside and softly called out his name. His body was so weakened and ravaged by the leukemia that he did not even realize I was there. There was nothing that I or anyone else in the hospital could do for Harold.
I sat down on his bed beside him. I looked into his eyes and took his hand without hesitation and softly put it in between mine. He passed several hours later. There were no phone calls to be made or funerals to be arranged. I went home and tried to sit down and read about the case presentation that I was to give the next morning. It was no use. My thoughts were elsewhere.
As I was leaving my apartment early the next morning, I received a phone call. I asked who it was but got no answer. I could tell the gentleman was elderly. He sounded very sad over the phone. He managed to compose himself for a bit and said, " I just wanted to thank you for being with Harold like you did...I..I wanted to be there...I just couldn't see him like that...thank you so much..."
I never found out who that man was that I talked to early that morning. I realized now how much I owed to Harold. He made me realize what it truly means to be a physician. He made me realize what it means to care
All through the pre-clinical years I studied voraciously to ensure the highest marks for the sake of obtaining the most competitive residency in whatever specialty I desired. I wanted to be praised for my skill and perceived status as the best in my field.
At the start of third year I was very anxious to start my very first rotation. It was gong to be internal medicine. I would prove to everyone that I was a very hard worker and knew my "stuff." The first week went beautifully and things were going as planned. I was gaining a reputation with the interns, residents, and attendings as "one of the stars."
The internal medicine team was a sight to behold. We were like the Nazi Gestapo patroling the streets of Jewish ghettos. At the head was the attending physician without feeling and hell bent on getting things done NOW. He was flanked by the residents, with the interns and medical students trailing behind. We would barge into the patient's room with reckless abandonement and gather at the bedside like the Spanish Inquisition. Patients would never be acknowledged by their first name and never looked at directly in their eyes. The diabolical efficiency at which we would go from patient to patient was maddening. There were so many patients. How would we remember them all? We didn't use names. Instead, faces would be associated and remembered by the disease(s) they had. It was so much easier that way. It was just cleaner that way.
It was getting really late and I was relishing the thought of going home, taking a long hot shower, and falling asleep in a nice warm bed.
After the team finished with the last patient, I found myself in the ICU. Patients in the ICU always had very interesting disease pathoogy. They were usually the sickest and required the greatest amount of care. It was always so goddamn crowded with all the friggin family member in here acting crazy and basically getting in the way. I was gonna make my quick exit after I finished with the end stage liver dz guy with massive upper GI bleeding secondary to grade III esophageal varices.
As I was leaving the ICU, I saw someone in a bed out of the corner of my eye. It was in a secluded corner of the ICU away from the general ebb and flow of controlled chaos that I grew accustomed to. I asked the charge nurse who he was.
"Oh, that's the DNR guy....he's got end stage CLL."
I walked over and saw a lifeless, cachectic figure lying motionless staring at the wall. IVs of narcotic pain killers were coarsing through his veins doing their job in comforting this gentleman in his last few moments of life. This man was dying and yet there was no one here by his side. He had no family, no friends, no loved ones, no wife, or children. I grabbed his chart and frantically looked for someone to call and tell him or her that their father, grandfather, brother, uncle or husband is dying. I found no one...absolutely nobody.
Harold was a mechanical engineer by trade and served in the infantry in the vietnam war. His wife of 45 years passed away 3 years earlier due to a massive stroke. They never had any children.
I went back to Harold's bedside and softly called out his name. His body was so weakened and ravaged by the leukemia that he did not even realize I was there. There was nothing that I or anyone else in the hospital could do for Harold.
I sat down on his bed beside him. I looked into his eyes and took his hand without hesitation and softly put it in between mine. He passed several hours later. There were no phone calls to be made or funerals to be arranged. I went home and tried to sit down and read about the case presentation that I was to give the next morning. It was no use. My thoughts were elsewhere.
As I was leaving my apartment early the next morning, I received a phone call. I asked who it was but got no answer. I could tell the gentleman was elderly. He sounded very sad over the phone. He managed to compose himself for a bit and said, " I just wanted to thank you for being with Harold like you did...I..I wanted to be there...I just couldn't see him like that...thank you so much..."
I never found out who that man was that I talked to early that morning. I realized now how much I owed to Harold. He made me realize what it truly means to be a physician. He made me realize what it means to care
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