Sunday, February 26, 2017
And then there is unspeakable magic.
I live for the days when a patient comes to the office with a particularly vexing set of symptoms. Specialist after specialist bows their head in disagreement. Laboratory values whisper falsehoods with jeering tongues. Symptoms are transient, physical exam signs inconsistent, and in the midst of head scratching an answer mysteriously appears. Maybe a common presentation of a rare disease. Or a rare presentation of a common disease.
Explaining with words so fast that sentences jumble. Ideas merge. The patient shakes their head enthusiastically less because of deep understanding, and more because they know that my excitement means that finally the answer will unfold like a blossoming flower selflessly bearing its pollen. I will eventually slow down enough to present a cogent explanation. And things will get better.
It lifts me up when a patient sits down beside me after yet another round of chemo. When, at the end of the day, I have a sparing moment to settle in for intense conversation. I bite my tongue, become quiet, and listen. I hear of hopes and dreams. I hear of pain and suffering, joy and fear. We talk like doctor and patient. Like friends. Family members.
We get past the intangibles of life and death, and move on to the more palpable like dignity. Upon finishing, we leave the room in strength. We leave the room with resolve. We leave the room with tears in our eyes. All of us.
And I love when an unwitting pattern is recalled from the deepest depths of memory. The clock is ticking. Heart beats rise and fall rapidly. Knowledge accrued from past struggles presents itself at the most opportune time, and a life is saved.
On the triumphant drive home from the hospital, with the radio blaring, I remember the patient whose back such life saving knowledge was attained.
And I rejoice that all their suffering was not in vain, and neither was mine.
Posted by Jordan Grumet at 6:23 PM
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
Yet time and time again, humility quickly disappears when dealing with the difficult patient. In fact the label, difficult, assumes the problem lies within the patient and not the technique being utilized by the care provider. Already blame is turned outward and personal responsibility abandoned.
A few years ago, when I was in a group practice, one of the senior partners had a particularly needy patient that somehow showed up on all our schedules from time to time. Her aged joints carried her into the exam room to their own particular hobbled rhythm. She paused before each sentence, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her litany of issues was long and nonsensical. And this was always the precise moment when humility left the room. We all became convinced that her complaints were largely psychosomatic. And we were right. It still amazes me at how cavalier I can be when I think a solution is either simple or non physiologic.
It was only after several visits that the need for a thorough exam became apparent. I tapped my feet and waited outside the door for what seemed like an eternity as she undressed and climbed into the unflattering gown. My stethoscope stumbled over the heart as if its mighty muscle had not thumped hundreds of thousands of beats. Auscultated the lungs absentmindedly untouched by the unmeasurable volumes that glanced the porous surface.
My hands fumbled over the fibrosed joints that absorbed the shock of a child's prance, a young athlete's stride, and an ancient shuffle.
My conceit, however, unshakable as it was, was shattered by the faded serial number tattooed on her forearm.
And my humility, once again, was restored to a respectable level.
Posted by Jordan Grumet at 7:17 PM
Sunday, February 19, 2017
The phone is ringing.
THE PHONE IS RINGING!
I sometimes feel my heart race. In the middle of the night. When I get a phone call. Or during the day. While taking a leisurely walk with my family by the lake. The sun streaming through clouds on a brisk morning, interrupted by a fall in room 36. An abrasion. A cardiac arrest. One phone call on top of another, Occasionally so many that the calls on hold are dropped. Or not so occasionally.
During dinner. While in the shower. Sitting on the toilet. Day and night. A faint pain in the ear where the blue tooth rests. Even when it is charging on the bedside table. A hallucination. The feeling of something that is no longer there. Of something that is undeniably no longer there.
The vexing confusion on the other side of the line when I answer professionally, and the call is personal. An even greater confusion when I answer personally, and the call is professional. Straining to hear life altering results in a crowded restaurant. Above the raucous sounds of my frolicking children. In the car when the light is changing.
A bad connection. The basement where there is never reception. At the car wash when the blue tooth flips from my ear to the car, giving the employees an unexpected treat. Or the waiter who stammers through my conversation concerning constipation, or blood in the stool, or foul smelling urine. To return to ordering a hamburger, after telling a family member that their loved one has just died.
Upon realizing a few minutes after being woken unexpectedly in the middle of the night, that a pertinent detail was missed. Waiting several minutes to get the nurse back onto the phone. And languishing the next few hours restless. despite great fatigue, because now the mind has started spinning uncontrollably.
Distracted conversations with my wife. Consistently interrupted. By a patient's emergency.
The ire I feel receiving yet another text. To only discover. That it is just my precious daughter.
Telling me she loves me.
In the middle of a blog post...
Posted by Jordan Grumet at 2:31 PM
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
Brutal. It's brutal. I new it would be after a few weeks of rotations on the medical wards. The more responsibility I gained, the worse it got. And I guess I entered the profession knowing this. There was no expectation of reprieve. No belief that I would be let off the hook. I assumed that it was my cross to bear, my burden to shoulder. As the burden became heavier, I learned how to amble through hospital halls with a stooped posture.
I just don't know if it could be any other way. I can think of no relief from the burden of making life and death decisions. What we do. What we do matters. A wrong turn, a flip on the ideological scale, can have devastating consequences for those we care for. There is no escaping this responsibility. No blunting the effect. You can't go half way. You can't stand in the middle of the road. You either make definitive decisions with definitive consequences or you get out of the business. There is no such thing as sleeping peacefully for a physician.
So why are doctors committing suicide? Why are doctors leaving medicine in droves? It's not burnout. A small part of the reason is wrong career choice. A young doctor realizes quickly that they didn't know what they were signing up for.
For the rest, it's external. It's not the stress of caring for people or even making life and death decisions. This is part of our genetic makeup. Part of our training.
It's everything else. It's the paperwork. It's the meaningless paperwork. It's the droves of administrators and clerical staff thwarting us at every turn. It's the government and endless regulations, and rules, and threats. It's the loss of respect, loss of standing, and loss of confidence that we feel everyday from our community. It's economic distress.
We won't fix this by training our young people about burnout or haranguing them with some odd belief in resilience. They made it through medical school, they already are resilient.
You want doctors to be doctors again? You want us to love our jobs again?
Simple. Get out of the way.
And let us do what we were trained to do.
Posted by Jordan Grumet at 3:46 PM
Friday, February 10, 2017
You will face this. You will stand at the crossroads of skill and preparedness. Although your heart may tremble, your hands will be still. Although your thoughts may race, your mind will be firm. Each one of us must enter the coliseum unadorned from time to time. Over and over again, we do battle. Skill and knowledge spring forth from failure, not success.
I can help prepare you for this moment. I can congeal my accrued wisdom into consumable morsels for you to chew. I can arm you with knowledge and skill. But I cannot do battle for you. Not this time. I will bring you to the trough, but now you must drink.
Drink from the well of fear and incertaintude. Imbibe from the ocean of insecurity. Place your head forward and savor both the bitter and sweet,
For you will be tested. Again and again. There are times when you will be ready, and times when you will not. But there is strength deep down inside of you. A voice that will lead the way. Listen to that voice. Follow its dictates. Let your mind and heart propel you together.
You must become the clearest when you are down. It is when you are most beleaguered, that wisdom dribbles in. Be open to it. Watch for it in the deepest pits of despair. It will be you ladder. It will be you life raft.
And you will succeed. Maybe not this time. Maybe not the next. But eventually.
So, my son, I want you to go to school today and rip that math test apart. I'll be thinking of you.
Thanks dad, I will. No biggie.
I hope your day at work is okay too.
Hope none of the sick people die!
Posted by Jordan Grumet at 7:23 AM
Monday, February 6, 2017
Instead, the CT was pushed until morning. A resident saw the patient at midnight and then not a single practitioner note in the EMR for nearly eighteen hours. The hospitalist eventually deferred on the scan and called for a consult, which was scheduled for the next day because of the late hour.
After a busy day of surgery, the specialist showed up at 8pm and OK'ed the patient for discharge without any further studies. But it was almost midnight, better to wait till the next day. The social worker, in meetings all morning, didn't get the paperwork out to the nursing home till mid afternoon. The nursing home accepted the patient, but only if delayed once more night due to poor staffing.
In all, the patient endured four days in the hospital without a significant diagnostic nor therapeutic intervention. He did, however, sustain a third degree decuibitious ulcer which would take weeks of wound care to heal.
I'm not sure when exactly the length of stay vs hospital readmission switch flipped. I have a sneaking suspicion that with all this talk of readmission rates, the focus and priority of the hospitals and their hospitalist programs have changed. Once again we have traded one slave master for another with untold and often unstudied consequences. Don't be too hasty to discharge, we are told, you wouldn't want the patient to bounce back.
This dance we dance with Medicare is complicated, The incentive game sounds straight forward, but often is not. While the hospital or doctor may be the recipient of all the carrots, the patient often finds themselves on the wrong end of the stick.
These are grand experiments we are forcing on our patients. Unproven and untested, we must be aware that in the name of quality, we may be undoing much good.
Posted by Jordan Grumet at 10:57 AM