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Just a Few Random Things

Fast Freddie Johnson and the Man

The patient, a young black man, eyed me suspiciously. Apart from telling me that his name was Kareem, he had said very little during the initial assessment in the trauma bay and had made it to the CT scanner and back without saying more than ten words, total, to anybody. His GCS was 15 and he was hemodynamically stable so this was initially attributed to pain and fear. Other than the obviously fractured tibia, he was uninjured but as the pain medication kicked in and things settled down he still seemed reluctant to give us any information.

A group of his friends were in the hallway outside the trauma bay and they, too, were noncommittal even in regard to his last name. They eyed the two police officers from whom their friend had been fleeing before he smashed his stolen car into a tree and elected to plead the fifth in regard to their alleged friend.

“Come on,” said one of the cops, “You hang out with this guy and you don’t even know his last name?”

Shrugs all around. They had the police in check.

“Kareem,” I said, “I’m Doctor Bear, one of the residents on the trauma service. We’re going to get the orthopedic surgeons to look at you and I imagine they’ll be taking you to the operating room to fix your fracture.

“Kareem?” said the patient’s mother who had pushed her way into the trauma bay, “His name ain’t Kareem, it’s Freddie, Freddie Johnson …Baby, why you be tellin’ them yo’ name is Kareem?”

Mr. Johnson, demoted and revealed, shot his mother an angry look and I fully expected her to deny knowing her son.

The police left after we assured them that Mr. Johnson wouldn’t be going anywhere for awhile which was probably a mistake as only one day after an ORIF (Open Reduction, Internal Fixation) of his tibia, the taciturn Mr. Johnson limped out of the hospital on his crutches and we never saw him again. I guess we underestimated his desire to evade the law. Although we never really had a conversation and he glowered at me whenever I went into his room, I can’t find it in my heart to dislike Mr. Johnson. If you have to leave Against Medical Advice (AMA) this is the best way to do it, avoiding as it does the usual song and dance, the cajoling and stroking, that these things usually entail. I have often found myself earnestly trying to persuade a recalcitrant and unappreciative patient to stay when my heart yearns to say, “Hey, if you want to leave before I can arrange to have home IV antibiotics then don’t let the door give you a staph infection as it hits you on your ass on the way out.”

Of course you can’t really say something like that.

Residency and Call Revisited.

I despise call. And I don’t care to justify my dislike for it by claiming that patient care suffers if the residents are tired. I don’t even know if I really buy into the notion that tired residents make a lot of mistakes, and frankly, I don’t care. It certainly seems like a difficult hypothesis to test and I would hate to have my sleep dictated by the results of some pointy-headed geek’s study.

No, I dislike call for the more visceral but just as legitimate reason that it is inhumane to deprive a person of sleep for anything short of combat operations or genuine medical emergencies. The problem is that everything nowadays is an emergency, even things that aren’t.

“Call” is a misnomer by the way. It’s not “call,” it’s “work.” Attendings have call. They get to go about their business until called in for an actual emergency. Otherwise they take a phone report from the resident on call and say, “Okay, admit the patient and I’ll see him in the morning.” Residents on call generally work nonstop from the early evening until they are allowed to go home the next day. If it’s not an admission in the Emergency Department it’s an issue regarding one of the many patients they are cross-covering.

There was a time, many years ago, when the whole crazy system began when resident call did not mean a sleepless night every third or fourth day. Because people routinely died from the first major illness they acquired instead of collecting them over the years and living longer thanks to medical advances, hospitals were a lot slower-paced then they are today with a more stable census for a service (as hospital stays used to stretch for weeks for things that are treated as an outpatient today) and fewer acute issues that needed to be managed. As a result, the house staff in the fifties may have stayed overnight in the hospital often but I guarantee they slept a lot more than we do today.

But, as I said, today everything is an Emergency and has to be done right away. Not only are we dealing with an older and sicker population but expectations of the public are a lot higher than they used to be. Fifty years ago it was recognized that some diseases were death sentences and the priest and the undertaker were more likely to be called than the doctor. Today, we never say die and we routinely admit, treat, and discharge people who fifty years ago could not possibly have lived long enough to acquire so many comorbid conditions. The combination, for example, of congestive heart failure, diabetes, emphysema, chronic renal failure, morbid obesity, and ischemic heart disease (any one of which was fatal a generation ago) is so common that I’m thinking of having a stamp made so I don’t have to keep writing it on the chart.

So there is very little down-time on a typical medicine or surgery service and you can count on a steady stream of admissions from the Emergency Department to keep you occupied through the night. The Emergency Department, for it’s part, is turning into a miniature and almost self-contained hospital complete with a census of admitted patients who linger in the department waiting for a bed.

What to do about it? Who knows. I only mention it because, with the exception of one month next year, this month is officially my last call month in my medical career. Nothing but shift work from here on out. Emergency Medicine, Baby!

No point, just wanted to gloat.

Letter to A Patient’s Husband
(With a nod to Scalpelorsword for the idea-PB)

Dear Mr. Jones,

I know you accused me of not caring and, on the surface, it may appear that way but I assure you the reality is more complex than that. I know your wife is morbidly obese. I know she suffers from a host of serious and eventually lethal medical conditions. I realize she was in a car accident last week but other than a few bruises, she is all right and while I can understand your reluctance to take her home, you must because she can’t stay here.

Yes, she is a big woman. In fact, she could barely fit into the CT scanner. Yes, she has trouble walking. I have had physical therapy working with here and they inform me that they have done all that they can do. I also am well aware that he has trouble breathing. This is a combination of her emphysema, her current smoking habit, and obstructive sleep apnea from her obesity. I also realize that she seems tired but as you probably noticed, she’s not getting a lot of sleep at night, particularly because she refuses to wear her CPAP mask.

Yes, I understand it’s uncomfortable. I’d hate to have to wear it myself but it’s all I’ve got in my bag of tricks.

I am sorry. We can’t keep her. She came to us in poor health after an automobile accident and she’s going to leave in the same condition that we got her because there is nothing more that we can do about her chronic medical conditions. We took great pains to rule out any occult injuries to her brain and spinal cord and she has been in the hospital on our service many, many days longer than we typically keep uninjured trauma patients, many of who we discharge from the Emergency Department after a few hours of observation.

I can understand your reluctance to take her home. I believe you when you tell me that all she does is sit on the coach and watch TV except when she struggles out of it to use the bathroom. I wish that we could send her to a skilled nursing facility but as she has no insurance and you can’t afford it, this is not an option. She may or may not qualify for Medicaid but we can’t keep her here waiting for the decision. You will just have to take her home.

How will you get her up the steps? You have two sons. I saw them here yesterday. They may live a couple of hours away but they’re just going to have to drive back to town and help their mother. She is your responsibility and theirs. That’s why they call it a family. In fact, the stability of our world depends on families acting as self-supporting units. Break the bond of family and you have either a decaying European-style welfare society dying a selfish and lingering death or a catastrophe like the former Soviet Union which proved that if everybody is responsible for everyone else, no one is.

I’m sorry to place the whole burden of Western civilization on your shoulders, what with you living in a trailer with nothing but basic cable, but there it is. She is your burden. We need this bed for the never ending backlog of patients, some even sicker than your wife, many of whom are sitting in hall beds in the Emergency Department as we speak.

So you see, it’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I can’t care. I can’t take her home with me and assign my wife as her nurse. We can’t keep her in a scarce hospital bed for the rest of her life with her own private nurses and therapists to assist her. Despite what you may have heard, we are not magicians and I we cannot cure what afflicts your wife. I’m not even sure that we could help her if she wanted our help which she apparently does not. I can’t, for example, hold the CPAP mask on her face all night against her will or force her to take insulin shots. She could have me arrested for assault. She’s an adult. We all lay in the beds we make. We’re not doing a thing for her but catering to her whims, something you might want to stop doing by the way.

She can get up if motivated. I have seen her, just this morning, heave out of her bed and transfer to the bedside commode. I suggest if she asks you for some food you tell her to get it herself.

You asked if I am sending her home to die. Of course not. But she is going to die. I’d say her chances of being alive five years from now are zero as she is a setup for all kinds of medical badness. But, like I said, we can’t keep her here for the next year or two hoping to preempt the next medical crisis. Call the ambulance if there is any sudden change in her condition.

You were right about one thing. In the end, hiring a nurse to help you at home would be a lot cheaper than the inevitable hospital costs your wife will incur over the next five years as her health continues to deteriorate and fruitless regular hospital admissions turn into fruitless and spectacularly expensive ICU admissions. But I’m just a resident. I don’t make public policy. Even if I did, while your idea makes sense economically, I’m not sure I’d want to structure society to completely remove the burden of individual responsibility.

Good Luck. I wish I could do more but I can’t.

Sincerely,

Dr. Bear

How to Write Your AMCAS Personal Statement

Feel Free To Use These…

(As many of you know, the personal statement on your AMCAS application is an important piece of the medical school admission puzzle. A good personal statement can land you an interview while a bad one can make an otherwise strong candidate look insipid. I was going through my computer and I found a few ideas to start you off on your personal statements. Feel free to use them-PB)

Sample 1
I had been arrested two weeks before for obstructing logging in the Xocaatl tribe’s ancestral hunting grounds and it was hot in that Mexican jail. Damned hot. The kind of heat that sneaks up behind you and throttles you in manner very similar to that employed by my cell-mate Fernando as he fumbled at his belt while hissing dark Spanish threats into my ear. I think he was warning me not to shout out for the guards, something that I would never do as our personal morality should never be forced on others. Then the pain came. I gritted my teeth and forced back the tears. Homophobia is wrong, I told myself…

Sample 2
His name was Lavon Quintravion Jones, a 24-year-old white male…

Sample 3
The genital mutilation ritual practiced among the Laconda Tribe in the Peruvian foothills looked painful. And it was. Very, very painful. And, as the cermonial dagger was first dipped in the urine of a llama, I don’t think it was very sanitary either. Never-the-less I have always thrived in diverse cultures.

“We need to celebrate diversity.” I said to the flight medic as the Peruvian Army helicopter airlifted me to the hospital in Lima where emergency surgery would later save most of my penis.

“El dumbass mas grande en el mundo,” The flight medic said as he adjusted my oxygen mask and I was gratified that he agreed. (I guess my six-day immersion Spanish course was not a waste after all!)…

Sample 4
It’s all about the kittens. I remember my first experience with my pregnant tabby Snowball as the genesis of my desire to be a doctor and my hope to eventually specialize in OB/Gyn. “Hold her still,” I said to my friend Skeeter, “I’m counting parts here and I think we only have enough for five and a half kittens.”

Even then, at the age of twelve, I was strong believer in reproductive freedom for all female mammals…


On the Shoulders of Giants

Shaman Healer of the Lame Caribou Clan

(After years of research, French anthropologists have managed to translate the famous cave paintings of Lascaux. The full translation will appear in next month’s “Journal of Linguistic Anthropology” but I thought I’d publish a sneak preview. -PB)

Me. Tharg. Shaman Healer of the Lame Caribou clan. Master of the Elk. Spirit-Hunter of the Sky Bison who is called Tharg-Who-Outran-Cave-Bear. I paint this in the Cold Time after the rains when the moon shines like new flint by glow of Brother Flame deep in the caves of our ancestors.

Troubled times. Like mastadon balancing on ice floe is to be Shaman of clan. Precarious, like squirrel caught between tree and wolverine. Like seal pup in path of charging walrus. You get picture.

“New magic salve,” say Olerg, wandering master of lore,”much better old salve. From dung snow fox.”

“Ward off tiger?” Olerg smile too much. Like crazed hyena.

“Tiger? New salve ward off even charging musk oxen. Know Tholar and Gronak?”

“My two brother shaman whose eyes dark from spell at birth?”

“Yes. Salve save them from musk ox. I Swear by Otter spirit. Study was double-blinded.”

Roll eyes. Old salve plenty good.

“Here, have spear with fox totem,” say Olerg offering crappy Neandrathal spear.

“I thank you, oh Olerg, my brother. Have plenty from last visit. But great joy have I for haunch of elk.”

“Oh wonderous spear!” say Otter-spawn, Shaman-to-be, resides-in-cave lo these past winters, “I take?”

Otter-spawn Chief of those-who-reside-in-cave and from me learn dark arts of shaman. Good boy but lazy.

“I go my fire, Otter-spawn. Keep the long watches of the night. Othar has demon of pestilent bowel and need sacred smoke when Sister Moon dips to embrace of far hills. Trulak need horn of great elk when Sister Owl return to tree. Sound ram horn if not work.”

“I abase myself oh Tharg-Who-Outran-Cave-Bear but I, too, go to my fire now,” Say Otter-spawn.

“Who will keep watches of night?”

“Is wonderous puzzlement,” say Otter-spawn, “But great hearth-fire in sky has passed in number like petals of tundra blossom and great spirit commands that He-Who-resides-in-Cave also lie by fire, gnawing rib of great sloth.”

“Does not Cougar-paw reside-in-cave?”

“He reside-in-cave of Bone Diviner in valley of snow hare. Not return for many moons.”

“Twisted-crow?”

“In service of Painted Eagle clan.”

“Go then,” I irritated, “But when Tharg reside-in-cave, took night watches in number like bison on plain.”

“Fetid Badger,” I call. Him best Shaman-pupil.

“I grovel oh Tharg-Who-Outran-Cave bear,” say Fetid Badger. Other pupils cower behind.

“If sky-wolf eat sister moon and woman yet bleed, what cause?” Simple question. They third winter pupils.

“Curse of Otah, the Cave Demon?” Ask Fetid Badger, like tremulous new-born caribou.

“Bah. Laughing Brook?”

Laughing Brook knit sloping brow. “Spell of Wola, the Womb Blighter?”

“Not see picture-on-rock? Not listen song of ancestors?” I irritated again, “Come pupils, hear thunder of hoofs, think bison, not cave yak. Go prepare magic wall picture of many cause womb bleeding.”

Ragrak, Chief of Lame Caribou clan stride into cave. Pupils cower, urinate submissively.

“Tharg Who-Outran-Cave-Bear!” growl Chief, “Ill tidings I bring.”

“What is problem?”

“Know you new female stolen before rains from Clan of Painted Eagle?” Ask Chief.

“Female with hair like mane of horse?”

“That her. And haunches like snow leopard, hips like fertile hills, heavy with promise of many fine sons.” Chief kick last of pupils out cave. Chief old, hair like snow of many winters. See where this going.

“Sometimes brother ferret not want come out of den.” say chief.

“Not understand.”

“No longer rampant stallion but seal pup, soft and helpless.” Chief annoyed.

“Have new salve. Dung of snow fox. You try.”

Clinical Evaluations

Actual Evaluation by My Residents and Attendings

(Just for old time’s sake I reviewed my Dean’s letter. Man, those were the days! -PB)

OB/Gyn: Student is on time and does everything asked of him willingly and with good humor but seemed uninterested in assisting in any more vaginal deliveries than were required to pass the rotation. Actually winced, yes winced, when he was sprayed with urine and feces during one particularly rapid delivery. Commented to me that it was “Nothing like the Discovery Channel.”

OB/Gyn: Student Doctor Bear is on time and cheerful but does not fight hard enough to be the first to see patients complaining of vaginal discharge. I don’t think he should fail the rotation but I am giving him low marks for referring to our weekly STD clinic as “Kooter Patrol.” I also caught him rolling his eyes as I lectured a young, single, G5P4004 on the need for greater personal responsibility. I didn’t quite understand what he meant when he invited me to “repeat my advice to the wall and see if there was any difference” but I think he was making fun of me. Student Doctor Bear also showed no interest in standing around doing nothing while I performed a particularly difficult colposcopy.

General Surgery: Student Doctor Bear did everything asked of him but was singularly unenthusiastic about holding a retractor for six hours. He does not seem to enjoy call and never seems to either know or care about the answers to the random trivia question I ask him just to keep him on his toes.

Medicine: Does not seem enthusiastic. Once actually sat down (!) during rounds…and the attending and all of the residents were still standing! Had an insolent, “you people keep talking while I rest my feet,” expression on his face and ignored every frantic hand gesture to stand up before he made the attending mad. When the attending asked, with admirable sarcasm, “Are you tired, Student Doctor Bear?” he said, “Yes,” and persisted in his sitting position until we had moved to the next patient. And then, oh weep thou heavens and hide thine eyes in shame, when the attending suggested that maybe he wasn’t cut out for internal medicine he replied, “You’re probably right about that.”

Medicine: For reasons unknown to me, Student Doctor Bear is uninterested in electrolytes. Even after spending a brief forty-five minutes discussing a patient’s Potassium (Peace Be Upon Its Holy Name) level his only comment was, “So, do you think we need to supplement it?” Supplement it? Is the wind’s name Mariah? Can we began to explore the intricacies of Potassium (PBUIHN) in the brief time we had between five PM and eight PM when the silly rules require us to let our medical students go home to study?

Pediatrics: A good medical student but he has kids of his own so I don’t think he believes us when we say how great working with kids is. Changes diapers like a pro and is not awkward at all when handling the babies.

Heme-Onc: Did not directly observe the medical student. If you tell me he was on the rotation I’ll believe you and I do seem to remember catching a brief glimpse of him hanging way, way back in the team but when I blinked he was gone. I could probably review the hospital surveillance tapes if you really need an evaluation but I suspect finding more than a few seconds of footage will be more difficult than locating Big Foot.

Surgery: Not a good medical student at all. Despite never having been in an operating room, rotated on a surgery team, observed any operations, or completed a surgery residency, Student Doctor Bear displays absolutely no knowledge of how we do things in the OR, where to stand, and what my favorite music is. And this was his his second day of third year, for crying out loud. And he is woefully ignorant of the collateral circulation supplying the anterior two-thirds of the left adrenal gland even though he should have learned this in first year anatomy.

Family Medicine: I detected a lot of resistance from Student Doctor Bear. He seems reluctant to hug the patients and his sympathetic nodding skills are woefully inadequate. His empathy skills also need work. For example, when a patient complains about knee pain Student Doctor Bear needs to refer her to physical therapy, not comment that it is “No wonder because every time you stand up you squat-press a small German car.”

Family Medicine: He’s not buying it. Student Doctor Bear is not ready to board the Primary Care Mother Ship. Maybe we could have tried sleep deprivation and a low protein diet but he we didn’t have the time.

The End of the World As We Know It

Back to the Future

“So you want to hear how your old Grandpa lost his leg do you? I know what you’re thinking and no, I didn’t lose it in the Burger Wars. You’ve seen my old uniform hanging in the closet but by the time I enlisted…oh..had to have been the Summer of 2057… the war was almost over and what was left of the McDonald’s forces were either surrendering in droves or holding out at isolated food courts in places like Duluth.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the videos and learned all about it in school. I’m sometimes sorry I missed the action but I guess it was for the best. I’m not sure I had what it takes to kill a man, even if he was one of those bloodthirsty pan-frying monsters. (‘Happy Meal’ my ass.) I remember watching thousands of them being marched to the prisoner of war camps. But you know, other than their yellow and orange uniforms and their Iron Clown insignia they looked pretty much like our boys so maybe they really didn’t commit all of those atrocities.”

“Anyways, I spent my enlistment in the Burger King Reserves guarding a couple of Arby’s and a Wendy’s off of Exit 54. In fact, I never even fired my weapon except for a couple of potshots at a burning Golden Arches in front of a McDonald’s down the road that had taken a direct hit from a lard-seeking cluster bomb.”

“My leg? Oh. Well, one day…must have been twenty years ago…I started having chest pain and figured I needed a doctor…”

“What’s a doctor, you ask? Well, I guess you kids have never heard of doctors. I suppose they don’t mention them much in the history holograms either. Let’s see…Well…Once upon a time if you got sick or injured you went to see a person called a ‘doctor’ who supposedly knew a lot about diseases and how to cure them. These guys went to school for years and years learning a bunch of essentially useless knowledge and then spent the rest of their lives rubbing it in our faces. Not to mention raking in obscene amounts of money. They were replaced by something called a Physician Assistant around thirty years ago.”

“I see some of you remember Physician Assistants or have at least heard your parents talking about them. They’re pretty much gone now, too. Same with Nurse Practitioners. If we weren’t going to let somebody with ten years of medical education strut around there was no way we were going to allow some wanker with only two years to get all big-headed either.”

“My leg? I’m getting to it. Patience.”

“So anyways I started having chest pain and since I wasn’t sure if it was my heart or reflux I thought I’d get it checked out at Cath-in-the-Box.”

“Never go through the hover-through. They fuck you in the the hover-through. If I could do it over again I would have gone in but I was in a hurry. I’m pretty sure they got my order right. It’s pretty hard to yell symptoms into that stupid clown microphone and the questions they asked me were kind of garbled but I figured, hey, it’s a just a heart cath. Their sign says ‘One Billion Stented.’ They do them all the time. It’s not rocket science after all. Just squirting some dye into an artery and inflating a balloon. A monkey could do it.”

“So I get to the window and pay (I think it was 50 bucks which was a lot back then), turn on the radio, stick my leg into the slot and figure I’ll be out of there in five minutes. The pimply-faced kid who took my symptoms is running around putting in arterial sheaths which is not very difficult to do and why they have minimum wage high-school kids doing it. I could tell he was having a little trouble and his “trainee” badge should have tipped me off because by the time he got to me…well…let’s just say his sterile technique left a little to be desired. At least the assistant manager did the actual procedure. He was probably pretty good at it because, as you know, Cath-in-the-Box sends all of their managers to PCI-U for an extensive six-week training course. He maneuvered the C-arm into my car and six minutes later I had a stent in the ‘big artery thing that, like, runs down the front of the heart.’ I felt pretty good and my chest pain was gone so I figured that the a little bit of melted plastic on the dash was a small price to pay. The little “dosimeter” toy that came with the PCI-combo said that my radiation dose was within normal limits and the complementary EKG thingy showed the usual incomprehensible squiggly lines which the assistant manager believed were normal but wasn’t really sure.”

“A couple of days later I notice that my groin was all red and puffy and, to be perfectly honest, I felt like crap. They always stiff you on on the antibiotics at Cath-in-the-Box so I figured I’d get some from the corner Jiffy-mart. A pharmacy, you say? I see we’ve got a budding historian here. Of course I didn’t go to a pharmacy. Even back then they were all gone. As if I needed some over-educated pharmacist with his pricey doctorate-level education and thousands of useless and expensive facts giving me high priced pills with fancy Latin names. No thank you! The last Pharmacist died of old age at Suburbia Village a couple of years ago. (You know, it’s that replica of a small town from the early 2000’s where people dress in period costumes and work at authentic jobs from the turn of the century. Remember how we took you kids there a few Ramadans ago and Jimmy got sick on Slurpees?)”

“So they have a couple of good antibiotics there. I picked Panabx because it has a good blend of antibiotics and I don’t think I’m allergic to any any of them. I like their jingle, too:”

“Panabx, Panabx,
Drip, fever, sepsis got you in a fix?
Need somethin’ that’ll do the trix?
Then you need Panabx!”

“And then they had all of the good-looking topless girls running through the woods. Come on, I’m sure you’ve seen the commercial on the holoscreen. It’s the one set to the tune of that really cool, old Kevin Federline song.”

“Anyways, my leg kept getting redder and redder and I started having alternating chills and fevers. ‘Oh great,’ I said to myself, ‘you’re septic again, just like after your self-service splenectomy over at Organs n’ Things.’ I tried a few more brands of antibiotics but I’m pretty loyal to Panabx so I thought if one dose wouldn’t do the trick, I’d try eight. Your Uncle Scott who’s a professor over at Marshal Mathers University (or M and M) suggested that I might need to get it amputated but he’s a rich frickin’ psychologist. What did he know?”

“Turns out he was right. I staggered over to Home Depot and I’m afraid I might have been a little incoherent from the fever because their little orange aprons looked like the MacDonald’s uniforms and I might have tried to eviscerate a couple of the associates with a cordless laser saw. After they tackled me to the ground and duct-taped my arms to my sides, I sat through a health-improvement seminar taught by a really nice guy named Chip. I bought the Black and Decker Limbzall and your grandma and Uncle Scott held me down while the take-out anesthesia took effect. When I recovered my leg was gone and everybody looked at me like, ‘Dude, you were so acting like a retard.'”

“I wrote a nice letter to Cath-in-the-Box and they refunded my money which was nice of them.”

“Would a doctor have done a better job? Maybe a little better but it’s not worth all of the questions, testing and general screwing around that they used to do to get your money. What my past medical history or whether I smoke has to do with anything is beyond me. They never waste your time with that kind of thing at Cath-in-the-Box or Bile, Bowel, and Beyond which is why medical care is so cheap, quick, and affordable nowadays. If I have another heart attack I’ll probably just get a quick thrombolytic out of the vending machine. They have a whole bunch of them down at the Stroke-o-mat. It’s pretty safe if you just read the friggin’ instructions on the front of the machine.”

Guest Blogger: Mrs. Panda Bear

My Better Half

(Every guy has one great love. A woman who sets his heart beating by her beauty, her wit, and her charm. She doesn’t have to be Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm but some combination of her looks and personality strikes you like a thunderbolt the first time you meet her. Unfortunately, not every guy marries this girl and many end up settling. I was lucky enough to trick the perfect girl into marrying me and I have never regretted or been unhappy for a single day in our marriage, probably because our relationship is built on a long friendship before we started dating. Not that I didn’t want to date her the first time I saw her, you understand, but I guess I had to grow on her.

Of love, that over-rated and poorly understood emotion, respect is the better part and without it love would be little more than thinly disguised contempt. Such a relationship would be an unhappy one if it even lasted. I am lucky, on the other hand, to have the respect of my wife and I work hard to justify it. I owe her a lot. Simply because I wanted to, she allowed us to trade a good career, financial security, and stability for the instability and poverty of medical school and residency. She has given up a lot. The last move was particularly hard as we had just unpacked, it seemed, when we began the long and arduous process of selling the house and moving again.

So I don’t ask for a lot of sympathy from my wife and she is confident enough in our love and our friendship to give it to me straight, especially when I am tempted, like most interns, to feel a little sorry for myself. Residency is hard but there are harder things, particularly the sacrifices of a stay-at-home mom taking care of four young children. Those of you who are married with kids need to keep this in mind as you slog through medical school and residency. It is a grind for your wife, too. My wife periodically had to set me back on track last year when, as you my faithful and tolerant readers know, we had suffered the setback of scrambling into a specialty and a hospital which I disliked intensely.

In this article, Mrs. Bear identifies one of the worst aspects of intern year as well. -PB)

It was that time of the month. Those first five days when he felt awkward, inadequate, and really, really dumb. Every month of intern year he suffered from the anxiety and low self-esteem of being the new kid on the block. As for myself, being a stay at home mother of four children, I have many many things on which to concentrate my efforts. I depended on my husband to fulfill his commitment to his residency program so that I could take care of the home front. So why did he exhibit anxiety and depression?

Children often have temper tantrums when their routine is changed. I suppose these children grow up to be adults who flourish in a stable consistent environment. I knew our son had difficulties with changes in his routine. I wasn’t expecting my husband to have these difficulties as well. In fact, he was the last person on Earth I would have expected to have difficulties with switching from one rotation to another during intern year. When I knew him as a Marine, he was always on the go. He never owned more than what would fit into one sea bag. I cringe at the things he tells me he and his Marine Corps buddies threw overboard as they approached shore.

My job as his wife metamorphosed to include therapist. I sat on the couch and listened to his stories about his day. They were a lot more interesting than what I had to say about our children’s bowel habits (which are very important to a mother). It was several months into intern year that I recognized a pattern. During the first week of a new rotation he was almost miserable. As the days went by he became more and more confident. About the time when he felt he had become a useful team member it was time to begin a new rotation.

When one member of the family is suffering, the whole family suffers. It became my purpose to remind my husband that everything is new and “they” didn’t expect him to know anything when he started a new rotation. With this realization he became more at ease with his ever changing schedule thus becoming a better human being to live with.

Ask the Panda: More on Physician Assistants

Hey Panda. I’m a PA and I don’t like you much even though I inflict your blog on myself religiously. What do you think about Physician Assistants and Nurse Practitioners taking over from doctors? They might even replace you, Mister Emergency-Medicine-Smarty-Panda-Pants.

Another excellent question and a source of great angst among those who are contemplating primary care. As some of you know, Physician Assistants and their sinister cousins, Nurse Practitioners, practice pretty much independently as primary care clinicians in much of the United States, especially the rural and so-called medically underserved areas. Ostensibly they practice under the supervision of a physicians but this supervision is often pro forma and might involve an infrequent cursory review of a handful of charts by a retired physician not concerned about liability and just looking for an easy gig to make a little extra income.

Let’s get a few thing straight at the outset. First, we live in an egalitarian society that delights in thumbing its nose at authority. With this in mind, you are never going to convince the public that physicians should monopolize health care through anything equivalent to the divine right of kings. The public will turn against any group of uppity physicians oppressing the little guy to protect their ill-gotten six-figure salary. You know what is involved in medical training but I guarantee that the bulk of the sturdy and not-so-sturdy yeomanry don’t have a clue and don’t care about your sacrifices. I may think you deserve the six-figures but it’s going to be a hard-sell to the voter working down at the plywood plant for a small fraction of your salary.

Second, we should be against monopolies. A good or service of reasonable quality should be provided to the public at the lowest possible price which is determined by competition in the free market. I’ve been anti-union and for free trade for my whole life and I’d be a hypocrite to change my position simply because it’s my ox being gored.

The question then becomes, as was implied in the previous post, are the services of a residency-trained physician of greater value than those of a less well-trained physician assistant? I believe they are but let’s not get silly about it. Physician Assistants and Nurse Practitioners are not stupid and are more than qualified to handle the majority of primary care. I think it would be criminally insane to send your aging mother with twenty competing comorbidities to a PA but does it take a doctorate level degree to treat a kid with an ear infection?

Of course not, and this is the hook that mid-level providers have with the legislature. They are cheaper than physicians, they can reasonably demonstrate that they can do some of the same work, and since giving away other people’s services is the epitome of compassion, the mid-levels provide the trapping of political compassion at fire sale prices. Whether the public is being well-served is immaterial. It’s just primary care, after all, and the mistakes are slow to evolve and can be ascribed to half a dozen causes other than clinician error.

So what’s the drawback? As you know I’m an Emergency Medicine resident. Forget what you’ve heard about Family Practice or Internal Medicine, the Emergency Physician is the true generalist. From Pediatrics to Obstetrics to Internal Medicine, the Emergency physician has to be able to make intelligent decisions involving almost every specialty and the amount of medical knowledge and skill required to do this is immense and humbling. Not a day goes by where I don’t come against the limits of my knowledge and I have been hard at it for almost six years. And I still have two more years of training before I can practice independently of skilled supervision. If you think that some guy straight out of a two-year masters program is equal to the task then God love you, you’re a true man of the people, but you are crazier than a shithouse rat.

Also consider the training required for by an internist, the basic foot-soldier of the medical profession, not to mention that required for surgical or subspecialty training. To say that a mid-level is equivalent to a trained physician is the same as saying that we are all wasting our time in residency. And that, my friends, is the question which leads us too…

Will Physician Assistants and Nurse Practitioner take over primary care?

Yes. No. It doesn’t matter.

Yes, because American medical school graduates are not exactly flooding the zone protecting their territory from the rapacious inroads of the mid-level providers. Family Medicine, the paragon of primary care is, for several reasons, the least popular career path. It takes a special person to want to do family medicine as you must not only run between the Scylla and Charybdis of your peer’s ridicule but you must also lash yourself to the mast of primary care against the siren call of more lucrative specialties.

It is no wonder then that mid-level providers can move effortlessly into the vast, unpopulated territory of primary care. They may not be residency trained and a typical graduating family practice resident may have three times the skill and knowledge but (to paraphrase the popular World War II joke) they may not have have more than the doctor but what they have they have over here.

For its part, the family medicine establishment has done everything in it’s power to ease the transition towards primary care by mid-levels. First it was the “gatekeeper” paradigm where the primary care doctor was the traffic cop directing most of his patients to the appropriate specialist for definitive treatment. Many things need to be referred, of course, but it doesn’t take an expensive degree to decide which specialist should see a patient. When you surrender your ability to diagnose and treat complicated patients, or lose your nerve, all that you have left is low-level primary care which really could be done by a motivated high-school student much less a Physician Assistant.

The current paradigm is “community medicine” where the traditional diagnostic and treatment function of the physician, the medical skill for which he is sought, is subordinated to the needs of society, “well-being,” and half a dozen other cockamamie functions which dilute the only advantage a residency trained Family Practitioner has over a social worker, much less a lean and hungry PA stalking wolf-like along the periphery of the sickly primary care herd.

Not to mention that those in the avant garde of Family Practice have fallen so deeply in love with team-based medicine where the physician is just an equal player in one of those goofy, non-competitive games where nobody loses and everybody wins that change will never come from that direction.

On the other hand, even many PAs don’t want to go into primary care preferring to subspecialize as physicians extenders. It seems every specialty group has it’s cadre of PAs and NPs rounding on stable patients, assisting in the operating room, or clearing out the backlog of routine clinic patients. In fact, as one of my readers once pointed out, Physician Assistants perform many of the same functions in private practice as residents do in academic medicine.

So no, despite the snowballing numbers of midlevel providers, physicians will not vanish from primary care. They may just have to practice at a higher level, eschewing the current trend to water down their medical knowledge with all of that creepy social work stuff but there are plenty of sick people out there. Not to mention that there is huge bolus of baby-boomers about to start getting really, really sick and they are going to want to see a doctor, not a school nurse.

But you can probably kiss the typical low-acuity practice goodbye.

Ask the Panda: Physician Assistants

Hey, Panda, what’s up with Physician Assistants? There are a bunch of them rotating with me and they say that they are just as well trained as doctors and can make more money. To tell you the truth, they are kind of a pain in the ass.

Excellent question. For those of you who don’t know, Physician Assistants are non-physician clinicians who are licensed to practice medicine under the supervision of a physician. Ideally, they are used in the role of “extenders” and might, for example, round on a surgeon’s patients in the hospital leaving him free to spend more time doing cases. Almost all specialties have a definite need for PAs. In Emergency Medicine, for example, PAs often handle the urgent care or less acute cases. Some rural Emergency Departments, however, are staffed by PAs who have received extra training in Emergency Medicine. This is a direct result of both a shortage of physicians in underserved areas and financial pressures on hospitals, private practices, and municipalities as PAs are generally cheaper to hire than a residency-trained physicians.

Many PAs working in lucrative specialties can, in fact, make more money than physicians working in primary care. I know a PA who has been working for a local neurosurgeon for the last twenty years and without going into the specifics, most Family Practice physicians would be envious of his compensation. But generally, a PA will make considerably less than the residency-trained physician in that specailty. I mention this because you will hear many PAs bragging that they can make more than doctors. This is true, but in any given specialty PAs are hired because they are more economical than physicians for the level of work they do. If the cost is the same or more there is no advantage.

Are they as well-trained as you will be after you finish medical school and residency? Of course not. No doubt a PA who has been in practice for ten years probably knows more practical medicine than a freshly minted intern. But we’re not comparing apples on apples. If you compare, let’s say, the training of a brand new PA who has just finished his two-and-a-half year program with the training of a brand new internal medicine attending who has just finished his seven year training program there is no contest. I am going to get a lot of hate mail for pointing out this simple and obvious fact but a PA, by and large, can practice after he completes PA school. A physician can only practice after both medical school and an extensive period of residency training.

Do the math.

The question then becomes, do you need seven years or more of training to function as a physician? This is the 64-dollar question. As many of you will find out, apart from the legal requirements, a lot of medicine is fairly bread-and-butter and could be handled by a school nurse much less a PA. I have done several out-patient pediatric rotations and with the exception of a few interesting cases, it was nothing but viral gastroenteritis (the craps), viral upper respiratory infections (the coughs), or eczema (the itches). Not to mention “Well Child Checks” that could be done by a trained monkey which is why they have interns do them. Likewise, an otherwise healthy man with hypertension probably does not need your medical degree from Johns Hopkin and your residency training from Duke to have a couple of prescription written every six months.

On the other hand a lot of medicine is not bread and butter. Part of your training is learning to know your limitations and the scary thing about PAs and other mid-levels is that, having only sipped sparingly from the well of knowledge, their little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. Things can get out of hand easily in medicine, either quickly because of mistakes made in acute interventions, or slowly as the result of bad judgement or mismanagement of chronic conditions. Physicians, for their part, are not immune from errors and bad decisions but imagine the danger from someone with a third of the formal training who gets in over his head and doesn’t know enough to realize it except when it is too late.

I had a patient with a Pulmonary Embolus, for example, who despite a history of obesity, oral contraceptives, and smoking was diagnosed with “Viral Upper Respiratory Infection” by a PA in an urgent care clinic only hours before she was brought in by ambulance for severe shortness of breath. This is a pretty simple example and most PAs would pick up the not-so-subtle clues in the patient’s history but there are thousands of permutations and combinations of symptoms and long formal training which includes didactics is definitely a major advantage. Whether this is recognized politically is another story. To a politician or anybody making public policy, “health care providors” are interchangeable components and one is as good as another to demonstrate a compassionate concern for univeral access to health care. It is also easy to make scapegoats out of “rich doctors,” most of who are not actually rich, especially as the public by-and-large has no idea how much low-paid and no-paid training is required to make a doctor. My neighbors sneer at the state of my lawn and opine that a guy like me pulling in the proverbial six-figures could pay to have it mowed more often.

The other thing you’re going to hear a lot from PAs is that they get better clinical training in PA school than you get in medical school. As evidence of this they will point to their greater facility with physical exams, blood draws, and other basic medical skills than you have as a third year medical student. Again, this is not comparing apples with apples. PA students learn practical clinical skills almost from the start of their training so they show up on the wards with a slight advantage. Medical students, on the other hand, learn practically no clinical skills during first and second year as these years are dedicated to basic science and general medical knowledge. By the end of fourth year your practical skills will be far beyond those of a PA student who only acutally does one year of clincal work compared to your two and, at least at the three medical centers where I have rotated with PAs, don’t do call and work substantuially fewer hours than the medical students.

“Oh yeah,” some PAs say, “But most of what you learn in first and second year of medical school is of no practical value and besides, you forget most of it.”

As you know, I am not the biggest fan of medical training. And it is true that a knowledge of some esoteric topics like embryology is rarely, if ever, needed by the majority of physicians. But I have never regreted the many hours I spent learning these topics and I think it is the height of arrogance for both medical students and PAs to decide, based on their limited experience, what is necessary knowledge and what is not. Medical knowlege forms part of your deep medical personality and besides serving as a platform on which to build the knowledge that you should be acquiring for your whole medical career, also allows you to speak intelligently and authoritatively to an increasingly medically sophisticated public.

Besides, this particular sword cuts deeply both ways. Why stop at medical school if we want to eradicate useless knowledge? I’m sure I can ride aggresvely through the curriculum of PA school, nursing school, paramedic school, and any school you care to mention, slashing, burning, raping, and pillaging innocent knowledge from the curriculum with the abandon of a deranged mongol and the bread-and-butter patient would still get his prescription for Glucophage. Let’s just do away with the whole deceptive edifice and recruit motivated and reasonably intelligent high school students to staff highly specialized low-level clinics in much the same way we fill positions in the fast food industry.

In short, while it is reasonable to worry about the encroachment of mid-levels into the practice of medicine, this is a political thing and not a reflection on the intensive and necessary training you are recieving.

Complementary and Alternative Medicine

Keep an Open Mind

So they asked me a lot, when I was interviewing for medical school, what I thought about complementary and alternative medicine particularly the use of traditional practices as adjuncts to Western Medicine.

I’m all for it. There are a lot of traditional practices I’d like to see become a part modern medicine. Like snake handling. For my money snake handling has everything you’d ever need in an alternative therapy. You’ve got your snakes representing nature, you’ve got your mystical religious overtones, and you’ve got scads of anecdotal evidence and testimonials in prestigious religious journals attesting to it’s efficacy.

For those of you who don’t know, snake handling has flourished in the folkways of the southern United States for more than a hundred years and is a time-honored method of casting out the demons that cause most sickness, at least those that cannot be ascribed to qi or bad karma. I understand that the NIH offers a fellowship that will equip anyone interested for an expedition to the wilds of Louisiana in which strange and magical land they may sit at the feet of ancient masters of this art and learn the secrets of the serpents.

And don’t forget to try Uncle Skeeter’s Gator-Taffy if your expedition passes through Lafayette.

I also would like to see more faith healing employed in the modern clinic. I’ve personally seen the lame walk, the blind see, and the gaseous find relief all from the “laying on of hands” as the technique is described by the learned shaman who practice it. For those of you who are lacking in cultural competence, the faith healer’s art is practiced in tents or, more lately, air-conditioned football ashrams where a large crowd can direct their good karma (or “prayerful thoughts” as it is often roughly translated) towards the patient. The patient, under the power of both suggestion and an Ayurvedic being named “Jaysus,” has his bad chakra forcefully removed, some would say driven, from his body with a precisely placed blow to the forehead.

The Shaman often yells “Come out!” but this is just showmanship, not unlike the way we yell “stat” in the Emergency Department even though we know that we’ll be lucky to get the labs by next Tuesday.

There is some debate whether faith-healing owes it’s effectiveness to the so-called “placebo effect” rather than any demonstrable physiological process but the debate is ridiculous and anybody who challenges this ancient traditional practice is a close-minded bigot. It’s not like they’re sticking needles into people or something lame like that. We’re talking bona-fide healing here, often before a television audience of millions. It would be highly unlikely that something like this could be faked in front of so many highly intelligent television viewers.

I have also heard of another traditional mind-body therapy for psychiatric problems, this one practiced in the deep hearts of our ancient cities. Basically, the patient dials a talismanic number, usually preceded by the mystical “900” or any other Number of Power and ceremoniously asks to speak with a priestess whose name is usually Yolanda or Mistress Debbie. The priestess then diagnosis all kinds of psychiatric and sexual dysfunctions, often times correctly pointing out that somebody close to you is cheating on somebody else close to you and “he needs to show you love, girlfriend…and you are so not fat…besides, he digs big women.”

Sometimes they throw in the winning lottery numbers.

Anyways, with all of my patients, the “P” in SIG E CAPS is “Psychic Hot-line.” I understand medicaid will reimburse for it. It’s not as if we’re asking them to pay for something ridiculous like a visit to the chiropractor.

Finally, for my money, nothing can compare to the healing powers of a good old-fashioned poultice like the kind my grandma used to make out of chicken droppings and mustard greens. It was the sovereign cure for a variety of ailments from lumbago to dropsy. Through years of experimentation, traditional practitioners have developed a wide spectrum of salves and rubs that are pushing the boundaries of our understanding of medicine. Our so-called “evidence based medicine” has nothing to compare to alternating layers of gumbo clay, sassafras bark, and chicken bile covered with brown paper and tied to the offending limb with common twine. It’s so good it’s almost magical. For fever, pepper is often added as it is a hot spice. For chills, it’s not uncommon to add the musk of a nutria as everybody knows this hardy animal can gnaw it’s way through the ice that forms every fifty years or so on the bayou. Beaver semen will do, I suppose, but there is no good evidence to support its substitution and I wouldn’t have that kind of quackery in my practice.

Besides, there’s no room to stock it as my shelves are crammed with homeopathic remedies.

More Housekeeping

Spam Posts

I tried it for a while but because of annoying spam posts I’m turning “word verification” back on. You’ll have to tak an extra step to post. Sorry. I really think spammers should get the death penalty but until such a time as they do we’re going to have to do what we can.

Comments

Don’t make me have to moderate comments. So far most of the negative posts have been either well reasoned (but wrong), amusing and witty (but wrong), or just so plain foam-at-the-mouth idiotic that they are a joy to read. Remember: good, bad, or indifferent I appreciate the time people take to read my blog, even if I don’t understand why people who hate it keep coming back. Still, if you want to keep squeezing lemon juice into your own paper cuts than that’s your business.

Good Manners

Let’s keep it relatively civil. I will usually delete posts that contain ad hominem attacks, excessive bad language, or an overtly political point of view. I haven’t, recently, because the latest set of rants has been so amusing. Criticism is always welcome and you have my pledge that I will never delete a post just because I don’t agree with its author. I reiterate that I draw the line at partisan politics. You can go to half a million websites and engage in toxic political debates to your heart’s content but I’m sick of it.

Archives

Be sure to sift through the archives. A lot of good stuff.

Humor Workshop

According to my hit counter, I am getting hits from all over the world. Apparently, there are countries out there where humor is either outlawed or does not exist. (We also have people in out own country who are completey devoid of humor, probably secondary to being able to open bottles with their rectums.) American humor is hard for some people to understand. I’m going to have a workshop on this shortly but in the meantime, if some of you from Eulopotamia feel your knee starting to jerk, before you fire off an indignant comment take a deep breath, re-read the post, and try to pretend that you were raised in a country where we don’t kiss the ass of our elected leaders, question authority as a religion, and don’t take everything so friggin’ seriously.

Fan Mail From the Edge

(Just a few comments. We seem to have had an explosion of vitriol today which is gratifying in my quest to become the most popular non-midget-porn blog on the web. Interestingly enough, most of the negative comments come from a couple of ISP addresses in India. As to what I have done to offend the Indians over anybody else I am completely mystified.

My biggest surprise is the level of support you can get from the online community if you abuse and neglect your aged parent. Apparently there is no depravity that will not have it’s apologists. I also don’t quite get the anger at my ICU advice post. I challenge anyone to say that anything I wrote is not true. Surely anybody with the energy to type an abusive screed could find posts of mine more worthy of the haterade.

I am also amused by the “compassion police.” I feel sorry for them because whatever their level of compassion, they will be sorely tasked by the majority of their peers, most of whom are just not the plaster saints they expect them to be. -PB)

“The author cannot be blamed if they don’t have humor in your country.”

Bigoted? Check. Narcissistic? Check. Besserwisser? Check. Elitist, superior type A-hole personality? Check.

Funny? Hell no!

(No humor in your country? Check. -PB)

To be a doctor, you’d have to be human. And to be human, you’d have to have a heart.

So, uh… No, I guess you’re NOT a doctor. Happy to help.

(Uh…Okay. But my state board, is going to have a problem with that one. Especially since I am on the loose writing prescriptions. -PB)

How can people say this is the best blog on the internet? Come on, people, get with the program. Learn a little old school empathy and be excellent doctors without taking on an elitist attitude like this fat and mean poor excuse of a physician.

You really really scare me too. And remember, you say “my patients like me”, but keep in mind the fact that they ARE stupid. (Fat AND stupid AND lazy.)

So if they are stupid, and they actually like you, that would either make them blind AND deaf AND dumb, or maybe just maybe you are as stupid as them.

Eat that, fatwad.

(I prefer “stocky.” but thanks for reading my blog. -PB)

You are reading the blog of an arrogant know-it-all who is condescending and elitist. Please get your facts straight. Remember if you were not sucking up to him, he would hate your ass. Try poking him, you’ll see. Just like the rest of us, FAT, STUPID, LAZY types.

(Well, I didn’t delete your post, did I? -PB)

You are like the world’s worst gunner, dude!

(And the world’s most unsuccessful gunner, too, as you would know if you’ve read my blog for any length of time. -PB)

“Servile and compliant” is how you described Mr Neely’s son… But admit it, Pooh Bear, it turned you ON, didn’t it, didn’t it?! 😉 It’s okay. Share. Share how that made you feel.

Your powerful stare, looking down at him, all dependent and needy and wanting… Aw, shucks, Panda! What a cute moment that must have been!

(I cannot understand your desire to stick up for a guy who was definitely neglecting and most likely abusing his father. It’s inexplicable, especially since the weak and powerless require someone, occasionally, to exercise a little judgementalism on their behalf and to exercise what little authority they have to protect them. I have my faults but neglecting to protect and assist the weak and helpless for fear of offending somebody’s bleeding heart ain’t one of them. You should be ashamed for expending more vitriol on harmless little me than you probably would in the face of obvious but garden-variety evil. But thanks for reading my blog and keeping the hit-counter turning. -PB)

Get this in YOUR head, *Panda* (if that is your name). You’re a self-aggrandizing, narcissistic, completely empathy-resistant (not to mention POOR) loser with no ability to budge or give other people the benefit of the doubt. Talk talk talk – that’s all that you’re about. Glad I’m not the son. OR the father, for that matter. How DO you sleep at night? Irritating mutha.

(Well, actually my name is Gus. I thought everybody with a few functioning neurons could tell that very few children are named “Panda Bear” by their parents. I guess in your humorless country it might sound like a real name. “Panda Bear,” by the way, was my radio call-sign when I was the mortar section leader in my Marine Corps rifle company. I also don’t uderstand why my being poor is an issue. I’m a resident. Of course I’m poor. It kind of goes with the territory. As always thanks for reading my blog. -PB)

You are just about the single most conceited person in the medical profession. *This is what you’re supposed to do blah blah….Why don’t you stick your little marine cap up your bum and choke on it? Do us aaaall a favor.

(Come on now. The most concieted? You obviously don’t know too many doctors. Oh, and I’d have to stick it up my bum pretty far to choke on it although I suppose it’s technically possible. -PB)

Dude, I am only human. Everybody has a cruel streak and I guarantee that if you told me a little about yourself I could easily pick out a group or two who’s misfortune you relish.”

See how he flips it?! Now it’s YOUR mistakes he’s after.

Doctor?? Hell, no! Choose politics instead. You’d be a natural.

(So what’s your point? Do you think that physicians are any less human than anybody else? Taking a morbid pleasure in other’s misfortune is so common that the Germans even coined a lovely word for it. If you think that by becoming a doctor you become emotionally celibate then you are in for a major disappointment in the the profession and most of your collegues. Now, you are obviously not immune to anger. I know for a fact that you would take great pleasure in any of my many misadventures in life if you were aware of them. So you’re sort of being a hypocrite, although since hypocrisy is the natural state of man I for one won’t get all worked up over your hypocrisy. You are who you are. As always, thanks for keeping the hit counter turning. -PB)

Can’t find it, Pooh Bear. You’re a bigot, and you always will be. 😀 I think you even spellt Dhaka wrong. But why would you even care enough about that? Silly me!

(There are, of course, many accepted ways to spell some city names (Bejing vs. Peking, Athina vs Athens) but to my knowledge, there is only one accepted way to spell “spelled.” Silly you. -PB)

“My main criticisms of this blog are its borderline plagarizing of “House of God” and the attempts by the author to mimic an experienced ER physician when he’s still a naive resident.”

(I have never read “House of God” or any other book about residency or medicine so it would be difficult for me to plagerize anything, borderline or otherwise. As for mimicking an experienced Emergency Physician, I am an Emergency Medicine resident so that’s what I write about. If you notice, most of my articles about the ED, of which I believe I only have three, are character studies, not emergency medicine textbooks. I am as qualified to comment on the character of patients as anyone, both because I have seen thousands of patients in the last four years and because I am reasonably intelligent and observant. The medical background of the patients is important to the narrative and where possible I try to be accurate. When I make a mistake invariably somebody will point it out and I will humbly acknowledge their correction. If I’m wrong about something I’m wrong. But you need to get it out of your head that I somehow don’t deserve to discuss things I learned on my ICU rotations because you think I’m not qualified to know these things.

I also am in no way naive in any sense of the word, either by age, upbringing, or life experiences. I think you’re confusing me with some other guy. I do not beat people over the head with my CV but I’ll do it if necessary.

Other than changing the names and a few characteristics of the patients to protect their privacy, I challenge you to find one instance where I have written anything which is not authentic. Or, for that matter, where I have not conceded that I am not perfect and still learning the profession. If I have to precede every statement with a disclaimer that I am only a PGY-2 and thus cannot speak for the entire medical profession it would be a very dreary, unreadable blog. I appreciate your taking the time to comment and your attention to my writing but the natural question is, if you find it so objectionable why do you inflict it upon yourself? -PB)

Crunch Time

The ICU and You, some Do’s and Don’ts

Some of you will rotate in the ICU as medical students and most of you, whatever your specialty, will do at least one critical care month during your residency. Here are just a few general tips. I have made most of the mistakes described below. Keep in mind that your level of autonomy will vary depending on your program. At a big academic program you will likely be tightly supervised and always have immediate skilled back-up. At a smaller program, especially when you are on call, it might be just you and your senior resident with an attending on home call.

1. Stay ahead of your patients. They are in the ICU for a reason and this is usually because they are too unstable to be cared for on a general medicine floor. Things happen quickly. A patient can look fine and two hours later require intubation emergently. If you had paid attention to his arterial blood gases and listened to your experienced ICU nurses you might have been able to intubate under controlled conditions with everything in place and everybody calm rather than during the unavoidable excitement of a code. This is especially important if your patient is a “difficult airway” as it is always nice to have anesthesia at least standing by if you look down the blade of the laryngoscope and see everything but the vocal chords.

2. Don’t be afraid to intubate. Generally, if you think you need to you probably do. If the patient asks you for the tube then that is a pretty good indication for the procedure, especially if the patient has been in the ICU before.

3. Don’t let the vent intimidate you. At first it seems that the ventilator has a bewildering selection of knobs and displays that seem to have no relation to what you read in your critical care book. It’s hard, at first, to keep the various ventilation modes and pressure or volume options straight in your head. You will usually have a respiratory therapist at the bedside when you intubate and they are usually happy to explain things to you. As a resident or medical student nobody will think the worse of you if you ask questions. You aren’t really fooling anybody, anyways. Everybody knows you are new. Know a few common parameters and this will give you some time to figure things out.

4. But don’t screw with the ventilator. Write an order and let the respiratory therapist do it. If you don’t know what setting would be appropriate ask her opinion.

5. Understand how to interpret ABG (Arterial Blood Gas) values. It seems kind of arcane in medical school but after a few times doing it for real it will start to make a little sense. You will at least know when to panic and when not to.

6. Don’t let your patients almost bleed to death before you decide to transfuse or drop their electrolytes to dangerous levels before you decide to supplement. Stay on top of the patient’s labs, correct aggressively, and then make sure you have a good idea why things are heading south.

7. Don’t believe the crap about “treating the patient, not the labs.” Or the monitor. Obviously the lab values and the monitor don’t tell the whole story but they do tell you a lot, particularly because the patient can compensate for a wide range of deficits before suddenly deciding they’ve had enough. “Looks good” does not equal “Is doing good.” Get that family medicine, touchy-feely philosophy out of your head. These patients are sick and it’s better to be a pessimistic but alert bastard than Little Mary Sunshine.

8. Don’t be timid. If the patient needs a procedure then do it. Don’t dither looking for excuses to put it off because you are afraid of it. The ICU procedures that you will be expected to do are placing central lines, arterial lines, chest tubes, and endotracheal tubes. You will also need to know how to do a lumbar puncture, thoracentesis, and a few other things.

9. On the other hand, think about it first. Not every patient needs a central line, for example. The nurses like them because it simplifies their management but sticking a large gauge needle into somebody’s internal jugular vein is not without the possibility of complications especially in ICU patients who are usually coagulopathic. You can easily nick the carotid artery, even under ultrasound guidance, and this can be a disaster as a patient can lose a lot of blood into the fascial planes of the neck and mediastinum before you even notice it. You might also give the patient a pneumothorax (“drop a lung”) as the needle is long and the apices of the lungs can be high. Good rule of thumb, if you’re sticking a needle in the neck and you’re aspirating urine, you might be too deep.

As much as I like ICU nurses, making their lives easy is not an indication for central venous access. Being too timid to put one in, on the other hand, is not a contraindication. If you don’t know how, call someone who does, have them show you, and then do the next one.

10. For God’s sake, never force the needle, the wire, or anything else. If it won’t go in, it won’t go in. If the wire hangs up, pull it back a little and try again. A well placed wire in a vein or an artery should slide smoothly with very little resistance. If it doesn’t, you are either not in the vessel or the vessel itself is calcified and tortuous. Admit defeat, pull out, and try again. But the patient is not a pin-cushion and if you are obviously screwing it up pass it off to somebody else if they are available. If not, pick another site and try again.

11. Be ready. Know your ACLS because you are going to use it. This month we have never had fewer than three codes overnight and we usually have more. We once had three patients coding at the same time. The senior resident cannot be everywhere and you are going to be expected to take charge. Still, the ICU nurses know what they’re doing so if you don’t know something, ask and take your cue from them. If they suggest something it’s probably because they know what they’re talking about. As you get more experience and if you pay attention you will get more comfortable. The ICU residents are typically on the hospital code team and expected to respond to codes on the other wards. You will usually find a crowd of people milling about. If someone is in charge let them know that you are available to intubate, put in lines, of do anything else they need. If no one is in charge, take charge and remember the basics.

12. One of which is that most patients will not be hurt by a liter bolus of fluid and fluid can make a big difference. A liter is not actually that much. Two liters is better (most of the time, know when it’s not). Giving a 250 milliliter bolus is like spitting on the patient. It’s worse than useless. 250 milliliters is about a cup or so. If you decide to give fluids be a man about it and don’t get all girlish.

Same with magnesium. Two grams won’t hurt anybody and if they are in V-tach when you get to the room you might as well have somebody push it. You never know. It could be torsades.

13. I know this is not always true but generally, you can’t do much to hurt somebody who is already dead. If you give them a little too much atropine or epinephrine it’s not going to make them any more dead. It’s likely that when you arrive at the room of a coding patient, you will know nothing about the patient so you have to stick to the basics of airway, breathing, and circulation. Take a breath, follow the algorithm. You can give CPR for a minute between shocks. Take advantage of this time to calm down and get in the rhythm of things.

14. But you have to assess the patient. Listen to the lungs, feel for pulses. If you can feel a radial pulse they have a systolic of at least 80 whatever the cuff says which is generally compatible with life.

15. Sepsis is big. It comes in many forms but it’s a killer, generally from end-organ failure due to hypoperfusion which leads to all kinds of unpleasantness. Generally you treat it with a lot of fluids, pressors, and anything else to keep the blood pressure up. Culture everything, look for likely sources, and cover with the appropriate antibiotics empirically. And don’t forget to check the urine as UTIs are the silent killer of the elderly. Most ICUs have standard sepsis orders (heck, they have standard orders for a lot of things) but go over them before you sign to both make sure you don’t want to change something and to familiarize yourself with the what needs to be done.

16. Pulmonary emboli kill a lot of ICU patients. Suspect them always in the patient who is acutely short of breath because an ICU patient is a setup for clots. The D-dimer is useless. It will never be low. Every ICU patient has an elevated D-dimer for a variety of reasons. If you ever find a low one this is man bites dog. Besides, people with long-standing thrombi can have a low D-dimer and still throw a clot to the lungs. Consider anti-coagulation for every ICU patient except those with GI or intracranial bleeds.

17. Don’t negotiate with families. Bargaining is one of the stages of grief and you may find the family trying to make deals with you over how long the patient can live. It’s best to just give them the facts and the prognosis. I mention this because at a smaller program with no attendings in house overnight it often falls to the residents to talk to the families. If you don’t know much about the patient (if you are cross-covering) then either arrange for the family to meet with someone who does in the morning or familiarize yourself with the chart and admit at the outset that you are not following the patient on a daily basis. One white coat is the same as another to many people and they may be offended if you don’t know their family member backwards and forwards.

18. ACLS is not a menu. Discourage the practice of offering certain items while withholding others. A lot of families want CPR, for example, but no endotracheal intubation. I guess this makes a little sense from an aesthetic point of view but since “Airway” is the first part of ACLS I suspect that not securing the airway is a violation of the standard of care. Some families are offered what is referred to as a “chemical code” where they want all of the ACLS medications (epinephrine, atropine, amiodarone, etc) but no chest compressions, no shocks, and no airway. There is no point to this. All those meds will just sit in the vena cava or the atrium, all dressed up with nowhere to go.

If a patient is to the point where further care is futile you need to tell the family this, respectfully of course, but bluntly and suggest that it is now time to make the patient’s code status DNR (Do Not Resuscitate).

Apropos of Nothing

1100 Bucks a Month

Just from the outset, let me say that poor 70-year-old Mr. Neely was definitely being neglected and possibly being abused by his son. The first thing they told me was that his hair was so dirty and unkempt that it was like one single dreadlock. The nurses had to cut off the worst of it to wash his hair, possibly for the first time in ten years. His nails were filthy and three inches long. Other than his obvious expressive aphasia and severe peripheral vascular disease, he had no medical history that his son could recall and had not been seen by a doctor (or anyone else, possibly) for the entire twelve years he had lived with him. His right leg has been amputated below the knee at some unknown time and the remaining foot was so swollen that the tissue ballooned out from around the elastic of his feces-encrusted sock. His shin was covered with black, gangrenous eschar and his toes were rotting off.

The son displayed a strange lack of concern about his father’s deplorable state and his medical problems, especially his expressive aphasia which is a symptom of a stroke in the speech centers in the dominant hemisphere of the brain (usually the left). All Mr. Neely could say was, “Wonderful…no…no…wonderful,” which he repeated continuously whenever he was alert.

“When did you first notice his speech change?” I asked, which is a reasonable and an important question when treating victims of strokes.

“About four years ago.” A complete lack of concern from the son.

Jesus.

“Didn’t you think about taking him to the doctor when it happened?”

“Well, it didn’t get any worse so I figured it would get better.” He might have been talking about what he had for lunch.

“When can he come home?” was his next question.

“I think he needs to be in a nursing home. You’re obviously not taking very good care of him,” I said, not trying to be non-judgmental, “What on earth is going through your head when you see him like this?”

Poor Mr. Neely. Trapped in his own private hell surrounded by neighbors who probably didn’t even know he existed. His son had probably gotten used to living off of his social security check in a house whose mortgage had been paid since the time when his parents still had hopes that he would amount to something. He might have died like that except the fear of losing the social security check had finally made his son risk bringing him to the Emergency Department.

What does this have to do with anything? Nothing really. No big lessons or morals to be teased out here except that maybe there aren’t two sides to every problem. Some things are obvious. Mr. Neely’s son was obviously a scumbag and was obviously neglecting his father. Evil obviously moves in the shadows of our world even if it is sometimes understated and bent on nothing more than a pitifully small government check.

Barking Mad

Psychiatric Ward

Inpatient psychiatry wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be. The people locked up on the tenth floor of our hospital were just a little too crazy to really be interesting. A little insanity, like a little spice, adds flavor to a patient’s personality. Too much of it and it overpowers everything. After all, a patient can only cut his scrotum open with a razor blade a couple of times before everybody just yawns and moves on to the next sensation.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate odd behavior. I am as mean-spirited as anybody and take the usual guilty pleasure in other people’s misfortunes, particularly when they are the result of some absolutely inexplicable but voluntary lapse of common sense.

It’s like slapstick comedy. We shouldn’t laugh but we do.

The truly insane, however, are directed by impulses so remote from the normal as to be both chilling and profoundly boring at the same time. If you’ve heard one patient explain how the television has commanded him to kill you’ve heard them all. If it’s not the television it’s the lawnmower, the dog, or the dead people next door. Just some variation of minds so out of whack that there isn’t even any guilty fun to be had. We don’t laugh and point at a diabetic. It’s the same with insanity.

Now if someone claimed that his cat was hissing dark commands in his head, instructing him to take night courses at the local community college towards a degree in medical coding, well, that would be unusual. I’d settle for his dead mother screaming at him about the benefits of good dental hygiene, something you almost never see in the insane.

What is your job as a medical student working on the psych ward? In essence, nothing. Oh sure, you will follow patients but except that you may have extraordinary conversational skills, you might as well just sit and stare at each other for all the good it will do. They’re schizophrenic. Their brains hear and see things that are internally generated but perceived as absolute external reality. Maybe they can be talked out of it but it will require someone skilled in the black arts of psychotherapy, not little old you casually rotating through. All the talk in the world probably isn’t going to make a difference anyways. The voices will not listen to reason and have to be silenced with psychiatry’s ever-expanding arsenal of medications.

So you will round on your patients and write your notes. Unlike, say, a surgery rotation where you can state proudly on your progress note that the patient “has had a bowel movement and is tolerating a soft diet on post-op day three of his bowel resection,” in psychiatry progress is hard to measure and most of your notes might as well conclude that “The patient is still as crazy as a shithouse rat…but we’re going to discharge him today because he is not a threat to himself or others…for now.”

About all you can do is be a little familiar with the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-IV, the fourth and current edition) which is the Bible, Koran, and Vedic Texts of psychiatry rolled into one hard to digest bolus. When I say to become familiar with the DSM-IV I mean to get a review book, preferably one that will fit in your pocket. The DSM-IV is a large reference text and therefore highly unreadable except on the idiot savant level.

The DSM was developed to standardize the language of psychiatry between different mental health professionals in different countries and psychiatric traditions. This was necessary because as you can imagine, psychiatry is one of the most subjective medical specialties and has previously been very flexible even in the objective description of psychiatric pathology. The DSM also sets forth criteria for the diagnosis of discrete disorders as well as providing a framework for completely describing a patient for the purposes of psychiatric diagnosis and treatment by the use of five categories or “Axis.”

Axis I, for example, describes major disorders like schizophrenia or bipolar.

Axis II is for underlying or pervasive personality disorders or things like mental retardation.

Axis III is a “gimme” or a “freebie” for most medical students and residents who are not interested in psychiatry because while it is technically a description of other medical conditions that may contribute to the disorder, in practice it is the non-psychiatric past medical history. It gives you something to grab a hold of on an otherwise mystifying patient. Here, at last, are conditions that we can treat definitively, or at least definitively know we can’t treat.

Axis IV describes psychosocial factors, things like homelessness, unemployment, or poor family support. Axis V is the Global Assessment of Function (GAF) and is a numeric score from 0 to 100. Most of us function at around 90 to 100 which is considered normal. Someone lower than 60 probably needs to be committed except our society has unfortunately moved away from institutionalizing the mentally ill. That’s a subject for a different day but it would freeze your blood if you knew some of the truly unhinged characters standing in line with you at Wal Mart.

If you know a handful of common psychiatric presentations and can fit them into the five axis you will do all right.

Your psych ward patients will be a mixed bag (of nuts), ranging from the homeless guy claiming suicidal intentions for “three hots and a cot” to the raving but mostly non-violent schizophrenic. It is unlikely that you will rotate, as a medical student, on a ward for the criminally insane which would definitely kick things up a notch in the fear department. Students are occasionally attacked but this is not as common as you imagine. Just make sure to never let the patient get between you and the door, never wear a tie, and don’t get into a pissing contest with a lunatic. With a little common sense you will be fine.

My favorite patients are the bums who have the system figured out. They typically draw a disability check every month and use most of it for booze and drugs. By good economy and thrift they may manage to get almost to the end of the month at which point, malnourished, hung over, withdrawing, and cold they present to the Emergency Department, the 24-hour representative of “The Man” and claim they want to kill themselves. This buys them a stay in the psych ward where they can get a shower, hot food, and some rest in the bosom of the system. The only price to pay is being interviewed every day by an earnest medical student trying to cure them. Most of them actually have underlying psychiatric disorders that contribute to their situation but this disorder by itself is usually not serious enough to warrant inpatient care.

The bipolar patients are probably the most interesting. They will talk for hours in response to one question when they are manic. Even their medications can’t completely suppress this. I’d hate to be friends with a person like that but if you’ve got nothing better to do (and you won’t) you might as well listen to somebody who has everything figured out all the time. Beginners try to faithfully record everything the patient says in their progress note, often scribbling away furiously as the patient talks. Eventually you realize that it doesn’t really matter what the patient says and you condense your description of thirty minutes of frenzied speech to “Expansive mood, inflated self-esteem, and grandiosity.”

When they’re depressed, and you can sometimes follow the same patient long enough to see both sides of the disease, they can be almost catatonic and you will miss your chatty buddy from the previous week.

Will you like inpatient psychiatry? It is an easy rotation. You don’t really do anything but talk and there are no procedural or physical exam skills to learn. The hours are generally pretty good. You see your patients, present them, and maybe sit in a group therapy session and listen to the patients try to one-up each other. It can be frustrating, on the other hand, to write notes that nobody even reads, see patients for whom you don’t even have the usual medical student pretend-responsibility, and get the same tired story from the same patient day after day after day until somebody decides that, mirabile dictu, they are well enough to be discharged.

Guest Blogger: Mrs. Panda Bear

Party Night

(I’m going to start a new feature here on Panda Bear, MD. Many pre-meds, medical students, and residents are married and have families and I thought you might like a little perspective from the other half of the team. PB)

Our little panda bear cubs have a name for their daddy being on call. They call it PARTY NIGHT! In daddy’s absence, we all have so much fun putting on our one-piece fleecy jumpers, making popcorn and watching a children’s movie (currently Christmas movies). Provided there is no school the next day, the cubs usually stay up until 10:00 pm and we all get to sleep in late the next morning. Many times on “party night” I share our king sized bed with our three snuggly cubs and 3 dogs.

Sometimes my husband gets his feelings a little hurt when the cubs ask if daddy is going to be on call and squeal in delight when the answer is yes. Managing my husband’s fragile emotions and self esteem, I have to remind him that I am trying to make the best of a potentially miserable evening by creating a really fun time for the cubs and me.