That Which I Miss Most

EmpathyMy eyes glare across the table. I can feel his shoulders hunch forward as he subconsciously recoils in preparation for my response. The room becomes thick. Nurses, social workers, a chaplain. Everyone waiting for the doctor.Not just the doctor, but me. Sixteen years out of residency. Battle scarred and warn by PTSD. The images from residency still so clear. A gasp, a gurgle, flat line. Wailing family members, angry nurses, and an uncompromising chief. They died so much more easily back then. The young, the old, the unwanted, and the uncared for. The academic medical center with it's social mission. The Veterans Administration with it's untethered and unloved. Practice. We practiced for lack of a better word. We stumbled into situations too big and too great for our burgeoning grip on competence. We learned as we taught. We taught as we mastered. We mastered in the single digits. Battle WornEmerging from training was like a breath of air. But not clean air. Smog. The same thickness. Life's murkiness banished to that protected oasis long hidden in the recesses. Just out of reach. Schedules fill. Patients tosqueeze in. The morass of physical and emotional trauma. Ducking from the base insults hurled at our backs, and delivering the same into the next examining room when patience grows thin. Dragging such toxicity home o...
Source: In My Humble Opinion - Category: Primary Care Authors: Source Type: blogs