For Those Of You Who Worry About Me

Ruth was problematic.  Well into her seventies, her body may have dulled but her tongue was sharper than ever.  And she used it to lash me with complaint after complaint.  If it wasn't her knees, it was her ankles.  If it wasn't her ankles, it was her hips.  I battled the impossible month after month, year after year.  Our interactions left a bitter taste in my mouth.  Nothing makes a physician feel more impotent than the stubborn problems that refuse to bend under our practiced hands.I am fairly experienced with complex medical issues.  I have never shied away from diagnostic challenges.  But I have to admit that Ruth seemed to push my buttons just so.  I started to dread our visits.  I winced every time her name came up on my schedule. I am not proud of this.  The covenant between doctor and patient is sacred.   Neither a patient's attitude nor my inability to solve her problems is an adequate excuse for such feelings.  It all changed instantaneously.  I was walking lazily through the Botanic Gardens with my family one weekend when I spied Ruth a few hundred yards away in the Rose Garden.  She was surrounded by children and grandchildren.  The young ones teased and coaxed as Ruth hopped back and forth with her walker.  Her laughter wafted effortlessly through the air.  She was alive and animated.  Her gait straightened, her limbs moved, and her face was alight with joy.  ...
Source: In My Humble Opinion - Category: Primary Care Authors: Source Type: blogs