There wouldn't be anymore research. There may not even be anymore life. Scott's mood was getting progressively dour as he languished in the hospital. It was already three days and still minimal movement on the right side. The thrombolytics did nothing. Physical therapy was doing nothing. Thank god he was left handed! He could still perform some tasks for himself. He would be able to go home and not some forsaken rehab facility.
But he was useless. How could he run experiments. How could he set up the stroke patients if he had no use of one side of his body. Sure he had students. Sure he had post docs. But he never felt as good as when he had his own hands were in the mix.
And what tortured Scott the most was that his mind was more clear then ever. In fact his thoughts had started to race. He was quicker then before. His mental cogitations were less labored. In the ER the nurses were trying to figure the TPA dose and Scott did the complex calculations instantaneously in his head. He had always fumbled with calculators before.
He was also learning to read people better. He was able to hear the changes in pitch in his doctors voice relaying bad news even before he got to the point. Or the look on the nurses face appraising his physique when helping him put his shirt on. Strangely these were things that Scott had never picked up on before.
And when a colleague he had known for years came to visit him in the hospital the day before discharge he sensed something that completely took him by surprise....
Love
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
I grew up knowing a family. The father was a doctor. A funny guy he was strict with his kids but loving. Generous. All the other kids in the neighborhood adored him. The mother was a lawyer. It was clear she was the boss of the family. But she was also fun and caring. Everyone knew to go to her if you had a real problem.
They were afluent but not outwardly rich. Intelligent. They were keenly aware of what was happening in the world. I remember passing through their living room and seeing world events on the TV.
Their kids were typical. Often well meaning but making the common mistakes of youth. Usually getting into some kind of trouble but never anything serious. They were like all the other kids on the block. Occasionaly overly virtous.
They were you and me. They were American Pie. They were the best we strive to be.
And oh....by the way....they were black. And they were completely fictional (this family at least).
If you haven't figured it out I am talking about the Huckstables (The Cosby show).
As I watched Barack Obama and his family last night I found myself thinking back to all those evenings I invited the Huckstables into my living room.
Over the next few months you will hear the pundits discuss the luminaries of the civil rights movement. I would like to add Bill Cosby's name to the discussion.
Without him, I feel relatively certain that white America would never have had the courage to vote for a black president.
They were afluent but not outwardly rich. Intelligent. They were keenly aware of what was happening in the world. I remember passing through their living room and seeing world events on the TV.
Their kids were typical. Often well meaning but making the common mistakes of youth. Usually getting into some kind of trouble but never anything serious. They were like all the other kids on the block. Occasionaly overly virtous.
They were you and me. They were American Pie. They were the best we strive to be.
And oh....by the way....they were black. And they were completely fictional (this family at least).
If you haven't figured it out I am talking about the Huckstables (The Cosby show).
As I watched Barack Obama and his family last night I found myself thinking back to all those evenings I invited the Huckstables into my living room.
Over the next few months you will hear the pundits discuss the luminaries of the civil rights movement. I would like to add Bill Cosby's name to the discussion.
Without him, I feel relatively certain that white America would never have had the courage to vote for a black president.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Stroke of Genius
Fucking irony. As Scott sat on the gurnee they were the only words running through his mind. Just hours ago he was happily in his lab reviewing data. He finished with the last stroke patient for the day and was enjoying the luxury of an extra few moments to crunch numbers.
His research was promising. He already secured funding from multiple sources. He had a few medical students and PhD candidates working for him. Scott was making a name for himself. Early into his career he had given up most of clinical responsibilities. And he felt his research was showing progress. In the last year his data had sharpened. He could feel in his bones that he was close to something big.
Scott had discovered a novel compound that when used on rabbits reversed the most egregious effects of strokes. Rabbits who had been induced to suffer strokes could have their symptoms completely ameliorated. Even if the event occured months before. The coumpound regenerated damaged neurological tissue. Restoring it to its prestroke condition. But safetly data was lacking. And a number of the treated rabbits died prematurely for unknown reasons.
He was so close. He knew he was missing a key concept but just couldn't put his finger on it. He stayed up late at night reviewing the data. Often he would forget to eat because he was so busy. He was losing weight. His family and friends had given up on him. His social life was at a standstill. He was fourty years old and hadn't gone on a date for a year.
And then this. First he felt a heaviness in his right arm and leg. He tried to get up and walk around the lab but he was clumsy. He kept tripping. Then he tried to steady himself on the lab bench. But he couldn't lift his arm. He fell against the bench and then slid to the ground in a seated position. He was alone. He lifted his left arm which was still working and reached towards the table. He clutched at his cell phone. With one hand he gingerly dialed 911...
"Hello....hello..." he fumbled with the phone...
"I think I'm having a stroke!"
Fucking irony
His research was promising. He already secured funding from multiple sources. He had a few medical students and PhD candidates working for him. Scott was making a name for himself. Early into his career he had given up most of clinical responsibilities. And he felt his research was showing progress. In the last year his data had sharpened. He could feel in his bones that he was close to something big.
Scott had discovered a novel compound that when used on rabbits reversed the most egregious effects of strokes. Rabbits who had been induced to suffer strokes could have their symptoms completely ameliorated. Even if the event occured months before. The coumpound regenerated damaged neurological tissue. Restoring it to its prestroke condition. But safetly data was lacking. And a number of the treated rabbits died prematurely for unknown reasons.
He was so close. He knew he was missing a key concept but just couldn't put his finger on it. He stayed up late at night reviewing the data. Often he would forget to eat because he was so busy. He was losing weight. His family and friends had given up on him. His social life was at a standstill. He was fourty years old and hadn't gone on a date for a year.
And then this. First he felt a heaviness in his right arm and leg. He tried to get up and walk around the lab but he was clumsy. He kept tripping. Then he tried to steady himself on the lab bench. But he couldn't lift his arm. He fell against the bench and then slid to the ground in a seated position. He was alone. He lifted his left arm which was still working and reached towards the table. He clutched at his cell phone. With one hand he gingerly dialed 911...
"Hello....hello..." he fumbled with the phone...
"I think I'm having a stroke!"
Fucking irony
Monday, November 3, 2008
The American Way
Its the American way......I eversogently tiptoe down the linoleum lined hallway of the nursing home. As dawn breaks I listen to the squeek of my new shoes drowned out by the upheavil of the alzheimers ward. The screaming and the cries no longer catch my attention after so many early mornings. Confusion reins as I wipe the fatigue from my eyes after a long weekend on call. Trying to fit in a few quick visits before rushing to the hospital and then the office.
I enter the room quietly and stumble for the bathroom light to shatter the heavy darkness. "Joe....Joe...is that you?". An elderly woman squints through the haziness of sleep. The clock on the side of the bed reads 6am. "No .....no, it's Doctor Grumet." "Oh...I thought you were Joe....where is he?" Joe has been dead for a decade. After having this conversation on multiple visits I no longer correct her.
"So how are you feeling....any pain?" She again squints trying to avoid the light eminating from the half closed bathroom door. She talks with her head pointed slightly to my right, "Oh...doctor.....I can't see! I could see yesterday but now everything is blurry!" The macular degeneration robbed her years ago. But every morning she wakes up with the same tortured sentiment.
I gently rest my hand on her shoulder for comfort. My stethoscope probing her back and then chest. I recognize the same faded night shirt that she wears every day. Over her heart a sticker is gently pealing from the fabric. Someone had obviously decided a pin would be too dangerous.
The words on the sticker pound my eardrums with laughter and mock my own sense of self importance as I drive to the hospital....
"I voted today"
I enter the room quietly and stumble for the bathroom light to shatter the heavy darkness. "Joe....Joe...is that you?". An elderly woman squints through the haziness of sleep. The clock on the side of the bed reads 6am. "No .....no, it's Doctor Grumet." "Oh...I thought you were Joe....where is he?" Joe has been dead for a decade. After having this conversation on multiple visits I no longer correct her.
"So how are you feeling....any pain?" She again squints trying to avoid the light eminating from the half closed bathroom door. She talks with her head pointed slightly to my right, "Oh...doctor.....I can't see! I could see yesterday but now everything is blurry!" The macular degeneration robbed her years ago. But every morning she wakes up with the same tortured sentiment.
I gently rest my hand on her shoulder for comfort. My stethoscope probing her back and then chest. I recognize the same faded night shirt that she wears every day. Over her heart a sticker is gently pealing from the fabric. Someone had obviously decided a pin would be too dangerous.
The words on the sticker pound my eardrums with laughter and mock my own sense of self importance as I drive to the hospital....
"I voted today"
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Walking on Water (conclusions)
Derek was so devastated after the funeral that Sarah decided to move back into the house. Her psychiatrist was amazed at how rapidly she was getting better. It was as if the sickness of her child somehow snapped her out of a fog. Or maybe it was Derek's need. She started a new antipsychotic and was doing well. Based on her improvement her diagnosis was changed from schizophrenia to bipolar with psychotic features.
Derek didn't care what you called it. Sarah was back again. She was alive and loving and supportive. And he really needed her. Because he had to find a reason to continue breathing. Jason's death formed a wound on his heart that would never heal. He would wake up in the middle of the night calling his son's name as if he was still in the adjacent room sleeping quietly.
And Derek would find solace in the fact that the world was generous. That other caring human beings would donate a hundred thousand dollars to save his son. That by returning this generosity he could affect others who were desperately in need. His life could have meaning again.
And above all he knew that he had done his best. Because even those who walk on water occasionally find themselves stranded in the middle of the ocean. It was time to grow up. he could either let his sadness drown him or he could learn how to swim. So Derek abandoned his superhuman qualities......
and dove into the merky abyss.
Derek didn't care what you called it. Sarah was back again. She was alive and loving and supportive. And he really needed her. Because he had to find a reason to continue breathing. Jason's death formed a wound on his heart that would never heal. He would wake up in the middle of the night calling his son's name as if he was still in the adjacent room sleeping quietly.
And Derek would find solace in the fact that the world was generous. That other caring human beings would donate a hundred thousand dollars to save his son. That by returning this generosity he could affect others who were desperately in need. His life could have meaning again.
And above all he knew that he had done his best. Because even those who walk on water occasionally find themselves stranded in the middle of the ocean. It was time to grow up. he could either let his sadness drown him or he could learn how to swim. So Derek abandoned his superhuman qualities......
and dove into the merky abyss.
Walking on Water (4)
The problem with bone marrow transplants was the expense. Derek had done his home work. Between doctor and hospital fees he would need about one hundred thousand dollars. Simple..he thought...Jason had good insurance. But ofcourse given the experimental nature of the procedure his insurance categorically denied the request stating the lack of evidence.
So Derek again braced for war. Again he consulted the experts. He had Jason's oncologist write a letter to the insurer. He wote a number of personal letters documenting Jason's struggle and emphasizing that he surely would die without drastic action.
In the meantime he went to religous organizations, the local media, and even the AMA. Anyone who could help was welcomed. He set up a fund at their local bank for donations and Sara helped put together a web site. After a month they had collected twenty five thousand dollars. Not enough....but a start!
The insurane company finally relented and invited Derek to personally present Jason's case to a board of adjucators. As he packed up his materials that morning, he felt mildly optimistic. He had not come this far to fail. He had thirty minutes to win over the hearts and minds of the insurance comany representatives.
Derek's presentation was the perfect mix of science and emotion. He blended the hard data with the soft picture of Jason, his mentally ill mother, and his struggling father. He ended with a short video of Jason himself pleading the case. The jury of ten men and women were visibley shaken. A number of them had tears in their eyes. As Derek left the room to allow them to deliberate he felt he had reasonable odds.
Fifteen minutes later he was summoned back to the small room. It was decided that the insurance company would not cover the transplant given its experimental nature. However, Jason's case would be sent for review to the charitable branch of the company which may consider donating to the cause.
Derek's sadness and dissapointemnt were brief.....the next day he recieved a check for the remaining seventy five thousand dollars.
Looking back, Derek would remember this as the highpoint of his struggle. He had walked on water. He had accomplished the impossible.. That night he picked up Sarah and Jason from the hospital. They went out for pizza. It was one of Jason's good days.
Jason eventually recieved the bone marrow transplant.
When it failed to eradicate the cancer he was enrolled in hospice.
He died a month later at home with Derek and Sarah at his bedside.
So Derek again braced for war. Again he consulted the experts. He had Jason's oncologist write a letter to the insurer. He wote a number of personal letters documenting Jason's struggle and emphasizing that he surely would die without drastic action.
In the meantime he went to religous organizations, the local media, and even the AMA. Anyone who could help was welcomed. He set up a fund at their local bank for donations and Sara helped put together a web site. After a month they had collected twenty five thousand dollars. Not enough....but a start!
The insurane company finally relented and invited Derek to personally present Jason's case to a board of adjucators. As he packed up his materials that morning, he felt mildly optimistic. He had not come this far to fail. He had thirty minutes to win over the hearts and minds of the insurance comany representatives.
Derek's presentation was the perfect mix of science and emotion. He blended the hard data with the soft picture of Jason, his mentally ill mother, and his struggling father. He ended with a short video of Jason himself pleading the case. The jury of ten men and women were visibley shaken. A number of them had tears in their eyes. As Derek left the room to allow them to deliberate he felt he had reasonable odds.
Fifteen minutes later he was summoned back to the small room. It was decided that the insurance company would not cover the transplant given its experimental nature. However, Jason's case would be sent for review to the charitable branch of the company which may consider donating to the cause.
Derek's sadness and dissapointemnt were brief.....the next day he recieved a check for the remaining seventy five thousand dollars.
Looking back, Derek would remember this as the highpoint of his struggle. He had walked on water. He had accomplished the impossible.. That night he picked up Sarah and Jason from the hospital. They went out for pizza. It was one of Jason's good days.
Jason eventually recieved the bone marrow transplant.
When it failed to eradicate the cancer he was enrolled in hospice.
He died a month later at home with Derek and Sarah at his bedside.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The Power of One
I wrote this in highschool. Its kind of simple but I like it. I almost never use rhyme in my poetry. I always was fond of the saying....My body is a temple.
The Power of One
My body is a temple
My mind is my god
My heart is a prayerbook
Its expression my facade
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