I have no illusions

I have no illusions. About my writing (or spelling for that matter). I don't picture myself a poet laureate nor Pulitzer prize winning author. I am what I am.

But my writing is important. To me at least. It allows me to express the unpredictable, unexplainable, and often hurtful parts of my life.

I certainly don't expect to receive support or feedback for what I write here or elsewhere.

So I was surprised the other day when I googled my name (which I do from time to time) and came across this blog.

The author, Michelle, was not only kind enough to mention my poem, Fake, but also to record a reading.

It gives me great pride to know that something I wrote has been released into the world. It waits to be discovered by someone half way around the country. To have meaning. To be notable.

To be shared with others

I love her

I love her

The vase on the counter is half full. The shadow of a women sits perched over her wheel chair in front of the nursing station. Her repetitive movements and verbal ticks another sign of a brain overcome by plaques and tangles. She sings her pathetic love song to a soul long lost to dementia. Her relentless arms intertwined in a meaningless embrace.

Her words bounce off my skull and penetrate my neck muscles. Stiff and painful. I yawn. Its 5:30 in the morning and I am making rounds at the nursing home. The last time I looked at a clock it was 2am and I was lying down for a moment.

My insomniac brain is restless.

But it wasn't my patients that kept me up last night. I mean mostly....I still had two late admissions.

This time it was my family. I packed her unwillingly into my car and took her to the emergency room. I have now become the chief medical officer of the family. The youngest of five...previously the follower. I am now the leader.

I love her

I love her

It's surprising to realize that even doctors struggle with our medical system. How I, the physician, can no longer find appropriate care for my family. Care givers who demonstrate a modicum of depth and have actual skin in the game.

I don't want to organize my family's health. I don't want to be the one to make sure that every test has been has been ordered, accurately assembled, and integrated into a finite whole.

But if not I...who else? There is no longer a wise, gray haired, bearded physician with a friendly smile and an easy demeanor. No sage to give guidance. They have all disappeared. How naive to once kneel at the alter of Ayn Rand and her silly drivel....But yet Atlas has shrugged.

And I continue to carry the weight of the world. I will finish my work at the nursing home and then round at the hospital. With heavy heart I will attend to my patients in the office and answer phone calls. Then I will return to the nursing home for afternoon rounds.

Somewhere in between I will call my Mother's doctors. Schedule tests and appointments.

And hopefully at the end of the day....

I will spend some time with my children

I love her

I love her

Doctors Are Lame!

It wouldn't be an exageration to say that when my wife wants something....she usually gets it. It's not because she works at it. She just decides that something is going to happen a certain way. And low and behold it does.

So when she told me she wanted to go to Ravinia for the Maroon 5 concert I had little doubt. I called the box office the next day but there were no tickets left. Not even the lawn seats were open.

Days and weeks passed and I forgot about the concert. Until I got a notice in the mail. The professional staff office at my hospital was putting on event for all the physicians. The night included entrance to Ravinia, food and beverage, and lastly pavillian tickets to the Maroon 5 concert. All I had to do was return the card stating my interest and I would be given two tickets. Supplies were limited so I had to act fast.

I quickly filled out the card, added a stamp, and dropped it in the mail and waited. And waited. And waited. But no tickets. So I called the staff office. Three times to be exact. Finally I reached the person organizing the event.

They had received my card. But had withdrawn my request becuase I was not up to date on my professional staff dues. Supposedly they had been trying to reach me for weeks. Sent certiied letters and emails. Ofcourse I recieved nothing.

I immediately gave my credit card number and was promised the tickets were in the mail. The concert was in one week. Although I lived 5 minutes from the administrative offices, days passed and no tickets.

The day before the concert I was assured that tickets would be waiting for me at the box office. I packed up the kids and dropped them at their grandmother's house and set off for Ravinia.

We had gotten a late start and upon arrival found the parking lot was full. So we meandered fiftee minutes offsite and took a shuttle in. Our tickets were waiting as promised and we headed towards the tent set up for my hospital.

As we entered I found myself surrounded by people I hadn't seen in years. An ecclectic mix of physicians fromt three different hospitals. Ages varied. I chatted easily with old acquintances and enjoyed a good meal and a few beers.

Then it was off to the pavillian. Thousands scrambled into their seats to see the warm up band. But the real excitement started when Maroon 5 came on stage. I looked up and down at the seats around me. Mostly older physicians and their spouses but also some young people. The seats in our section were all reserved by the professional staff office.

As Adam levine stepped on stage the crowd rose and started to cheer. Ninety eight percent of the pavillion was on its feet and screaming at the top of their lungs. The other two percent sat quietly with confused and uncomfortable looks on their faces.

The other two percent were the bewildered physician participants who had been invited as part of our event. As the music started my wife and I stood up and began to dance. We stood alone in a group of fifty people. These fifty people formed an island of seated concert goers surrounded by thousands of screaming adoring fans swaying back and forth above their neglected seats.

Within minutes most of my colleageus had left the concert prematurely. The rest left at the end but missed the encore.

And my wife and I danced for what seemed like hours. Eventually when the show was over we left the pavillian with smiles on our faces and convinced that while Maroon 5puts on a hell of a concert, in general.....

Physicians are lame!

When I Grow Up

When I was seven It was less mountains and more mole hills. Life was contracted and small. Confined to a few walls. Two brothers. My parents. My father was my hero. And one day I told him....when I grow up, I will be a doctor.

When I was seventeen my father had already died. Finishing high school I was on the cusp of starting college. And climbing was more about ladders. Moving up. Fulfilling my father's destiny which had been cut short prematurely. When I finish college I will start medical school.

When I was twenty seven I looked outside the hospital windows and watched the construction. Each year of residency measured by a new ward, a new wing, a new building taking form above our entrenched front. And I saw my future. Rising on the horizon vaulting above the concrete, inching towards the sky. When I graduate from residency I will become an attending physician.

And now I am finishing my thirty seventh year. Again my life has become contracted. Mountains have been replaced by birthdays and weekends at the park. My hopes and dreams for my children have replaced my own. And for the first time in my life I no longer know what to strive for.

But sometimes. In the waning moments before sleep washes over my seven year old sons fatigued body...he looks up at me as I tuck him into bed. His eye half closed his lips part and his voice is almost a whisper...

Daddy...daddy...when I grow up, I will be a doctor.

That Guy Almost Killed Me

He was gregarious. And joyful. And he loved me. Like some of my patients. I couldn't do any wrong. His last doctor had dropped him because he had decided on alternative medicine to treat his heart disease. But I...I accepted him where he was. I explained the positives and negatives of traditional care. I informed him of risks and benefits but respected his personal choices even though they were very different from my own.

We joked in the exam room. About the complications of aging. He wasn't afraid of death, in fact he was in his eighth decade and welcomed the idea of change. He was undaunted.

So when he came to see me the other day I was unperturbed. We exchanged our usual banter and he started to give me one of his never ending litany of compliments but the he surprised me.

"You know doc...I met a guy the other day. A young guy who had just had his chest opened up and his valves repaired. And he was complaining about his doctor....So I told him he had to come see my doctor...Doctor G."

The he paused and looked at me appetisingly and started to imitate his companions response, "Dr. G....that guy almost killed me!"

I sat stunned for a moment. It is not unusual that when you care for thousands of patients that occasionally one of them doesn't like you. Eventually you meet people that you don't gel with. Some of them accuse you. Some of them don't understand that you did all you could. Some of them just don't like you.

But as I thought more about it I started to feel a great deal of anxiety. What if there is a patient out there that I hurt. That I missed a diagnosis and no one ever told me. That the patient went to another doctor who saved his life and I totally missed the boat. Could this happen? How often?

I gently pressed my patient further but he was unwilling to give me his friends name. Unable to give me the details.

Medicine can be disjointed. How often have I caught diagnosis that other doctors missed but failed to call them and inform them. It happens quite often.

Have I been too cavalier? Have I been to confident in my own abilities?

Getting noticed

I was never really one to stand out. Growing up. I was quiet. I certainly didn't garner the attention of the opposite sex. I got used to it. Being anonymous. Being the kind of guy that girls liked for his personality. Certainly not for his looks.

But then something happened. Maybe it was the long doctors coat. Or the title. "Dr. Grumet". It kind of has a ring to it. And women paid attention. In the office. In the hospital. All of the sudden I was being noticed.

Of course, I new it was the persona. People look up to physicians because their standing in society, the power. It really wasn't about me.

The flirting however has now become obvious. The stolen glances in the exam room. The awkward conversation. The gentle lingering when I shake hands.

But I brush it off. As professional as ever. I Ignore the overt gestures. And pretend that I don't know.

And when the visit is over I help them off the exam table and deliver them safely back to their walkers and explain to their loved ones that their dementia has not worsened...much.

As I move on to the next patient I sigh with relief as I look at the face sheet....under sixty...nothing to worry about there!

Ice Skating

It's been a hard week. After 13 days straight. Getting up at 5am and pulling myself out of bed every morning as the rest of the household sleeps. One of those weeks I would rather forget. Lots of regret. Lots of worry. And certainly heartache.

And even on my day off it continued. A quick call to the ICU confirmed what I had feared all along. As the tension in my neck became unbearable the headache set in. My mood soured. My wife cautiously appraised me from the drivers seat as I became quiet. The kids argued in the backseat.

I had had enough. By 5pm I was ready to shut the world out. Close the doors and turn of the lights and call it a day. But there was a birthday party for my son and daughter. Of all things an ice skating party. And I didn't have the heart to stay home alone.

So we dragged the kids into the car. Put them in their car seats. Made our way to the skating rink.

My wife rented skates for herself and the kids, and I moped on the sidelines. As I walked into the observation area the cold air whipped across my face like a slap. It woke me up. It bayed me to come.

I walked hurriedly out the door and back to the check in area. I grabbed an old pair of beat up skates and raced to the rink. I laced up the skates with great clumsiness and inefficiency. Being that I had only skated once in the last twenty years I wasn't all that confident in my abilities.

I gingerly inched out on the ice and something amazing happened. My mind became totally engrossed in the activity. My neck muscles relaxed and my shoulders loosened. My legs moved rhythmically across the ice as my body swayed back and forth with each kick.

And I forgot. I forgot the horrendous sadness I had encountered last week. I forgot the sorrow and fatigue and stress. For a second I let go of the complexities of adulthood....of being a physician....and I was a child again. swirling through the air with ease and abandonment.


Free, simple, and in the moment.