In Lehman's Terms

I’m starting to question old adages that I used to think were immutable.  Translation: I used to believe in certain one liners, and I don’t think they’re true anymore.  So far:

1) “Actions speak louder than words.”  Not true.  I do all kinds of things for people.  In fact, doing is the source of emotional expression that I find most comfortable.  I show my caring through action.  Being a doctor, doing people favors, lending people money, buying drinks/stuff/etc, tracking down tickets for friends–you name it, I’ve done it.  Yet how many times and how easily does the person to whom you’re doing the favor throw it in your face or act like you haven’t done anything for them or question your motives?  In fact, someone else who hasn’t done half of the things you might have casts your actions into doubt in someone’s eyes with a few choice words!  For future reference, I’ll keep my actions to myself a lot more often.

2) “Prince Charming.”  Yeah, right.  So I went out and did all the things prince charming is supposed to do and be.  So now, I get to watch out of shape guys with lame jobs, no talents, fewer manners, even less culture, and even more questionable motives walk arm in arm with the prettiest girls.  It’s not all about beauty, but really?  I’ve even seen ex-girlfriends/girl-associates snuggling up to guys who couldn’t open a door for their future, the girl, or even a window for their body odor.  The only thing about most betches that makes them like princesses is the amount of time they spend kissing frogs.

3) “Put your money where your mouth is.”  No.  Put your money in your pocket.  Stop trickin’.  If you don’t own it, it’s not yours.  If you didn’t buy the tickets, don’t act like you did.  The people that run the world don’t show you that they do, and the people you’re trying to be like are the ones who end up empty-handed Occupying park benches.  The people that are saying “what recession?” are the ones that keep the their stash out from in front of their ’stache.  Trying to be a prized race-horse by putting on a donkey suit makes you a dumb ass.

4) “Nice Guys Finish last.”  No, the nice guy doesn’t finish anything–he usually gets interrupt by some rude a-hole.

5) “Cold Hands, Warm Heart.”  Not at all.  As a doctor that works in and near the operating rooms, my hands are always cold.  And yet, the longer and harder I work, the more I give to people and absorb their pain and their fears and their bad decisions that I have to sweat out my energy to compensate for, the colder my heart gets to the people outside my work and eventually to the people causing me to be overwhelmed–the patient’s themselves.  Why?  Well, heat is energy and energy is energy and fear/pain/frustration are cold and bitter and take away heat.  Unless something renews the hearts of those giving out warmth so often the coals eventually snuff out.

Karma is dead.

“Physician, heal thyself”

-Luke 4:23

I’m sick.  My throat had the tiniest of tickles on Saturday night.  By 3am Sunday morning I was experiencing chills, fever, joint aches, terrible sore throat, and your run-of-the-mill malaise (said like you’re savoring the word…it’s a great one).  I spent all of Sunday morning and afternoon taking my concoction of meds, sleeping, shaking, sweating, and praying for a quick release.  Today was round two, but with baby steps in the right direction.

Wait, you mean doctors get sick?  Um, yeah!  Even ones that exercise, eat well, and avoid most major pitfalls still succumb to the reality of being human: frail chinks in the immune system’s armor.  In this case, I’m suspecting allergies or makeout poisoning (strep throat).

What’s it like for a doctor to be sick?  I’ll share my experience.

1) I wake up kind of freaking out.  I’m shocked that something penetrated the immune system that’s been slapping away all of the hospital creepies I deal with every day.  Then I run through all of the terrible possibilities that I know of thanks to my profession.  I spend time wondering if I’m overreacting–which is not so bad–but then wonder if I’m under-reacting–which would be really bad.

2) I start doing things to take care of myself.  Maybe I’m embarrassed to ask for help.  I really want to be taken care of: my mom would be great right now, my ex-girlfriend, my double ex-girlfriend, or anyone else I can think of who knew me well enough that I would let them see me like the mess I am right now.  I’m a mess, and I shouldn’t be.  I should shrug this off, but instead my despair gets an added dose of guilt (this is pathetic for a doctor).  And I feel worse because the exes aren’t around because they left; maybe because I was pathetic.  This is a downward spiral…so I’m back on the internet confirming my differential diagnosis and deciding on a treatment course.

3) I meet Centor criteria for strep throat (this is a clinical list of things that if filled makes it more likely that you have a bacterial source of infection–which makes you inclined to use antibiotics), plus fast onset.  I start with treat the symptoms: Tylenol 1000mg plus Aleve 600mg every 6 hours.  They work through different channels, so it’s good to use both (isn’t it interesting what doctors do differently?).  Plus I sleep as much as I can.  I also start on some augmentin.

4) I finally feel crappy enough to call Jordan because my doctor friend David made fun of me and called me a wuss.  Isn’t empathy nice?  No wonder doctors are such douche bags sometimes; it’s only funny if its not you that’s sick, and I’m sure he didn’t “mean it.”  Jordan brings Gatorade and a Tylenol refill.  Lifesaver!

5) Finally the fever breaks.  I haven’t left my house all day.  Still depressed and miserable.  I could cry and really want a hug.  It’s a lonely place in the ivory tower.  I feel like I’m wasting the vacation days I took this weekend, but I can hardly move and swallowing is like being stabbed in the neck.  All I can think about is getting better because I’m not getting anything done that has to be done outside of work–and this is the only time I have to do it!

6) It’s now Monday.  I thought I was getting better, but I’m not.  The exudates are nasty on my tonsils; even that word is gross.  I give myself an IM shot of Decadron (a steroid).  Being a doctor is great for having good access to medicine.  I’ll give myself that.  Not that I’m necessarily managing it well, but it’s also a good experiment–if it works, it’s a nice thing to know.  What better way than to test it on myself!  I’ve also gone through my customary pity thoughts: wishing the mom/exes were here, wondering if I’ve gotten something horrible, under-treating myself, or going to stay sick and have to be on call (Wednesday) like this (and no, there is no calling in sick, it would be a step short of sacrilege–even if I risk exposing others to what hit me; stupid logic I know).  What if I never get better, or have mono?  And I start cardiac anesthesia in a month.  Oh man.

7)  To make things worse, I feel like the “Physician, heal thyself” (A biblical “I told you so” if you read the scripture) is on its way somehow.  And yes, lo-and-behold, it popped up on my facebook comments when I was looking for sympathy.  Thanks for making me feel awesome.  Everyone else gets sympathy, I get a why-don’t-you-just-take-of-it-yourself.  Well, for one, I am.  But that’s not the issue.  I think it’s in times of weakness when love is a powerful source of healing.  Not for just the body, but for the emotionally vulnerable mind.  Hugs don’t cure fevers, but they can cure doubt, and they can give peace of mind.

I know being sick isn’t fun for anyone.  These times remind me that I’m a patient, too, even if the rest of the world doesn’t think so.  I certainly hope that the experience is less needy, overwhelming, and/or less full of worry (ignorance is bliss?) for others, but I know it’s some combination of all these things for each of us.  I’m also thankful, because thanks to my good habits, this is the first time I’ve been sick like this in 2 or 3 years!  But regardless, it’s not fun, and it isn’t any easier just because it’s part of the job.

…Off to salt-water gargleglglglglglgllglelelglelgllserglesglglg…and pray for an end to being/feeling pathetic and lonely.  Oh, and why not see a doctor?  Because I don’t have a primary care doctor.  Yes, I know; another hippocratic hypocrite.