more than family...

There is an incredibly annoying water bottle that my bosses carry. It's a PBA-free, all stainless steel, sustainable, caribeener-to-your-fixie-bike model. Conveniently sized to fit into a messenger bag. Just like every other hipster water bottle in Canada. However, this is not the source of my irritation.

This water bottle has a message on it:

"Family Medicine: more than family, more than medicine..."

I roll my eyes every time I see this.

But:

This week, I got sick. I woke up feverish, sore, sniffling and miserable. In Australia, this happened during my Rehab block. I was very, very, unwell but I did not miss a day of work. If I had, I would be looked upon as weak. Not pulling my weight. Letting down the mates. Etc. Etc.

On Monday morning, I sat in my teaching session, trying to snivel discreetly. After an hour, the head of Family Med stopped the lesson.

HFM: "Sam, are you sick?"
Me: "Urm. No. I'm just coughing up lung butter to demonstrate my understanding of URTI's"
HFM: "I think you should go home. You need to rest. Cancel your clinics."
Me: ....
HFM: "Off you go. You need to look after yourself."

I reeled for a moment.

Then I went home. I looked after myself.

Today, I am still sick. I went to my clinics, supported by a drug cocktail that (upon further research) is essentially crystal meth. And I got through the day.

Until 5pm, when we usually meet to discuss our patients. My preceptor, who is also sick, took one look at me and said, "Go home. You can't learn when you're sick. Call in sick tomorrow if you need to. You need to look after yourself."

More than medicine. More than family.
This job might just be good for me.

em-pathetic

There is a huge and fascinating article in today's Globe & Mail about empathy. It's loosely focused on the recent tragedy in Norway and explores the idea that "evil" in people can actually be attributed to a lack of empathy.

The researchers interviewed discuss situations where people (and animals) display a lack of empathy; chronically, such as in people with Autism, or acutely, in the case of torture or murder.

I have previously gone on record saying that my clinical medical skills improved when I learned to suppress my empathy.

As a medical student, I had trouble placing drips (IV's). I would wince as the patient winced. I would break into a sweat, fumbling, jostling the tip and carving up their delicate vessels. Then I'd have to find another vein, and repeat ad nauseum.

When I learned to shut my empathy down, I found I could treat the vein as an isolated problem. Yes, I can hear someone wailing and moaning and carrying on, but I just have to slide this needle into this tube and get some red stuff. Smooth as. No worries.

In the article, they talk about people who can spontaneously shut off their empathy in morally difficult situations. These people are sociopaths.

Luckily, in family medicine, I rarely do procedural stuff.

I do, however, hear about 20 sad stories a day. Some things are horrifying; surprise pregnancy with a side of surprise HIV, domestic violence, sudden death and disease. Some things are less extreme, but just as devastating for the people going through them. I ended up comforting a jilted lover for 40 minutes as they sobbed into my tissue box. (Your tax dollars at work.)

Here, at week four, I have run out of empathy.

Not at work - I have an endless supply of sympathetic nods, heartfelt sighs and respectful, supportive, asexual shoulder pats.

My lack is coming through at home. I don't give a shit.

Worried about your career trajectory? I could care less! Your haircut doesn't flatter you? Suck it up! You're just not sure if he likes you enough? Blow me! And that's just self-talk. My friends get it worse.

I read the article thoroughly, looking for people who get empathy-depleted. Not a sociopath, not yet Autistic. I wanted to know that burn-out doesn't necessarily lead to mass murder. Alas, I couldn't find anything to soothe.

In order to get my empathy back, I'm going to watch kitten DJ's all night. People can be harsh, but kittens never let you down...

Three Oh.

Officially old. But not, unfortunately, mature.

I am truly grateful that every year my life gets better and better. When I'm 95 (Happy Birthday Gran!) I will be having more fun than is physically possible. I can just feel it.

Time to dance!




En espagnol!

Love!

Monday is the worst day, right?
Not so! Not if you're living the dream that is family medicine.

On paper, it was a typically crappy medical day:
8 -12: "Evidence based medicine" (eg: reading journal articles aloud to each other) followed by "Behavioural medicine" (eg: social worker reading journal articles to us).

1-5: Clinic (eg: poking sick people & their icky parts)

5-9am: Call (eg: pager panic)

BUT in reality:

8-10: Immunization Trivial Pursuit
Seriously. Our program director (and head of U of T family med) actually made a Trivial Pursuit board game with questions about various vaccines. I believe the green was Diptheria, blue was Hepatitis and orange Varicella. I learned a tremendous amount, though I couldn't shake my craving for a G&T and some Pender sunshine.

10-12: Social work articles? Nope! Parenting lessons! And thanks to my father's professional tutelage, I had all the answers.

This relates to the time Dad asked brother & me to make a powerpoint on parenting for his students. As we turned his notes into slides, we exchanged worried glances. "Time outs? Neutral language? Psychological discipline? We've been parented!"

1-5: Clinic! Transgendered alcoholics begging for rehab! Tiny kids with sore ears! Swabs for lesbians with cheating lovers! Medical marijuana for HIV positive old dudes!

And as for call...

As of 10pm, I have taken some pages, answered some questions and done some reading. All from the comfort of my own home. With take-out tacos. In my undies. (34 degrees here).

I love my job.

a day late, a buck short?

Strawberry Rhubarb Pie.

From scratch. Pastry & all.

I feel so wholesome that I'm compelled to go out dancing in trashy bars with drunk doctors.

summer fun

When you have warm summer evenings, the smell of jasmine coming through the window and humidity-curled hair brushing at the nape of your neck, you know you're on vacation.

To fill your empty hours (and cos the strawberries are rotting in the box) you can make pie.















Of course, when you have the attention span of a five year old on red cordial, you may only make the pastry and the filling, then get distracted.

You will go across the street and steal DVDs from Ian. Come back and admire your toenails. Google "rhubarb poisoning" and think about the legal definition of "criminal intent". Stew the rest of the rhubarb. Realize that you only have enough pastry for a bottom crust. Realize that you've run out of flour. Give up, google Dashboard Confessional and listen to summer songs.



Toronto in summer is awesome. I'll never work here; there's too much else to do!
I'll finish the pie tomorrow.

summer fling!

I don't know what to tell you...

I've finished the PRP. (Pre-residency program, aka "teach Sam to speak Canadian"). I have a small, perfectly formed apartment. My hospital feels like home. I've met my bosses. I am excited to be a family doctor. I have new friends. I've found the good coffee spot and shamelessly hit on the proprietor.

It's been a busy 3 months. Aside from getting peed on by multiple infants, I have no recent medical stories. July first will be my first day as a (legal) Canadian doctor.

I'm going to lie in the sun listening to summer pop until then. Join me!