Being isolated in a hospital room leaves you vulnerable to doctors who may be inappropriate, rude and even abusive. You might consider that having the capacity to call for help – to Tweet – is empowering. Health care #911, and very public! But…
Today I visited my internist for a checkup and flu shot. We talked about how I’m doing, and she examined me, and we discussed what procedures I ought have done and not done. She’s been my doctor since the summer of 1987, when I was an intern at the hospital. We reviewed so much that […]
Dear Readers, It’s a quiet, warm and breezeless day here in Manhattan. I’ve been at the hospital for much of the time lately, visiting with my Dad. Being there brings back all kinds of memories. I could write an essay about it, in a flash, but I don’t feel like doing so, so I won’t. […]
It was sometime in April, 1988. I was putting a line in an old man with end-stage kidney disease, cancer (maybe), heart failure, bacteria in his blood and no consciousness. Prince was on the radio, loud, by his bedside. If you could call it that – the uncomfortable, curtained compartment didn’t seem like a good place for resting.
One of the things I liked best about practicing medicine is that I was constantly learning.
Making rounds at seven in the morning on an oncology floor would be a chore if you didn’t get to examine and think and figure out what’s happening to a man with leukemia whose platelets are dangerously low, or whose lymphoma is responding to treatment but can’t take anymore medicine because of an intense, burn-like rash. You’d have to look stuff up, sort among clues