It’s time. Time, time, time. Almost 35 years of stimulating and successful medical practice in Pulmonary and Critical Care Medicine built on 4 years of medical school, 5 years of post doc training, bolstered by teaching and continuous interactions between physicians, nurses, therapists, administrators and, especially, patients now put to rest. The memories, observations, and perspectives generated over that time, however, will not be. These are the reasons for this blog with this, the inaugural. So I write as a release for me, for commiseration (perhaps) from physicians, and for the general public to provide, hopefully, some insight into how things in medicine were, and are. My opinions are mine and mine alone and not connected in any way to my prior three employers.
As part of this inaugural blog I think it best I share a little personal history as incidents from this will likely wend their way into future commentaries.
I am the son of a son of a physician. Grandfather was a surgeon (National Health), my father a general practitioner, and me. A poor start in college lead to some medical school waitlists but no acceptance. A year in graduate school lead to the conclusion that neither I nor the school thought it would be a good idea to continue. Through my father’s contacts at the local hospital I was hired as an “orderly” (1970’s) which now, in this day and age, would likely translate to “nurses’ aide.” I worked third shift (11P-7A) to get as much experience as I could. Two years later a fortuitous phone call from an uncle lead to me starting medical school in Guadalajara, Mexico. After spending another two years south of the border I took part I of the medical board exams, did well, and was able to transfer back to the States for my final two years.
As previously mentioned, my father was a general practitioner (one year post doc training) building a large practice in a town of 13,000 beginning in the early 1950’s. Rounds at the hospital every day followed by morning, afternoon, and evening office hours Monday through Friday (he took Wednesday afternoons as down time) topping off the week with Saturday morning office hours. Housecalls were also part of the mix as were patient calls to our house (two phone lines, one for patients, the other “private”, each with distinctive rings). All of this plus deliveries, periodic ER call, and administrative duties at the hospital. Despite the work load he made most of our ball games, all graduations, and even found time for fishing.
I recall having conversation with my father sometime in the early to mid 1970’s about medicine. He was of the opinion that “medicine isn’t what it used to be” citing more government intrusion (beginning with Medicare in 1965) and gradual loss of physician autonomy. I countered with my observation that I would be entering medicine at “this” particular point in time and could only count on my perspective going forward. Now, as I was closing the chapter on my medical career, when asked by my younger colleagues and housestaff about my time in practice I would respond, with some bemusement and astonishment, “medicine isn’t what it used to be,” echoing those prescient comments from many years ago.
So, to close, “medicine isn’t what it used to be” will be the general theme underlying future writings. Positives and negatives will be commented upon and no attempt at apologetics will be made. I do plan to have some fun with this, however. Enjoy.
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Interesting