It makes being on call an adventure, as every phone conversation is begun with me still emerging from a deep slumber.
Mercifully, this was a good call night.
I got a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. 1/
As I go, I’m getting my first calls from nurses at the hospital with abnormal lab values.
I used to loathe these calls, but now I appreciate them. Gets my brain in gear.
The first consults are also trickling in. 2/
First stop, the hospital.
I listen to music while I drive. Waking up.
Sing along, loudly. The 90’s.
“LIFE IS A HIGHWAY!”
“Hey jealousy!”
And I said, “What about Breakfast at Tiffany’s?”
“1979.” 3/
No white coat. I don’t need the pockets and it’s a grime magnet.
As I enter the hospital I’m already starting to triage the work ahead.
But first, the cafeteria.
Yogurt and granola.
Eat fast. 4/
Discuss with the intensivist. Round with the nurses, dietitians, respiratory therapists. Talk with the families.
Each room in the ICU is its own world, with its own realities.
I’ve learned. 5/
Sometimes I’m helpful. Often I’m helpless.
I understand that sometimes I’m just there to ... be there. 6/
Multitask.
Some consults are easy. Some are fiendishly difficult, requiring all my knowledge, and lots of time. 7/
I try and use empathy “shortcuts.” Small personal details that have nothing to do with the patient’s illness.
A pet. A hobby. A dream. A love.
It helps me to connect, and find some context.
Context is everything. 8/
I don’t like dealing in possibility.
I prefer to deal in probability.
Probabilities allow for a better grasp of the issues, and better decision-making, in my experience.
Possibilities often run wild. 9/
I have a half-day clinic in my office, every day. I have dialysis units to go to, acute rehabs, LTACs.
One sick patient, or an urgent procedure, and it gets tough. 10/
A bad day is when I can’t keep my head above water. Or a patient has a bad outcome. Or I mess up. Or all of the above.
Some weeks I soar.
Some weeks I drown every day.
My heart doesn’t break as often as it used to. But it still does. 11/
Insurance companies telling me I can’t do this or that, or asking for authorization. Pharmacies wanting to change my orders. Case managers asking why a patient hasn’t been discharged.
I feel it. 12/
I grab whatever is convenient, bonus points if it’s healthy, or warm.
I sit by myself. Take a moment to catch my breath. Post a tweet thread (like this one!).
I’m not antisocial.
I just prefer eating alone. 13/
I enjoy this. Most of these patients I know fairly well, some for years.
The pace is slower than the hospital. The rhythms are familiar.
Longitudinal care can be deeply fulfilling. 14/
I get home. Shoes off. Change. Exercise.
Try and listen to myself.
Figure out what burdens I’m carrying, and try to let them go.
Be still.
Sleep. 15/
I love what I do. It’s a privilege.
But sometimes I feel like I’m losing pieces of myself along the way.
They say, “Focus on wellness.”
All candles eventually burn out.
The first calls come in.
I answer.