God Complex

Posted on May 5, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

IMG_2231I have often heard patients complain about their arrogant doctors, doctors with bad bedside manner, or a God complex.  They say that their doctors are demeaning, talk down to them, or barely talk to them at all.  They speak in another language using medical jargon purposely making the patient feel inferior and at the mercy of their brilliant doctor’s brilliant brain.

I also know that some people may find a blogging doctor to be off-putting.  It makes them uncomfortable.  Maybe I reveal too much about the inner-workings of the medical field.  Maybe betray confidences of the patients that seek my care.  Maybe get too personal, reveal too much.  Seem too human.  Too vulnerable.  Too much like everyone else.

Patients don’t realize it and maybe society is in denial, but they all want their doctors to be Gods.  Because Gods don’t make mistakes.  Gods can make you live forever.

That’s an impossible feat for a mere human.  Even a mere human that went to medical school.  The best that any human can acquire is the level of “god.”  And that pales in comparison to a God.  In fact, it really means nothing at all.

The God complex is a societal invention.  The doctor is just trying their damnedest to oblige.  They look like jerks for trying because they will always fail.  And it’s killing them.

Imagine the standards placed on a doctor.  Professional.  Stoic.  Pensive.  Void of emotion.  Even-tempered.  Calm.  Poised.  Restrained.  Clean and neat.  Scientific.  Unfaltering.  Tireless.  Knowledgeable.  Pressed.  Starched.  Learned.  Refined.

Sounds like a dried up old turd to me.  How can you take care of humans when you have removed yourself from the human race?  You’ve been placed on a pedestal by society.  Except there’s a trap door and a noose is around your neck.  It’s only a matter of time.  The human can only pretend to be a God for so long until they fail.  In fact, society kind of likes to see it happen.  See, they weren’t so great after all.  They are no better than the rest of us.

I have a confession to make.  I am a doctor, but I am not a God, I’m not even a “god,” I’m merely a human.  Just like you.  Maybe I’ve read a few more books, had a few more experiences.  I’ve been measured and tested and by all standards I get to call myself doctor.  That is a privilege that I take very seriously, but not at the expense of my humanity.

My humanity is such that I have to process the things that happen in my life.  Including that part of my life where I am a doctor.  I tend to process through my writing.  Sending out my thoughts into the ether, allowing it to ripple through the universe, dispelling my experiences and emotions.  Sharing with others as they share with me all day every day.  I suppose my humanity begs that I have the same chances for expression and sharing as everyone else.  I am not stoic.  Restrained.  Void of emotion. Tireless.  I falter.  I often wear my Guns N Roses T-shirt to Walmart.  Which means I’m not starched or pressed and I’m definitely not refined.  I write.  I share.  I think I make a difference.  I think I tear down some walls.

I think it matters that you see me as human.  Imperfect.  Emotional.  Messy.  Happy.  Sad.  Joyful.  Fearful.  Unsure.  Artistic.  Expressive.  Curious.  Understanding.  Interested.  Inquisitive.  Right and wrong.  Judgmental.  Self deprecating.  Confident.  Silly.  Cautious and carefree.  Alive.

 

 

Posted in Healthcare Today, Medical Musings | Tagged , , , , , | 12 Comments

Bullies

Posted on April 28, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

school-bus-red-light-1442072-640x432Sunny scared me.  He was mean.  I once witnessed him harassing a cat, poking it with a stick while another kid held it by its tail.  They laughed hysterically and that look in their eyes.  I didn’t understand it, but it made me afraid.

Sunny rode the school bus with me.  I was in second grade.  I could tell that Sunny was poor.  He had a slew of brothers and sisters, all of them dressed in the other’s hand-me-downs.  Sunny was the youngest so his clothes had sifted down to him through his siblings and consisted mostly of tattered shreds.  Sunny and I were not in the same class together, but I knew he got in trouble a lot.  He got in trouble a lot on the school bus.  He picked on smaller kids, stole things from them, and cursed.  I had developed my own strategy for dealing with Sunny; complete and total avoidance.  For the most part, this worked for me until that one morning.

I got on the school bus like I always did.  I sat in the same seat like I always did.  My seat mate, however, had not shown up that day, so I sat alone in the 4th seat from the back.  Sunny got on the bus, walked passed his regular seat and proceeded to sit directly behind me.  My heart sank.  I just might throw up.  He was up to something.

It didn’t take long before he made his intentions known.  He started to kick the seat, trying to get my attention.  Then he pulled my hair.  He started to make remarks directed at me, but in my great fear, I have no recollection of his exact words.  He stood up behind the seat, reached over, and grabbed my chest from behind.  And that’s when I lost it.

I grabbed my bright yellow Garfield lunchbox and swung it over my head feeling the satisfying thud when the plastic connected with his face.  I turned to see the damage that I had done.  Did I really just hit him?  He laid in the seat behind me, clutching his face, wincing, whining, crying.  It’s possible that my first thought even at the age of 9 was, oh shit!  I was going to be in so much trouble.  I had never ever been in trouble before and a great dread fell over me.  The bus driver was going to report me, I was going to get suspended, and then when I returned to school, Sunny was going to kill me.  

Except none of that happened.  The bus driver didn’t notice a thing and if he did, it’s possible he ignored it and Sunny didn’t tell on me.  Sunny didn’t ride the bus for a few days and I almost forgot about the incident.  On the third day, he showed up.  When I saw him, he was looking down at the ground kicking lightly at the dirt.  I clutched my lunchbox tightly.  I just might have to use it again.  He looked up at me, ashamed, and what I saw around his right eye was a giant glaring purple shiner.  He looked away quickly, we got on the bus, and he never bothered me again.

After all of the mean things that I had seen Sunny do, I was surprised at my lack of feeling justified for hitting him.  I actually felt incredibly remorseful.  I felt sorry for Sunny with his tattered clothes and that shameful look on his face.  I was mad at him for making me have to act that way.  He made the bully come out in me, not because I defended myself that day, but because sometimes I picture that shiner around his eye, even 30 years later, and I smile.

 

Photo credit:  Jimston Journal

 

 

Posted in My Stories | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Hate/Love Poetry

Posted on April 25, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor 
ice-cream-break-1533198-640x480
Oh Jesus, I really hate poetry
I don't want to figure out 
what you are trying to say
I don't have time for that shit
Just say it
I have mere seconds between interruptions
Mom!!  Can I have some grapes?
It's in the fridge!
What?
IT'S IN THE FRIDGE!! 
GO GET IT YOURSELF!
OK. What are you doing?
I'm writing poetry
What's that?
Oh Jeez.  It's kind of like Dr. Seuss
It can rhyme or not
You know, like Green Eggs and Ham
Sam I am
Let me try.
I like to poop
after I eat a scoop
of ice cream.
Oh Jesus, I really love poetry.


Photo credit:  Kelli Alf
Posted in Poems | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Razor Burn

Posted on April 22, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

Christmas 2009 005I have a favorite kind of razor.  It comes in a pack of 10.  It has two blades and one of those pink  moisturizing strips that gets a little slimy when it gets wet.  When I went to Walmart the other day, my favorite razors were no where to be found.  Walmart seemed to be the only place that I could find my razors.

I should have known something was up when about a year ago my razors came with a *free*bonus* razor that was nothing like my favorite ones.  It had 3 blades, a moisturizing strip on top, and some kind of squeegee strip at the bottom.  It sounds like it would be a great improvement on my favorite razor, but it wasn’t.  I liked my razor.  It was simple and effective.  This new one is too scary.  Three blades.  I could really hurt myself.  At the very least, I now have razor burn and I’m all itchy.

Razors are very personal and very important.  Especially to a woman because women are funny about their body hair.  Many a woman has shamefully announced, “Doc, don’t mind my legs, I haven’t shaved,” prior to my examining them in the office.  I have had women outright refuse a pelvic exam because of their unkempt appearance, “I didn’t know, so I’m not prepared.”

I think I’m pretty observant, but honestly, leg hair, pubic hair, armpit hair, any kind of socially unacceptable hair doesn’t really leave a lasting impression on me.  It’s a non-issue.  I overlook it because the presence of hair in these places is meaningless.  It does not signify illness.  It’s normal.  It’s natural.

I will admit, though, that in my position, I do have a front row seat to the latest hair trends and adornments.  And I don’t mean the hair on the head.  So when someone does something different, I do notice that.  I have seen it all; monograms, dye jobs, jewelry, tattoos.  The latest trends seems to be more retro, au natural, back to the 1970’s era.  Or maybe these ladies can’t find their favorite razors at Walmart either.  Maybe they got razor burn and were all itchy, too.  Maybe it’s time to revisit the 70’s.  Maybe I’ll just look for my razors on Amazon.

 

 

 

Posted in Medical Musings, My Stories | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Can’tcer

Posted on April 19, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

want-a-knuckle-sandwich-1310068-639x961She didn’t look good.  Just a few months before, she was upbeat, the news wasn’t good, but the treatment seemed to be working, her energy was coming back.  She talked about fighting cancer before.  Thyroid, breast, and now breast again.  She did it before, she could do it again.  She leaned on her daughter who seemed to be hiding her doubts behind a weak smile.

It came back. After many years.  Why?  Because cancer is a bitch.  The worst bitch you’ll ever meet.  When I saw her today, it was clear.  She was losing.  Cancer was winning.  She cried the moment I walked in the room.  That’s how it is.  Keep up appearances, look the part of strength and vigor, but when I walk in the room, the house of cards fall from the breeze of me just opening the door.  She’s showing me all of her cards like the worst poker player in the world.

What do I say?  I grabbed the tissue box and plucked 3 tissues holding them under her face that had collapsed into her hands.  We weren’t alone in the room, the cancer had invaded.  We talked low, almost in a whisper, maybe we didn’t want the intruder to hear that we were talking about it.  The chemo was failing.  The scans, the labs, the pain behind her long gone breast were all telling us something.  It wouldn’t be much longer.

The active dying process had begun.  Living while dying.  Aren’t we all doing that?  Subconsciously?  Not likely.  Not until something triggers that part of the psyche that says, this ends soon.  I tried to be upbeat, I tried to make her laugh like I always do.  It only worked a little.  She gave me a forced smile.  I think she was trying to make me feel better, too.  That’s the doctor/patient dance.  I care about her, she cares about me, we laugh, we cry, and I want to punch cancer in the face for her.

Photo credit:  Stacy Braswell

 

Posted in Medical Musings, My Stories | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

Haunted

Posted on April 15, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

ghost-1545411-640x480My husband looked alarmed.  He had answered the phone and I could tell by his facial expressions that this was no ordinary call.  OK, OK, I’ll be right there.

He hung up the phone.  That was my dad.  He said someone is lying in the middle of the road to our neighborhood and he can’t get through.  There’s a crowd and an ambulance.  I’m going to see what’s happening.  Wanna come with me?

Um, no.  I am not the type that looks at the accident.  I just drive past and curse all the psychos that want to peak at someone else’s horror.  You go ahead.  Let me know what happened.

Just a short time earlier I had driven into our neighborhood.  It was a long day.  I had to get home in time to take my son to his soccer game.  The night before I was at one of those meetings that went on for too long and left me with a pounding headache that wouldn’t go away.  I had gotten home way passed my kids bedtime and never got to hear about their days.  I hate that.  I live to hear about their days.  Who did you sit by at lunch?  What was your special today?  What did you have for lunch?  Did you pass your spelling test?  I had no answers.  So I needed to get home, be with my kids, get to the soccer game, and get the answers.

As I drove down the steepest hill in my neighborhood to round the bend to my house, I saw  a young man and his dad jogging up the hill.  I waved casually and they waved back.  I wondered which house did they belong to?  Was it the one on the corner or the one across the street?  The one across the street had a slew of kids that were all homeschooled.  The family on the corner moved in a few years ago, so I still considered them the “new neighbors.”  I didn’t even know their names yet, only their dog’s name, Latte.

You see, I am the worst kind of neighbor.  I am hermit-like.  Non-friendly.  Wave, but don’t talk.  I don’t have parties or get-togethers.  I kind of want to have a fun, social, neighborly experience, but I grew up in the city.  It just wasn’t the norm.  Stay to yourself.  Don’t let people know what you have.  Don’t let them in.

When I got home, my husband announced that the soccer game had been cancelled.  Inclement weather -even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.  Weird.  It was a welcome break.  I could put on my PJs and relax.

And then the call.  His dad was supposed to drop off the weed eater and he couldn’t get through.  The road was blocked with emergency personnel and onlookers.  I never even heard the sirens.

It was the jogger, wasn’t it?  I just passed him on the road.  His son was with him.  God, he must have collapsed.  Did his son even realize it at first?  He had been running in front of him.  What did he do?  He must have been so scared.  If I had only been a few minutes later, would I have seen him fall?  Could I have done something?  Or if the soccer game had not been cancelled, would we have found him and been able to help?

It haunts me.  My neighbor with a doctor living just a few yards away and I couldn’t do a thing to save him.  It haunts me that a man died today, a neighbor, and I never even knew his name.

 

Photo credit:  Tijmen Van Dobbenburgh

 

Posted in Medical Musings, My Stories | Tagged , , , , , , | 5 Comments

L-only Child

Posted on April 10, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

yoga-1159968-639x903I’m an only child, but I never felt particularly lonely.  I always had friends, my parents, toys, and my imagination.  The sibling relationship always mystified me.  Mostly I was appalled with how mean siblings were to each other: the fighting, name calling, insults.  I found it quite disturbing, unnerving.

I remember one particular friend and her brother.  She was the big sister and he was the younger brother.  His hair was fire engine red and he was prone to tantrums, the likes of which I had never seen before.  They had bookshelves in their home that I loved to peruse, unfortunately, most of the books had titles like Dealing with a Troubled Child and Loving the Unlovable Son (I made those up, but you get the picture).

I went to their house one day after school and as was customary back in my day, the parents were still at work, no one was home, and we let ourselves in -“latchkey” kids they called us.  Nothing seemed to be amiss, we made ourselves snacks, talked about nothing in particular, and settled down to do our homework.

For some unknown reason, the brother stood from his place at the table, grabbed a knife, and proceeded to threaten to stab us both.  I ran for my life, my friend close behind.  We ran into her room and shut the bedroom door, she locked it, and we could see the blade of the knife whipping back and forth under the gap in the door.

After some time, her mother arrived home.  We saw her car pull into the driveway and felt that the coast would be clear.  When we left her room, we could see that her psycho brother was sitting at his place at the table, angelic, doing his homework as if nothing had happened.  The only telltale sign of his murderous rampage was the huge knife sitting next to his math textbook.

I don’t know whatever happened to the brother, maybe he’s a serial killer or a stockbroker by now.

I always watch my children’s interactions with each other with great interest.  Will they be friends or will one of them chase the other with a knife someday?  Or chase their friends?  Or become a psychopath?

I hope not.

While on Spring Break and on vacation, my kids were watching cartoons on PBS.  When they ended, a yoga show came on and my oldest grabbed the remote and changed the channel.  The youngest, in total despair, yelled, “don’t change the channel, I LOOOOVE Yoga!”  She’s 5.  I didn’t think that she even knew what yoga was.  The oldest quickly put Yoga back on for his sister and the three of us, sister, brother, and me, watched some woman do yoga.  No knives were involved.  No name calling.  No insults.  Maybe they’ll be OK after all.

Photo credit:  Michael Lorenzo

Posted in My Stories | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Liebster Award

Posted on April 9, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

I have been nominated for an award.  Not just any award, but the best kind of award, the Liebster Award -an award from a fellow blogger at pliscaplace.wordpress.com

Unknown

 

This is an award given to small bloggers to help them gain some more views and get recognized.

The rules for the award are:

  1. Acknowledge the blog that nominated you and display the award.
  2. Answer 11 questions that the blog gives you.
  3. Give 11 random facts about yourself.
  4. Nominate 5-11 blogs you think are deserving of the award that have less than 200 followers.
  5. Let the blogs know you have nominated them.
  6. Give them 11 questions to answer.

 

Here are 11 facts about me:

  1. I have chickens in my backyard
  2. I cut my own hair
  3. I love plaid
  4. I used to drive a low rider truck -you know the kind that goes up and down
  5. People have mistaken me for a lesbian -I have no idea why
  6. Halloween is by far the best holiday of the year, sorry Jesus
  7. I hate bowling because I don’t want to wear shoes that someone else wore
  8. I gave pap smears before I ever had one, because I hate going to the doctor
  9. I once wrote a death metal song for a boyfriend that was in a death metal band
  10. I got married in a hospital
  11. I’m bad at math

 

Here are the answers to the 11 questions from pliscaplace.wordpress.com

  1. In the world of online shopping do you prefer amazon or eBay more?  eBay -because I like people’s old junk
  2. If a genie appeared and granted you one wish (sorry only one per customer), what would that wish be?  Equality
  3. The SuperFriends are looking for help, what is YOUR superpower?  Make time stand still -so I can nap and my kids will stop growing up so fast
  4. Cats, dogs, sheep, or goats; what kind of person are you?  Cat -moody, sleepy, occasional hairballs
  5. Which do you prefer; today’s music or yesterday’s hits (decade)?  1980’s hair bands rule forever
  6. Thinking back 20 years ago, did you imagine you would be where you are today (location, job, life)?  No, I wanted to be an English teacher and write the great American novel and live a Bohemian life in New York City
  7. If you were born in another time, when would that be?  2500
  8. You were invited to a masquerade party, what costume are you going to wear?  Minnie Mouse -such a cute little outfit with polka dots!
  9. Are you more of a day person or a night person?  Day -I like to sleep, I hate staying up late
  10. You have been invited to play along with your favorite band in an upcoming concert, what instrument are you going to play?  Drums -like a beast
  11. When you look outside your window, what do you see?  Woods

 

My nominees are:

transbuddhisthealthblog.wordpress.com

emergencyrn.org

The Accidental Boxer

brockelpress.com

kathleenendell.com

Here are my 11 questions for the bloggers I’ve nominated:

  1. If you could go back in time to live, what era would you choose and why?
  2. If you could only have one artist or album playing for the rest of your life, who/what would you choose?
  3. You must give up one of your 5 senses forever, which one would you choose and why?
  4. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
  5. Do aliens exist?
  6. What is the greatest invention of all time?
  7. What is your biggest regret?
  8. What is your biggest accomplishment?  -I think this just turned into a job interview
  9. Why do you blog?
  10. What is the single biggest problem facing humans today?
  11. Is humanity doomed?

 

 

 

 

Posted in Liebster Award | Tagged , , , , , , | 5 Comments

When Nature Calls

Posted on April 8, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

aussie-dunny-1201967-640x960I find it comical  that people are debating whether transgendered persons can use the gendered bathroom of their choice.  I live outside of Charlotte, NC and this is big news.  It is ludicrous.  Use whatever damn bathroom you want.  I wish I could use my own bathroom in peace, but that’s not going to happen as long as I have kids, a dog, and a husband.  I am so used to eliminating my wastes in front of another being that it does not even phase me anymore.  I will poop in a public bathroom while you are in the stall next to me.  Whether you have a penis, vagina, or both doesn’t really matter.  When I have to go, I’m going.  There is no need to inconvenience my intestines any longer.  I am passed that stage of my life.

Where there’s a poop, there’s a way.

The problem is people are afraid that allowing men in women’s bathrooms even under the guise of being transgendered will lead to rape or child molestation -as if a woman having her pants down around her ankles invites such behavior from men.  No one seems to be arguing the case against a transgendered woman using the men’s bathroom.  Which if I were inclined to lie, might come in useful when the line to the women’s restroom wraps around the building and the men just breeze in and breeze out of their restrooms.  My theory is they don’t stop to wash their hands…

When I was probably 20, I traveled to Germany with my then boyfriend and his best friend, who happened to be German.  We stayed about 2 weeks and traveled all over Germany and France.  On one of our excursions, we went to a water park in Germany.  Being a typical Floridian, I wore my bathing suit to the park.  In Florida, you pretty much live in your bathing suit.  You get in and out of the water constantly, dry off and put your clothes back on top. Or just wear a pair of shorts.

My recollection of this episode is close to 20 years old now, but this is what I remember:

  • We walked through a changing area to get into the water park
  • I already had my bathing suit on so I just kept walking
  • Men, women, and children were getting into their bathing suits
  • Grandma boobs, Grandpa balls, naked children, the hairiest armpits you have ever seen (not to mention other areas) were all on display
  • And no one gave a shit
  • No one was molesting children, no one was raping women, no one was even looking at all the nudity, except me
  • Because I’m American and I’ve been conditioned to think nudity is perverted
  • That nudity=sex
  • And that was MY problem not theirs, but I was really glad that I already had my bathing suit on
  • Their was a hot tub-type area and everyone took off their clothes to get in, except me and my boyfriend
  • His best friend laughed at us and started to take off his pants and I absolutely forbid him
  • Because I was going to look and forever have the image of his man parts burned into my brain
  • So we were the only 3 people in our swimsuits in the hot tub full of Germans

Perverts are going to be perverts no matter what.  There are laws against that.  Allowing transgendered their dignity does not give perverts permission to break the law.  Does it matter what genitals are on the person next to me in the stall of a public bathroom?  Dear lord, no.  Shit or get off the pot.  I need to go.  Everyone else needs to get over it.

Posted in Medical Musings, My Stories | Tagged , , , , , | 9 Comments

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Posted on April 2, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

IMG_2778Change is hard.  That’s a theme I’ve encountered recently.  I never knew quite how hard change could be until I had children.  I have always been able to pick up at a moments notice and move on from a situation.  I left my parents home when I was about 19.  I moved to NC from FL in 2004 for my residency.  I volunteered at different places and changed jobs when necessary.  I walked straight into new situations without fear.  I never feared change.  I always embraced it.  Enjoyed it.  Looked forward to it.  A fresh start.

My children on the other hand, resist change in a way that I can not fully understand.  My husband and I have spoken about moving upon occasion.  Especially in moments when one of us was struggling with our jobs.  There were moments that we could have just packed up and left, except for one thing:  the kids.

There is one glaring (albeit disgusting) example of just how much my children resist change.  Their toothbrushes.  My kids will dissolve into fits of absolute despair when I try to get rid of their toothbrushes.  The youngest child probably taking their cue from the oldest.  I’m really embarrassed to admit just how old their toothbrushes are.  I have a drawer full of toothbrushes that I have gathered from the dentist, as gifts in their stockings at Christmas, or just picking up while shopping, thinking, this time, THIS toothbrush will be the one that wows them into giving up their old one.  Even buying the exact same toothbrush, just newer, will not do.  I’ve tried it.  I end up keeping their old one just in case and it always happens, “but I want MY toothbrush!!!”

I could just throw away their old one.  Toss it in the trash.  Too bad, it’s gone you have to use the new one now.  Tough love, they call it, but I just can’t do it, they LOVE their toothbrushes so much!  It’s not normal.

Or maybe I’m not normal.  Maybe I can walk away or throw something out a little too easily.  I form attachments, but not at the expense of my dignity or self worth.  When I do walk away it is always because of a better opportunity or I’m leaving a bad situation.  Then it’s over, no regrets.  I can’t say that I don’t look back, because I do, I’m not that far gone.  The one consequence of change that is hard to see at first, is that you leave people you care about.  You just might break their hearts.  You might just break your own.  Maybe that’s why I can’t throw away their toothbrushes.  It’s too permanent and they are not ready to let go yet.  I’ll give them some more time and replace their toothbrush when they are ready to embrace the change.

 

 

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