Help Wanted

I try really hard to be a good doctor. Although, I suppose good is a relative term. I try to be systemic and thorough, as well as assume that the patient knows nothing when I'm explaining procedures or recommendations.

After a brief introduction, I start off a first visit explaining how things are going to proceed..."I'm going to ask you a lot of questions about your pain and symptoms, how you were injured, and review your medical history. We'll move onto an exam to help me determine exactly what's going on. Following the exam I'll explain my findings and my recommendations for care, then answers any questions you might have." The better the patient stays on track with me, the easier it is to get through the torture of the first visit.

On occasion there is a patient who just doesn't want to follow allow. Let's call her Mary. Before I could even get a proper introduction out of my mouth I knew she was going to annoy me. Mary was the type that already knew what was wrong with her. She had arthritis. And wanted an MRI. She interrupted me a million times. She was side track on EVERY questions, providing me with lots of information a didn't need a very little of what I wanted to know. Mary was seriously testing my patience. Not to mention it was the end of my day, so my patience is already pretty thin.

But, I wanted to help her.

She was too young to have the pain she was relaying to me. Pain that was intefering with her young life and her young daughter. Too young to be pumping herself full of Vicodin, steriods, anti-inflammatories, and hoping for injections. Arthritis wasn't her problem. She didn't need an MRI. She needed conservative treatment. She needed to change her lifestyle.

I wanted to help change her life.
This is why I love being a doctor.
I wanted to help her.

I was at the office 40 minutes after closing trying to get through to Mary. I used all my best examples, anagolgies, testimonies, and even gave a stab at a little guilt. She interrupted and made excuses, in the hopes of widdling me down. As if I was withholding my secret magic band-aid cure. Ultimately, I think Mary is in denial. I don't think she'll be complient. She's probably calling another doctor's office today.

In the end I drove homein the rain, frustrated and mentally exhausted. I committed my best skills and it still wasn't enough. I stopped at Whole Foods and treated myself to fig bars from the bulk food section. I get them every time I go. I eat one (maybe two!) on the drive home and hide the rest in my car for the next day's commute. I never tell Jim. Hopefully he got bored halfway through this post and still doesn't know about my secret litttle treat.