Mea sententia

I am often asked by friends and colleagues why I did not become a pediatrician. 

As a child, I looked forward to the infrequent family outings that involved a restaurant. As the eldest of three, it gave me a chance to strut my stuff in front of my sisters: I was allowed to order without much interference, so it was a rare opportunity to have a cheeseburger, fries and the most chocolate item available for dessert. 

“Just keep doing tests. Eventually you are bound to find something.”  She was right, of course. But not in the way she meant.

After decades of hiking, camping, canoeing, kayaking and swimming in various back country environments, it finally happened. I have been colonized. Beaver fever, also known as giardiasis, caused by the protozoan Giardia lamblia.  Enjoying my metronidazole.

I find myself a stranger in a strange land, or (more prosaically) a square peg being forced into a round hole.

I was recently told that ‘the problem’ underlying my often strained relationship with the institution where I work is that I am a revolutionary working in an institution committed to incrementalism.

What would you think if you received this message from management: “You can ignore chlamydia…it is not one of the quality goals for this year.” Or if you were told at a meeting to discuss a mandated quality initiative: “All you have to do to get credit for BMI screening is just click the box that says you will talk about it at the next visit.” (These are both true stories.)

Forty four good years, with more to come.  I’ll honor it with the words we started with…

I don’t consider myself a laborer, though I surely work very hard. I work because I love to.

“No man needs sympathy because he has to work, because he has a burden to carry. Far and away the best prize that life offers is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.” (Theodore Roosevelt)

“Each morning sees some task begin,

Each evening sees it close;

Something attempted, some done,

Has earned a night’s repose.”

(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

'Taking a history’ is one of the first clinical tasks medical students are taught. The logic behind this is inescapable: without the history, attempts at diagnosis and treatment are doomed to failure. We start our training with the history, when we present patients for discussion with other doctors (in training or later, in practice) we start with the history. And except in rare emergencies, we start every patient interaction with the history.  The history: it always starts there but it doesn’t end there.