Kudos to Samuel Shem's House of God
Actually its day 7343 ... sounds a long time when you say it like that. I graduated with permission to put a handful of letters after my name and the legal, if not moral, right to call myself a doctor.
Two days later I married my wife and we both headed northwards to the middle of almost nowhere to begin a life. It was a strange place, a new relationship and a brand new 36-hour a day job.
Just yesterday, three homes later, now with three teenage children and working a 36-hour a week job, I quipped to my wife (the same I married 7341 days ago) that I should write a book. It is amazing what profanity (or is that insanity) materialises when ranting about a frustrating day at work.
Today, in a fit of madness I conceded to myself that such a task was not only possible but also quite likely a personal imperative.
What I will write here will be anecdotal, sometimes apocryphal, often bitter and emotive, occasionally irreverent and not infrequently opinionated and offensive. Experiencing the full gamut of life, death and the struggle, self-inflicted or otherwise, in between spawns a level of crudeness and blurred distance that cannot be obtained in any other way and is often crucial for the preservation of the soul of the one who dares call himself doctor.
Compassion, disgust, anger (both of the legitimately righteous and the profoundly self indulgent types), grief and disinterest all swirl in the milieu of what iniquitously calls itself a health care profession.
If you are easily offended, defensive or have fragile sensitivity please leave now. If you wish to be a fly on the wall of the consulting room or emergency department cubicle stay, but take care a well-meaning attendant doesn’t swat you.
( Originally posted elsewhere over time on and after January 9th 2006 )
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