This last week, I suffered a rib fracture with a pneumothorax, lumbar spinal cord injury with paralysis, dislocated shoulder, hyponatremia and heat exhaustion, an intracranial bleed, and an ectopic pregnancy. Sorry, I mean I simulated suffering from those things. They were fake (phew about the pregnancy, right?). Makeup bruises, imagined pain, lots of drama, but I did manage some real tears for the paralysis scenario. Although when you're lying on your back on a rock in the rain, not allowed to move your legs, the tears aren't that hard.
I spent the last five days in a special wilderness first responder (WFR) course for medical professionals, during which we all got to play rescuers and patients to the point that I was dreaming about it by the last night. My last CME course definitely did not find me building traction splints from hiking poles. Or traipsing through waist-high grass in White Ranch Park looking for "victims" of a lightning strike, and then waiting in the dark for a litter team to arrive so we could evacuate her safely. Or experiencing first-hand the ear-popping pressure change inside a Gamow bag, which can treat high-altitude pulmonary edema. (My last CME course did get me to pass boards, so there's that...)
We were 29 plus our fabulous instructors (oh, one of them is the NOLS director of education, you say? he wrote the textbook, you say? and we get access to his brain all week? yes, please). EMTs, paramedics, RNs, and MDs from all walks of life, from psychiatry to FBI (yup, FBI!). And most of these people practice pre-hospital medicine every day. You know, the stuff before they come to the ER all pre-packaged and stable? The part without the lab and the radiology suite and the pharmacist? The hard part? Yeah, they do that. I felt super under-qualified.
But that's why we learn. And boy howdy, did I learn. Practical hands-on things like knot-tying and ankle-taping and one-person log rolls, as well as teamwork skills, planning skills, ideas for a first-aid and survival kit, and plenty of wilderness medicine (did you know you don't do CPR in severe hypothermia because of the risk of V-fib? me neither. Now I do). So now maybe I don't have to feel quite so worthless without all my technology and fancy hospital things when something happens in the wilderness, and people are like "Oh, you're a doctor? Great!" Cause, yeah, my MD means nothing out there. But now I got some extra letters and stuff, so I guess I'll be okay.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Monday, August 11, 2014
Checkin' the mail
Michelle teases me that I am so diligent about checking the mailbox every day. She laments that fact that all she sees are ads and bills. For the most part, that's all I get too. (Although I have subscriptions to a few magazines that occasionally make it worth the trip down the driveway.) But once a week or so, I can count on a hand-written letter from Omaha, and that is the primary reason for my checking.
The letters come from my friend John, a retired banker and alum who is a faithful member of the Creighton 5 pm daily Mass community. As a regular attendee myself, especially during my last two years, I would often see him there, and we progressed from the casual nod hello to friendship. John enjoys getting to know the students and keeping up on Creighton sports, and we often enjoyed chatting about the latest campus news, pop culture happenings, or vacations. Once I moved off campus, he would offer me or the roomies rides back to the House after Mass, especially if the weather was bad. And when I graduated, he asked if I would keep in touch every now and then during medical school, "even if you just write a quick 'hi' on the Church bulletin and throw it in the mail so I know you're surviving."
The thing about medical school (and residency, and perhaps life in general) is that it's busy, but also isolating. People marveled that I found time to write to John a couple times a month, but the truth was I looked forward to it. It was a chance to decompress, to process everything that was going on. I stored up stories to tell, about anatomy lab or powderpuff football or my crazy patients, waiting to put them in the next letter. I wrote in anticipation of the next day off, or my next trip, or the next family birthday, and that helped me to keep things in perspective as well. Knowing that I had someone to share my experiences with (a real someone, not the ubiquitous facebook post) somehow made them more vivid. I would be in the midst of something and think, "I'll have to share that with John later." Sometimes I even made lists so I wouldn't forget to include anything.
In residency too, the letters were a lifeline to someone outside the medical field. I could describe the horrors of an 80-hour call and know that he would be appropriately astonished at the schedule we kept. Or I could brag about our notorious post-Owl Team breakfasts and know that he would marvel at our camaraderie and delicious food choices. In return I am kept abreast of Creighton basketball, changes on campus, news items I missed, interesting stories from students, and his or his brother's trips to Okoboji, Guadalupe, and everywhere in between. We exchange thoughts on book and movie reviews, culinary delights, and of course the weather.
Now eight years later, I still save up stories for John, giving him a little window into the life of a young pediatrician and outdoor enthusiast. I of course select the things that will make my life seem thrilling and worthy of documentation and leave out the boring routine, which is most of life. But it reminds me of a simpler time. A time when everyone had to wait two days or more to hear from their loved ones, and letters lagged behind the present just a bit, as conversations were carried on over weeks instead of minutes. It makes you think about what is really important enough to share, and how much should be shared. It requires intentionality, and I think that's what I love about the trip down to the mailbox. It's the opposite of the false transparency of social media and online friendships. It's tangible and personal, sometimes whimsical but sometimes weighty. It makes me live a life examined, because I know someone is waiting on my report (not that he necessarily watches for the mailman like I do, but I know he enjoys the updates).
Because I know my own joy at the handwritten word, I try to be more conscious of sending along cards and notes to the rest of my friends as well, something that might brighten their day (I encourage you to try it as well). And if anyone ever wants a pen pal, I've got some pretty good practice, and a nice supply of stamps.
The letters come from my friend John, a retired banker and alum who is a faithful member of the Creighton 5 pm daily Mass community. As a regular attendee myself, especially during my last two years, I would often see him there, and we progressed from the casual nod hello to friendship. John enjoys getting to know the students and keeping up on Creighton sports, and we often enjoyed chatting about the latest campus news, pop culture happenings, or vacations. Once I moved off campus, he would offer me or the roomies rides back to the House after Mass, especially if the weather was bad. And when I graduated, he asked if I would keep in touch every now and then during medical school, "even if you just write a quick 'hi' on the Church bulletin and throw it in the mail so I know you're surviving."
The thing about medical school (and residency, and perhaps life in general) is that it's busy, but also isolating. People marveled that I found time to write to John a couple times a month, but the truth was I looked forward to it. It was a chance to decompress, to process everything that was going on. I stored up stories to tell, about anatomy lab or powderpuff football or my crazy patients, waiting to put them in the next letter. I wrote in anticipation of the next day off, or my next trip, or the next family birthday, and that helped me to keep things in perspective as well. Knowing that I had someone to share my experiences with (a real someone, not the ubiquitous facebook post) somehow made them more vivid. I would be in the midst of something and think, "I'll have to share that with John later." Sometimes I even made lists so I wouldn't forget to include anything.
In residency too, the letters were a lifeline to someone outside the medical field. I could describe the horrors of an 80-hour call and know that he would be appropriately astonished at the schedule we kept. Or I could brag about our notorious post-Owl Team breakfasts and know that he would marvel at our camaraderie and delicious food choices. In return I am kept abreast of Creighton basketball, changes on campus, news items I missed, interesting stories from students, and his or his brother's trips to Okoboji, Guadalupe, and everywhere in between. We exchange thoughts on book and movie reviews, culinary delights, and of course the weather.
Now eight years later, I still save up stories for John, giving him a little window into the life of a young pediatrician and outdoor enthusiast. I of course select the things that will make my life seem thrilling and worthy of documentation and leave out the boring routine, which is most of life. But it reminds me of a simpler time. A time when everyone had to wait two days or more to hear from their loved ones, and letters lagged behind the present just a bit, as conversations were carried on over weeks instead of minutes. It makes you think about what is really important enough to share, and how much should be shared. It requires intentionality, and I think that's what I love about the trip down to the mailbox. It's the opposite of the false transparency of social media and online friendships. It's tangible and personal, sometimes whimsical but sometimes weighty. It makes me live a life examined, because I know someone is waiting on my report (not that he necessarily watches for the mailman like I do, but I know he enjoys the updates).
Because I know my own joy at the handwritten word, I try to be more conscious of sending along cards and notes to the rest of my friends as well, something that might brighten their day (I encourage you to try it as well). And if anyone ever wants a pen pal, I've got some pretty good practice, and a nice supply of stamps.
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