December 25, 2011
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Christmas Eve
Christmas Eve.
Peace on Earth, Goodwill toward men. Ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future abound in the hallways of the hospital. As doctors we treat disease, but the building is impregnated with the memories and feelings of the people who have passed through it’s doors.
In the corner of one patients room stands a small, sad, Christmas tree. The kind you might see in a Charlie Brown special. The Patient has been in the ICU for 45 days, unconscious for the last 10 of them. Intubated, with enough tubes and wires coming out of him, and monitors hooked up to him that he could be a Christmas tree himself.
7 other patients reside in the remainder of my half of the ICU. A veritable menorah of the critically ill…only its not the lamp oil everyone is hoping will last out through the night.
One patient’s church group came by to sing Christmas Carols. Most of my patients are unconscious or sedated, but I think the doctors, nurses and ancillary staff appreciated the gesture. Nobody wants to be in the hospital during the holidays.
And like the ghost of Christmas future, I go from room to room, showing the families a glimpse of what is to come. Up to my old tricks, I have held palliative meetings with 4 families in the last 2 weeks, changing the code status to DNR sometimes mere minutes before the patient passes away. I’m not doing it because I dont want to code somebody, but because I have learned to recognize when the battle has been lost, when aggressive resucitation would serve no purpose to anyone, least of all the patient.
The internal medicine department can say what they will about my medical knowledge or professionalism, but apparently I am still good at convincing people to die. I second guess or doubt most of my decisions, I overdocument every thought process I have as if a trip to the bathroom could land me in court, I still have little to no interaction with any of my former fellow residents or attendings, and I am fine with that. But at least the ICU attendings recognize that I have an ability to relate to patients and their families.
I may be stuck here, with no light at the end of the tunnel, but that’s no reason to take it out on those for whom I am supposed to be caring. If I can focus on that, and getting my license, maybe I can forget that unlike Ebeneezer Scrooge, I wasnt given a second chance to change my future.
Merry Christmas to All, and to all a good night.
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Why Not Zoidberg
Comments (4)
if this is your light at the end of the tunnel, however crappy, take it and run with it. if empathy is your thing, you’ve got something that i would say MOST doctors don’t have.
Well, shit. Now I feel like crap for not knowing what was going on with you, but I understand why you wouldn’t want to talk about it too.
For what it’s worth, out of all my friends who followed the medical career path, I have always thought since I met you that you were the ONLY ONE who 1. Would make it as a doctor 2. Should be a doctor and 3. Would be a GOOD doctor. I still think that to this day. I would kick the asses of all the fuckers who disagree. And you know I could.
I am kind of glad this means you might stay in town though. More hi-jinks to ensue and I don’t have to miss hanging out with you.
Anyways, Merry Christmas. At least the year is over and I’ll buy you some scotch or something, you have to pick it out though. I don’t know a thing about scotch except that I don’t like it. >_>
The people do need you there in the ICU. I volunteered at a hospice for sometime and felt my only real presence there was helping the people accept what is part of life – death. Have a Merry Christmas! Remember the people do need someone like you! By the way, I have a living will to avoid any conflict.
Merry Christmas, Dr. J! Take care and best of luck. You’re still one of my favorite doctors!