By Andy Wilhelm '99, Pulmonary Critical Care Physician
Got a sec for a cup of coffee? Let’s find some hospital break room coffee. It’s a more natural fit. Black. Maybe warm. Maybe not.
I’ve got 43 patients under my care in the ICU. Literature suggests, on average, each patient has >40 items to be simultaneously considered by the physician. More literature says we can take care of no more than 15-20 appropriately. Coffee is faster black. No time for cream and sugar.
2 patients died on me yesterday. Neither were unexpected. The uncle of one, dressed in overalls and backed by his nephew, charged over the conference table at me. I ducked to avoid the swing of his cane. My head bob put me eye to eye with a brother. He was high on something illicit. His pupils were in a rage and his breath was of cheap whiskey.
Critical illness is difficult. It is an emotional roller coaster. For everyone. Death is difficult. Everyone takes it differently. Everyone must deal with it. Families, strangers, healthcare professionals, and, yes, our mortal selves.
We are emotional because something strikes a chord. Something identifies with our humanness. Sometimes it’s good; sometimes it’s bad. The emotion always speaks the truth.
Why do we put ourselves through this? Why do we sacrifice our 20’s? 30’s? Why do we sacrifice a night at the 'Backer for the MCAT? Why do we race to do more work than our human brains can handle? Why do we sacrifice holidays with our families to tolerate aggressive families?
Step back. Have another sip of coffee. Look at the room. Listen to the sounds. Someone is crying. It’s the patient’s daughter. She is against the wall in an orange prison suit, shackled. Armed guard escort. She wants to see her mom one more time. Her mom didn’t want any of this. Look into the eyes of the intoxicated brother with a calm of difficult truth. He backs off gently and his anger softens. He hugs his crying niece. She tries to hug back. The shackles make it incomplete.
So why do I do what I do? Why will you do what you will do? Compassion is uniquely human. Ivy League, ND grad, intoxicated, or shackled, it doesn’t matter. It is at the essence of being human. It strikes a chord. It is why we do what we do.
In your journey you will be stressed. Emotions will run high. You will forget what you are doing. You will forget why you are doing it. Take note.
Step back, look at the room, listen to the sounds, and grab a cup of coffee. If you’re lucky, it will be hot.
Got a sec for a cup of coffee? Let’s find some hospital break room coffee. It’s a more natural fit. Black. Maybe warm. Maybe not.
I’ve got 43 patients under my care in the ICU. Literature suggests, on average, each patient has >40 items to be simultaneously considered by the physician. More literature says we can take care of no more than 15-20 appropriately. Coffee is faster black. No time for cream and sugar.
2 patients died on me yesterday. Neither were unexpected. The uncle of one, dressed in overalls and backed by his nephew, charged over the conference table at me. I ducked to avoid the swing of his cane. My head bob put me eye to eye with a brother. He was high on something illicit. His pupils were in a rage and his breath was of cheap whiskey.
Critical illness is difficult. It is an emotional roller coaster. For everyone. Death is difficult. Everyone takes it differently. Everyone must deal with it. Families, strangers, healthcare professionals, and, yes, our mortal selves.
We are emotional because something strikes a chord. Something identifies with our humanness. Sometimes it’s good; sometimes it’s bad. The emotion always speaks the truth.
Why do we put ourselves through this? Why do we sacrifice our 20’s? 30’s? Why do we sacrifice a night at the 'Backer for the MCAT? Why do we race to do more work than our human brains can handle? Why do we sacrifice holidays with our families to tolerate aggressive families?
Step back. Have another sip of coffee. Look at the room. Listen to the sounds. Someone is crying. It’s the patient’s daughter. She is against the wall in an orange prison suit, shackled. Armed guard escort. She wants to see her mom one more time. Her mom didn’t want any of this. Look into the eyes of the intoxicated brother with a calm of difficult truth. He backs off gently and his anger softens. He hugs his crying niece. She tries to hug back. The shackles make it incomplete.
So why do I do what I do? Why will you do what you will do? Compassion is uniquely human. Ivy League, ND grad, intoxicated, or shackled, it doesn’t matter. It is at the essence of being human. It strikes a chord. It is why we do what we do.
In your journey you will be stressed. Emotions will run high. You will forget what you are doing. You will forget why you are doing it. Take note.
Step back, look at the room, listen to the sounds, and grab a cup of coffee. If you’re lucky, it will be hot.