A 44 year old man came to our clinic today with a description of chest pain, mostly on the left side. He says it’s been ongoing for about 4 months.
He arrived in Athens about two weeks ago, with plans to head to Germany in another week. He was seen last week at a Doctors of the World clinic in town for the same problem.
He says they gave him the above EKG, told him he was having a heart attack, and sent him out the door with 10 pills of Prilosec and instructions to go to “the hospital.”
Due to money restrictions, lack of transportation, minimal confidence in, and maximal confusion from, his interaction with his Greek-speaking doctor, he did not go to the hospital. He instead came to our clinic 4 days later, worried he was dying from a heart attack.
I recently returned from a church Men’s Retreat in the resort town of Lenk, Switzerland. This was MY kind of ‘retreat.’ The majority of our two days was spent on the ski slopes, not talking about God and theology and right and wrong.
I’ve been a Christian since I was 8, so the pastoral lectures and Bible verses never feel especially new to me.
I routinely enjoy the music, and in our case a great band led those times in the evenings, but I was happy to attend a retreat that was mostly just a cheap ski vacation. I met some cool guys, got a little better on a snowboard, and stood in absolute awe at some of the most beautiful scenery I have ever known.
I don’t worship God very well through study, or through listening to lectures from pastors. Lectures, ever, haven’t worked well with my brain. Ask any teacher of mine all the way back to 1st grade and you’ll probably get some version of the same mildly exasperated half-smile, and a reply along the lines of, “he really, really TRIED to give a crap.”
But when I’m in the shadow of the Swiss Alps, with 1,000 year old glaciers clinging to jagged sawtooth ridges in a 300-degree ring all around me, I pay attention. Somehow, breathing in crystal-pure air, with rolling forests and organic dairy farms dotting the countryside in every direction far below me, I have no problem thinking about God and wondering how I couldn’t possibly be closer to His almighty Spirit for that moment.
So, it was a spiritual time for me, but with very little preaching or Bible-studying. Perfect.
I was also struck by the unity and beauty of the towns we passed through on our way to Lenk. Switzerland has been highly resistant to change over the years, from what little I’ve read of the country. It is fairly hard to immigrate there, and once you ARE there, good luck building consensus around any particular idea or religious creed that departs from the time-honored ways of the Swiss. Du willst ein Minaret? Das wird nie passieren!
In Switzerland, you know you are in Switzerland. Especially in the countryside. The buildings are stirringly beautiful, most made of a light-colored wood sometimes set on dazzling white painted rock or concrete bases. The barns looks related to the houses. Everything is clean, ordered, pristine.
This unity isn’t by accident. But it takes enormous force of will to maintain a cultural identity in an increasingly pluralistic and mobile society. To do so inevitably becomes political, with increasingly volatile arguments on either side.
My homeland, America, has never really had a unity of culture and history to this degree. We’re a nation of very few subjugated natives, and very very many immigrants. To walk through my country – or any large American city – is to walk around the world.
Both have their merits (except for our treatment of the natives). But there’s something so deeply peaceful about meandering through a place that knows itself so well. A place that is OLD, and has not forgotten the value of of old things. King Solomon was rewarded by God with power and money because when God offered to give Solomon anything he wanted, the young man asked for wisdom. Any place that honors age, honors wisdom, and God seems to have blessed the Swiss accordingly.
I’m not saying Switzerland is paradise or utopia. There are problems. But they’re getting lots of things right. Here, walking is revered over driving. Food is valued for quality and purity rather than quick access or cost.The country has some of the best health care access in the world, with 3.6 doctors and 10.7 nurses per 1000 people. Life expectancy is around 73 years old. Obesity is less than 8% (it’s almost 50% in the U.S.), and it is estimated that 100% of the population has access to clean drinking water and sanitation facilities.
As a Caucasian from the American suburbs, with no knowledge of my heritage further back than my grandparents, this place holds an impossible appeal for me. I don’t know my family history, whether a story of thieves or kings. My nation’s history doesn’t even span 300 years.
As our retreat drew to a close, I knew I could never truly be a part of a place like Lenk, Switzerland. I could only marvel and yearn, watching that priceless world slip past my car window, as we hurried home.
Yeast infection: Yuck-central to the average vagina owner. Discharge like milk curds, funky smell something akin to old toes floating in rotten vinegar, and an intense itch that you can’t actually itch because if you try, it hurts. Cool, huh?
When you’re talking about this fun experience, what you’re largely talking about is overgrowth of a specific type of yeast called Candida albicans, which is actually a fungus. Pretty gross.
Truth is, there’s probably a few of these little guys hanging around the average human vagina all the time and it’s no big deal, but too many of ’em and you’ve got a problem.
Of interest, Candida is kept at bay by another creature that you want hanging around in your vagina called, as a group, the lactobacilli. These guys don’t fight candida, they’re much more suave. They simply produce an acid (“lactic” acid…get it?) as part of their normal life cycle that subsequently keeps the vagina acidic. This makes things real tough for most other creatures, except for the odd Bear Grylls of the Candida world who eat acid for breakfast.
Yeast infections result when the acidity levels in the vagina drop. It’s hard to predict when and how the pH will change in that region of the world, but often it does.
Historically, yeast infections were easily treated with anti-fungal creams or a single pill of the drug fluconazole. But the “easy” part is going away. Increasingly, I’m seeing patients who have recurrent yeast infections despite the usual treatment.
Often, these patients have a history of heading to the doc for “that pill.” And often, docs (or the “provider”) just fire the pill at them and everyone calls it a visit. It’s quick for the patient, saves the doc time, everyone’s happy. Unfortunately, the happiest of all in this equation is the yeast.
Fluconazole works by blocking an enzyme. That enzyme facilitates reactions that create the yeast’s cell wall. With the drug around, their cell walls get floppy(er) and don’t hold together as well.
But that doesn’t mean the bug is dead. Fluconazole isn’t some flaming thunderbolt from Mt. Olympus that blasts yeasts back to the Elysian (bread) Fields. The drug is fungastatic, not fungicidal. The weakened yeast is then susceptible to other bugs our our immune systems. Like a mob boss of the pharmaceutical world. It doesn’t do the killing, it just arranges, eehh, ‘tings.
These days, fluconazole isn’t as tough as it used to be. It doesn’t work like it did, often not with the strength it had. So tossing this pill at a yeast infection is a bad idea. Real bad.
Certain types of yeasts make poofy bread and good beer and they keep Jewish people busy (some would say crazy) during Passover. So they’re not all bad. But it’s an organism that we could do without. Fungal infections, when they become systemic, have always been tough to treat; more so than bacterial. And systemic anti-fungals have always been tougher on the body than antibiotics.
Under these circumstances, the best approach to recurrent yeast infection is NEVER to just go get another pill. You should firmly request that your doctor not only get a wet prep (which is merely looking for the presence of yeasts on microscope slide), but also order a culture of the yeast should any grow on the prep. From that culture, not only can the species of yeast be determined, but it can also be tested for sensitivity to fluconazole and other anti-fungals to see if the right drug has been chosen.
Recurrent yeast infections are beatable, but not if you’re lazy about it. For reasons that most men can understand, yeasts really, really like the vagina. If you don’t like ’em there, you’ve got to put more than just a little effort into getting ’em out.
Enjoyed reading some of your blog posts both older and the newer army related ones today. Lots of smiles and chuckles, Thanks.
Laughter? In response to this blog? That’s TERRIBLE. This was supposed to be serious stuff. Like taxes. This is information. Data. Recommend re-read.
I’m curious to know why you signed up?
I signed up for the Army for one major reason and one minor reason.
The major reason was the craven want of money. I wish it was something more patriotic, but the primary motivation was an offer of a loan repayment grant and monthly stipend during my years in residency. The Army required nothing in return during my training years. Faced with sneaking my 6-member family into a 2-bd apartment that allows only 4 people, I took the money. Instead of the apartment, I was able to put my family in a cute 3-bd home on a quiet corner two blocks away from my training hospital.
The second reason was patriotic. Despite my vehement opposition to the war in Iraq, and moderate opposition to the war in Afghanastan, I was fully aware that primary care was severely lacking in the U.S. Army at a time when young Americans were throwing themselves into war. Irrespective of how I felt about those conflicts, I remain an American. News of my countrymen dying or suffering partially due to lack of good medical care was something I couldn’t tolerate.
I have always been taken with depictions of how our nation pulled together and sacrificed during the second world war. Back then, those war efforts were truly a national affair. Virtually everyone gave to the effort in some fashion. And, I think a huge reason for the wealth and power we have enjoyed for the past 60 years are a direct result of those sacrifices made by our Greatest Generation.
“Earn this,” CPT John Miller, dying from a mortal wound during the Battle of Ramelle, implored Private Ryan in the Spielberg movie. The message, as I took it, was our generation (and the Boomers before us) must understand that great sacrifices were made to allow us to live on the top of the world as we have as Americans. It remains our mandate to earn that sacrifice; it was made before we even deserved it.
So I signed.
I saw posts about officer training and an earlier one about trying to figure out the military scheme as a civilian. What got you in?
I think you’re referring to how I got into the Army as a civilian. If so, the answer is website: http://www.usajobs.com. Everything runs through this site. I applied to this site in the winter of my senior year of residency, and forgot about it. Literally. When I was called by the clinic here in Germany for an interview in MARCH the following year, I had no idea why.
If you want to get a job overseas, however, this is one of THE best routes. You can’t work for the State Dept as a doctor until you’ve been in practice out of residency for 5 years. You can’t get a job with any of the aid organizations unless you know someone AND don’t need money. So, this is a good option because the pay is steady, only slightly beneath the national average, and comes with perks that don’t usually accompany private-sector jobs.
There’s lots of archane goofiness that come with Army medicine. There’s lots of unusual quirks that are a result of non-medical “commanders” decreeing all kinds of demands from on-high.
But, in reality, every managed care organization functions like this these days. I wouldn’t put Army medicine behind or beneath any of the major HMO’s (in principle, I haven’t worked with any of them). I think Army Med is about on-par with most of American medicine…approximately 18th best in the world.
Also wondering why Olympia was your first choice? You’ve said elsewhere that Ventura is probably the best FM program in the US. I’ve heard of a number of graduates going to Tacoma Family Medicine and lots of interest in Alaska, too. Can you comment on them?
I am very proud of my FP training program, and maintain the belief that it is one of the best programs on Earth, and THE best on all outlying planets. I firmly believe that Providence is one greatest healthcare organizations anywhere.
But in all honesty, I have to say that Olympia is not the best. Just MY best.
Ventura is better. Better than anywhere else I know of (and I practically got a PhD in FP residency research during med school). The hands-on experience they allow there, assuming times haven’t changed, is second to none. The faculty are top-notch; some are dual-certified, etc. Facilities suck, too, which is great. I can think of no better means of preparing an FP to deal with a crappy, under-funded, under-supplied environment where the only thing you have to give to patients is your training.
I was told I had a shot there. What they told me likely sounded MUCH like what they tell EVERY short-white coat wearing minion worshipping at the altar of VCMC during their exit interview. But I still like believing I coulda made it in there. I never ranked them, however, because my large family would have needed to live in a box on the beach to afford the cost of living in Ventura. And, truth be told, since I could have reasonably placed that box at the point at Fairgrounds (read: KILLER surf spot), residency would have been AWESOME for me. Just not for my kids waking up with sand fleas in their eyes and facing yet another breakfast of seaweed and/or Wonderbread bologna plus peanut butter sandwiches at the local Rescue Mission.
One nuance Ventura is the dual FP/MPH program at Dartmouth which is as good as it gets if policy and health system design is your calling. Love it or hate it, the Obama Health Care plan wisely referred to the health resources utility research out of Dartmouth. Although barely ranked, I am of the opinion that Dartmouth is actually one of the best – if not THE best – MPH program in the country because the research and work they do is prescient, unassailable, repeatable, tested and longstanding.
Tacoma is a great program, but they have nothing on Olympia. Their city smells weird, their facilities aren’t any better than ours, and we do rotations at the Peds ER up there anyway. So I recommend ranking them 1/2 with the top choice going to the town you like best.
Alaska is probably a lot like Ventura. Sans wicked right point-break and unfortunate box.
I believe I have just witness the beginning of the death of iTunes. As much as I’ve tried and tried to like iTunes, I can’t express how happy I am to see a true and valid competitor emerge to thwart them. And, I think this will DESTROY them.
Amazon, you rule.
Now you can buy Mp3’s from Amazon.com and – here’s the sell – store your tunes to the cloud, not on your own hardware. I’ve been begging (in my head) for this for YEARS. The cost and hassle of trying to constantly figure out where to store my songs and shows that I’ve downloaded from iTunes has been one endless headache. This has as much to do with the fact that I’M MAKING A GENUINE EFFORT NOT TO STEAL THEN (in all honesty, this is my big mistake). Being legit, I’m constantly plagued with copyright protections on iTunes products that makes storing and moving MY copies of digital media almost impossible.
The obvious solution (one that still supports the artists and their decadent renunciation of most human moral codes) is to simply quit making me store the songs in the first place. Just stream them from some central server that I never even deal with. Amazon Cloud Player (actually real, actually available, actually currently playing 1 of 100 of the top trance tunes of 2011 that I just bought as a collection for…9 bucks) does just that. Finally.
One example: I had a tiny netbook, with virtually zero hard drive space. So I tried to store all my tunes (and shows) on an external hard drive. Then I switched computers, and wanted to move that data. Tough. Sounds easy, but it ain’t. To Apple, it looks like I’m stealing them, or selling them in some virtual dark alley, furtively looking over my shoulder and waiting to hear Hugo Weaving bellow, “Mr. ANDERSON!” If I’d just legitimately STOLEN the damn songs in the first place, I could play them wherever I wanted, moving them like so many Word files.
Another example: If ruining ipods (usually by jogging in the rain) was a God-like attribute, I’d be warming up a U-haul for my move to Mt. Olympus. I just sorta never believe water is actually bad for anything. It’s a swimmer thing. Anyway, my iTunes can only be played on 5 players unless I “de-authorize” a player. This sounds find, but how do I de-authorize a player that has suddenly transformed into really unique thin mint? I can’t even turn it on long enough to de-authorize the glorified aluminum can. Same for my original computer that held the results of my first foray into iTunes psychosis. It suffered a massive “heart” attack at some point. That’s 1 authorized player I’ll never get back.
Now it doesn’t matter. My tunes are floating out there, in the beloved cloud. Free from the confines of my cheap, inefficient hard drives that never seem to have enough space. With Cloudplayer, the tunes stream, so presumably, copying them illegally is much harder. So, I would hope that Amazon will be HELPFUL when I try to use one device or another, or when I mistakenly put my Mac Mini in the microwave, expecting a nice melty pizza in 2 minutes and 30 seconds.
Plus, it’s Seattle busts Cupertino. Kurt Cobain vs. The Grateful Dead. The Sound vs. The Bay.
Our family just returned from Disneyland Paris. We had a great time. As a doctor, however, I just couldn’t ignore the many health problems clearly evident in the thousands of images I saw of the world’s most famous mouse.
I can say with confidence that this will be the first and only time that I publish the health record of a patient without his/her consent. But then again, I’m not even sure this little rodent was my patient at all. Furthermore, I can’t vouch for my physical exam of our storied mouse – given his rather cavalier take on the idea of ‘physical’ – but I do believe we should all be alarmed at the probable health status of our big-eared friend.
Of greatest concern is what can only be described as HUGE feet. Unfortunately, this does not suggest enviable male endowment, as it is sometimes rumored in those with enormous paws. Rather, these feet are swollen. A close look at most pictures of this patient suggest that he in fact can’t wear shoes at all, but instead some sort of stretchy slipper.
I Kept Seeing This Instead Of Enjoying Space Mountain
The best explanation for feet this swollen is congestive heart failure. This is a situation where the heart has pumped against a dysfunctional circulatory vessel pressure for so long that the muscle fibers have becomes stretched out and weak. Eventually, the heart becomes incapable of pushing blood around the body effectively, causing pooling of fluids in the extremities, especially the feet. Judging by the thousands of pictures of him, most drawings were likely done after this patient had been on his feet all day. Let’s face it, an 80 year old mouse can only walk around smiling waving at kids for so long before problems arise.
CHF is progressive (meaning it just gets worse over time). Elizabeth Taylor just died from this, for example. Mick could use any of a number of meds to lower his blood pressure, and (arguable, these days) something to strengthen the contractions of whatever functioning heart muscle fibers he still has. He should also go with low-salt cheese, lean scraps and whatever else a billionaire mouse might eat.
The little guy also has disturbingly white hands. Leaving aside the perplexing question of how a rodent has human hands (and feet), what we’re probably seeing here is Reynaud’s phenomenon.
In itself, this is a circulatory system peculiarity that is not medically-concerning. However, it can be very painful. Mickey appears to be in the early stages of the process. Likely shortly after his portrait sittings, his hands turned bright blue, then eventually into a deep red. Throughout the process, he would be in quite a bit of pain.
Of course, I can’t be sure if he isn’t wearing gloves (assuming that garish white color IS his skin, frequent glove use makes sense). Gloved or not, we still have the problem of clearly HUGE hands, suggesting edema like that described above in his feet. Assuming, however, that we do in fact have Reynaud’s here, the concern is of an autoimmune disease in the category of lupus. “Lupus” is a reference to the facial rash often seen in the disease and how it mimics the fur-pattern of the red wolf. Given that wolves engorge themselves on mice whenever possible, this diagnosis is insult to injury for our poor little entertainer.
Furthermore, lupus typically causes joint and connective tissue pain. It can lead to heart problems, anemia, serious lung problems including emboli and hemorrhages, kidney damage and neurological problems. There is no known cure, although the disease can be managed usually to good effect with oral steroids (not of the Lance Armstrong type…we’ll get to that), but the Mickster here clearly needs to get them started.
Next, the rotund belly. This is the physical sign most associated with diabetes and other metabolic diseases (or could be another sign of his CHF). Termed by doctors as “central obesity,” this malady affects a HUGE proportion of American men, especially. To our knowledge, little else puts a person more at risk for big metabolic problems. Mickey lives at Disneyland, where he can expect to eat things like spun sugar, rock candy-encased apples (I presume of the sort that felled Ms. S. White) and shovel-fulls of sweetened popcorn. So, as a nearly 90 year-old mouse, he can be forgiven the “Gaston Gut,” as it were. Still, a strict diet is highly recommended.
Another thing: look carefully, and you’ll realize that Mickey’s head is larger than his entire thorax (body sans legs). Babies exhibit this phenomenon – watch a toddler reach overhead…only the hands extend beyond the giant head itself – but adults don’t. Mickey may have been born with something called hydrocephaly that was inexplicably untreated for 80 years. Maybe he was too busy as a child prodigy mouse, or maybe everyone thought it was “cute.” He may also be suffering from Cushings, an overabundance of the steroid cortisol. He has some other physical signs to support that diagnosis too.
But he also could be doping. By doping, I specifically mean HGH, or human growth hormone. Lots of athletes do (or did) it, like Barry Bonds (yep, I passed judgement…don’t care about some goofy trial) and probably Lance Armstrong. Here a note to Armstrong supporters: almost EVERY top-5 pro cyclist, and every one of Lance’s main competitors over his winning years, has been busted for doping of some sort. Except him. Savvy, not legitimacy, I say.
Anyway, HGH makes you huge, but it can disporportionately affect the bones, especially in the head. Of note, HGH isn’t bad in itself, per se. It stimulates muscle growth in a way that can be very helpful to geriatric patients, for example. And, as with many Hollywood elites, The Mickster shows his age about as much as Dick Clark who looks 40 but was actually personal friends with Moses. So, I think Mickey can be forgiven for taking a shot or two from the possible fountain of youth. But, unfortunately, that HUGE noggin gives it away…to me at least.
So, let me say that DisneyLand was a great adventure for our 4 kids. I, however, kept getting dragged into unnecessary endeavors like rides or shows even as I frantically searched high and low my latest, and sickest, patient. Sadly, I never had a chance to warn him of his predicament. So, the onus is now on you, dear SW101 nation. Find him. Tell him. He’s sick. He needs help.
Next Week: Goofy comes out of the closet and reveals that he has Marfan’s Disease…and everyone pretends to be surprised.
“Dr. SW101,” Says the curly-haired assistant, “will you sign this memo.”
I don’t look up. As usual, I don’t read the memo, reaching for the closest pen and signing as fast as possible. I look up at him, smiling cheerfully. “What’d I just authorize?”
“Oh, you just told General Forth that the unit has medical need for 6 additional XBoxes.”
I pause, wondering why I’m so morally opposed to all paperwork that I can’t bring myself to even look at paperwork unless I absolutely have to.
“Xbox,” I say, brows furrowing. “Do you get ’em at the pharmacy?”
“No!” He says, cloyingly earnest. “You’re SO funny, Dr. SW101. You should write a blog!”
“I do.” I say, feeling sardonic, looking dour. I reach for Volume I of Harrison’s Internal Medicine. I lick a thumb and start flipping through the thousand-page tome. “Hmmmm, Xbox. Nope. Nothing here.”
Assistant waits dutifully, no doubt inwardly rolling his eyes while clutching his well-typed letterheaded memo, with my signature still drying at the bottom.
“OH! Right. I’m only in Volume I. Stupid me. I should be in Volume II, where the X’s are.” I pause. “Just a minute,” I say, reaching for the second book. A few minutes of earnest searching, “Nooh. Darn. I just don’t see anything talking about how XBox is an accepted therapy for anything. Not even my favorite disease of all time – mitochondrial infectitis.”
“You’re kidding, right?” He says, now looking worried. “We can get the Red Cross to buy XBoxes for the unit if you say they’re medically warranted.”
“So, my patients – most of whom have seizure disorders, PTSD and post-combat anxiety – can sit around all day blowing each other up and staring at flickering lights? Maybe I should prescribe a Rave too, so we can add drugs to the strobe lights. Or would they be used for the Xbox version of Myst or something?”
Assistant gets all serious, fearing the loss of his beloved memo. He starts reading some of the Pulitzer Prize material, “Gaming has become a central element to the Soldier’s past time. When they return from war zones, the lifelike quality of the Xbox combat games approximate the environment they just left. For many, this represents a “return” to their former lives, thus producing a sense of calm and reassurance.”
“I said that?!” I exclaim, eyes wide. “What kind of crap-pile hash was I smokin’ when I wrote that letter?”
“Oh, huh. Um. Well, if you didn’t notice…I wrote it.” Says the assistant, looking dejected.
Short of tearing the letter out of his hands, and no doubt derailing an already fast-moving train with lots of passengers, I know I’m on the hook.
“Ok. You win. Xboxes all around! On me.”
Relief, profusion, gagging urgency and more of that I-want-to-help-soldiers-but-won’t-listen-to-reason earnestness. “Oh, THANK you! Man, you have no idea what this will mean to the guys.”
“Can we just agree that you got me to sign yet another of those goofy Army things where you’re not really asking for medical opinion but if I sign the memo about 25 people will have busy stuff to do and somebody somewhere will get something to further the impression that they’re entitled to things that the average American pays for?”
“Can we further agree that Xbox is not an accepted medical therapy for anything?
“Yep.” Confidence growing…clearly the doctor is too weak to actually stop any administrative freight trains now.
“Fine. You have your memo.”
He turns to leave. Then turns back, “Oh, and about that memo for the massage chairs…”
But I don’t hear him. I’ve crawled under my desk, looking for the Lost Thumbtack. I don’t “find” the thing until I hear my door open and close. Carefully I look up….he’s standing there, hand on the doorknob. He’s smiling, one of those serious smiles that makes perfectly clear that nobody’s fooling anybody. “Find your thumbtack?”
I sigh. The sound is tired in my ears. “Yes. But I just tossed another one down there to go look for later.” He doesn’t say anything. “Yeah, the massage chairs. Bring me the memo. Until then, take this script-” I scribble onto a piece of paper.
He crossed the room and takes the script from my hand, smiling.
SW101: I’m sitting here today with Herpes Simplex Virus, type 2. It has agreed to answer a few questions for SW101 Nation. Thanks for joining us today, um, is it…Mr. Simplex?
HSV: “Mr.” Simplex. Sure. I’ll go with that. (rolls eyes, muttering “humans”).
SW101: Tell me, what do you regard as some of your greatest accomplishments, to date?
Mr. Simplex: We’re awesome, basically. We like to consider ourselves ubiquitous, yet cosmopolitan. We are particularly fond of the human idea of “make love, not war.” mmMM. Huge for us, that one.
Mr. Simplex: You got an ulcer on your nether-parts after a groovy night wearing nothing but beer goggles? Probably us. Any version of sexually active with any version of human being (we don’t like animals)? Excellantae! 30% chance we’ll be right there with you. Me and my posse are hanging out with 30-45 MILLION Americans. And that just in the, ah, “middle” parts of the human landscape. We got some cousins who live in the windy North quite happily. We cross paths from time to time.
SW101: Wow. Qute a party.
Simplex: Yep. And we’re inviting picking up around 300,000 new groupies every year.
SW101: How’s that?
Simp: We’re launching out all over the atmosphere much more often than people realize. Those blistery sores we cause? Well call ’em “pleasure domes,” referring to what they do for us as well as how our gracious hosts acquired them in the first place. Anyway, we don’t just blast out from the popping penile blisters. Usually, we send out early drones before the sore even forms. We’re terribly proud of this tactic.
SW101: Soo, when does the ‘party’ end?
Simplex: That’s the best part. Pretty much never.
SW101: Like, never?
Simplex: Oh sure, we take a break sometimes. Lots of times, actually. We hide most of the time. But once we’re in a body, we don’t really ever leave.
SW101: What do you hide from?
Simp: There’s two things we don’t like in this world, and the Great White Army is the main one.
SW101: Um, you refer to Tsar Ivan III‘s anti-Bolshevik Imperial Russian Army in the 1920’s?
Simp: What?! What kind of freak-show wonk are you? No! The human immune system. All the cells in that army are white. Or clear. Or something. Scary, those guys. They can blow us up, eat us, chew us up, spit out pieces of us so their comrades can eat the rest of us…it’s disgusting, really. It’s like a bad horror movie. Ugh! Look at that picture of the immune cell! Don’t you have any shame? I didn’t walk in here holding up pictures of car accidents, or guys who accidentally fell into meat grinders, did I? Why don’t we just sit around and ponder Charles Manson, and all his fabulous exploits? Oh, actually, that guy was pretty good for us, as I recall.
Anyway, where was I? (fans self, leans back weakly). Oh yes, when it’s up and running full-bore, the human immune system it a giant headache for us. We try to lay low. No sense in getting our heads knocked off. The good news is that it gets stretched pretty thin trying to cover all the problems that come up in those unnecessarily complex organisms of yours. It’s pretty easy to come out and play once the person is stressed, sick, too hot or cold or with some disease that naturally keeps the White Army back in the barracks, so to speak.
SW101: So, you hide in the nerves, right?
Mr. Simplex: (looks left and right conspiratorially) Yep. Broadly speaking. This is the secret to our survival, by the way. Our lair. Your nerves.
SW101: And, specifically?
Simplex: Well, you guys have no hope of actually finding us, so I’ll just go ahead and tell you. My guys hang out in the roots of the nerves that extend from the sacrum. S2-5, usually. In the ganglion. It’s nice there. Our version of what you’d call waterfront property, I’d imagine. Our cousins hang out in similar nerves in the face.
SW101: You mentioned two things you don’t like, what’s the other?
SW101: Surely you’re referring to the Israeli-Palestinian former leaders…both dead now?
Simplex: Dead? Really? I don’t think we had anything to do with that. We try not to kill our hosts…bad for real estate, as you can imagine. But yeah, them. They hated each other, but at the same time, they created lots of business for each other too. Get it? People don’t like using condoms, for some reason. But those that do are WAY lax about concerning themselves with us. Since we don’t just hang out in areas covered by those suffocating, smothering latex udders, we get around pretty well when condoms are in the mix. People jump into their illicit affairs, thinking they’re safe…and forget to ask anything about us.
So, it’s a love-hate thing. Overall, condoms are probably pretty good for business.
SW101: So, you hate condoms. What do you love?
Simples: Promiscuity. We’re BFF’s. Make love, not war, dude. Preferably, don’t even look down at what you’re doing.
It’s not personal, by the way. We’re just doing what we are meant to do…which is reproduce. Everyone who is living with us now should understand that. It’s one big happy family of organisms doing what they were meant to do…mate, and reproduce. It’s natural. When you’re mating…so are we. All I can say is, sorry for the inconvenience.
Yes, throwing a few words out there again. Can’t help m’self. Been a bit.
Living in Europe insulates the average human from goofy, over-the-top language meant to get people to do and think in ways that OTHER people want them to. So, I haven’t been very caught up in, or all that impressed by, all the politics and steamy language coming out of my home country these past months.
Now the election is finally over, we find that Republicans have “swept” themselves into a level of “power” that assures exactly zero will happen unless they work with all the Democrats and Independents that never lost their jobs. Some people think all the upcoming wrangling is a bad thing; I think it’s great. A super-active government rarely doesn’t do anything well. There IS a type of government that “gets things done” almost immediately, with little debate. It’s called a dictatorship. If you’re smitten with that idea, move to North Korea and try THAT speedy idea on and see how you like it.
Anyway, I received a link to a very persuasive and scary speech given by an orthopedic surgeon named Dr. David Janda, wherein he outlined the horrors and sneaky tricks piled into the Obama health care bill. His speech was in support of Rob Steele, a cardiologist-turned-politician likely because he was mad as hell at the terrible direction of the country (*yawn*, aren’t we all?). Presumably, said cardiologist is now back in the clinic, since he thoroughly
lost the election of the 15th Congressional District of Michigan to John Dingell something like 83k votes to 118k votes. Apparently, the Dingells have run that district for generations. If you’re looking for nutty, inflammatory, manipulative language, look no further than at a political battle between a challenger losing in the polls as s/he tries to unseat a longstanding incumbent.
The gist of Dr. Janda’s speech is how Obama intends to RATION health care. This actually sparked my interest. I don’t really care about health care system politics; I’d rather just see patients, frankly. But I have to just say to my fledgling SW101 crowd, I SUPPORT RATIONING. Of every public resource. Food. Gas. Sex (um, although I’d readily opt out of the “public” option).
So many people take the idea of rationing to be unequivocally bad…as if it’s totally wrong and even beyond debate. That’s the tack of Dr. Janda. It’s something we all KNOW is wrong. Like sticking needles in the eyes of baby squirrels or stomping on halloween pumpkins.
Incidentally, Janda is a specialist, supporting another specialist. Primary care docs like me aren’t especially pleased with how specialists have garnered power and money for themselves in the AMS (Am. Med. System). In particular, I’m speaking of orthopedic surgeons and cardiologists. Specialists make fabulous money by ordering tests and procedures, none of which have ever been regulated or rationed in any way. Echo’s and caths pay for the boat, private school and vacations to S. Pacific islands nobody can name. Don’t tell me the only force driving clinical decisions is scientific evidence and standards of clinical care…money is money. But even so, I’m for rationing.
Let me say that I’m not happy about Obamacare. It was said well @ a recent conference, “who’s going to do a better job coming up with a fair, affordable national health care plan, 189 laywers in a room for half a year, or 10 family doctors in a room for a week? Obama went with the lawyers, he should have gone with the docs.”
That said, I FULLY AND COMPLETELY agree with rationing because it’s a necessity. In training, I followed a patient in the ICU who was costing close to 1 million dollars a day of PUBLIC MONEY for the last 4 months of her life. Somebody, somewhere needed to compassionately deny further intensive care to this woman, instead providing dignified hospice end-of-life management. Her case justified ONLY taxpayer-funded hospice care but nobody had the cajones to tell her that.
Every precious resource, if pooled for the common good, needs to be rationed. It’s where we get the term ‘rational’ and there’s a reason for it. Closer to home, my sister apparently has a University doctor telling her that she needs a thousand dollar procedure (colonoscopy). The procedure is not done by this doc’s specialty, and my sister hasn’t even had a rudimentary work-up to justify the cost of the scope. She has not had a professional analyze of the risks vs. the benefits of doing it, either. Yet she’s already being told that she needs this procedure.
Remember…EVERY test and procedure has significant risk associated with it. Wouldn’t it be nice to know that the doc my sis sees for a scope is a specialist? And, since that specialist pays for the Benz and sailboat from scope income, wouldn’t it be nice to know that he moved in a stepwise fashion through the GI workup process, a process that is peer-reviewed and widely accepted as essential before a scope is ordered? This is the ‘rationing’ process that Obamacare advocates. It puts serious limits on specialists in the provision of their care when it comes to big-ticket stuff like scopes, imaging and surgery.
But remember, we’re talking about rules in effect ONLY if you intend to get your neighbor to pay for your health care. YOU are welcome to pay for your own scope any time you wish. YOU can fund your own health insurance – one that doesn’t make docs do ANYTHING before they dig into your body – if you want. I watched it work this way in Israel, and it was a pretty good deal.
However, the fact is most Americans believe they are SO important that they have the right to be treated like kings…paid for by peasants. But ethically, Americans have no right to whatever care they want whenever they want it, if they also expect someone else to pay for it.
The AMS does too many procedures and tests. The result of both is astronomical costs and HARM TO PATIENTS (through false-positive test results and procedure errors). So, not only is care rationing ethical and less costly, it is absolutely safer for patients. Healthcare is NOT safe. There is a risk-benefit ratio that must be considered any time a patient comes in contact with the health care system. Waiting for non-urgent care (knee replacements) and rationing of tests and procedures is ethical, cheaper and flat-out safer.
Incidentally, I argued this point in a debate in med school…waay before Obamacare. I have seen nothing since that time to sway my opinion. In fact, training and practice have only solidified that opinion with real-world facts.
Obama didn’t make our health care system right, but he did make it better. The Tea Party idea of repealing the new law is lunacy. If they REALLY want a free-market system, they need to dispense with EMTALA laws which dictate that ER docs (and now other specialties too) are required to see any and every patient. THIS IS UNIVERSAL HEALTH CARE!! It’s just the most inefficient, ineffective and expensive system in the world. We do have a social healthcare system. We just need to make it rational…starting with sensible rationing of limited resources.
Q – I just discovered your blog and have had fun reading it, however, it seems that you have stopped blogging?
A – It’s true. I burned out a little. Well, that’s a simplification. Moving here (to Germany), emerging from survival mode from medical training and settling into a normal life opened up all kinds of new emotions in me that I didn’t anticipate. The most important of these was a distinct realization that I wanted to deepen and widen my relationship with my wife.
So instead of pounding out these blog posts, I’ve been cooking dinner once a week (“Daddy Dinners”) and spending the majority of my nights watching some show or other with my wife by my side as I run my fingers slowly through her hair.
I’m gradually putting together a new blog – “Lover, Daddy, Doctor” – that picks up where SW101 leaves off. But it reflects my new focus in life. I’d anticipate some humor, occasionally more intensity, less medicine. I’d even expect the occasional Bible verse to accompany an irrepressible proclivity to pepper my writing with a well-placed swear word (Hey, I’ve come a long way…plus I’ve long bet that God nods to honesty before Christian decorum).
To survive in medical training, you HAVE to make survival and success your number one priority. I would have sworn this wasn’t true for me, but it was. Failure anywhere along the training path is a conscription to a lifetime of insurmountable debt, even poverty. Now that I’ve survived, my genuine priorities have emerged. I love to write, so it’s natural that I would blog about this new direction in my life. But I’m not sure. This is personal. More personal than just the experiences of being a doctor trainee. Maybe the story of one guy’s quest to be a better man is better left to be pondered quietly in the heart.
So, I’m mulling my next “move”. Maybe I’ll just pick up where I left off and start up SW101 again (thanks, everyone of you who wrote in to ask where all the good times went). Maybe I’ll finally finish my book.
Ultimately, I just can’t tell you where I’m going because I myself don’t know. I DO know that I’ve successfully grilled tuna fillets, invented a mango/pear/mint salad that everyone loved, and I can broil Portabello mushrooms all by myself. I learned the difference between Goat Cheese and Feta Cheese. I know where the measuring cups are in the kitchen. I can tell you every character in Lost (and the top 4 theories about what the freaking show even means).
But what I REALLY know is that my wife looks at me with eyes I haven’t seen for 13 years. And this stirs my soul in ways that make most of the rest of my life comfortably superfluous. This blog got caught up in that eternal vortex…
When I know anything more than this, you will too.
“All that I am, all that I ever was, is there in your perfect eyes…they’re all I can see.” -Chasing Cars, by Snow Patrol