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how i lose your respect: my most humiliating story
March 1, 2006 / 10:44 PM

When I was a very new intern I assisted a surgeon putting in a central line. The procedure went poorly, and the patient began to crash within a few minutes of the surgeon leaving the floor. Although we repeatedly paged him he didn’t respond, and as the patient became more and more unstable it became clear that action needed to be taken. I gave orders to have her transferred to the ICU, and then helped with physical part of the transfer. The second the doors of the elevator closed she coded. A respiratory tech, a floor nurse and I were the only people there, so we began resuscitation. Space was so limited that I climbed up onto the bed to start the compressions, and every time I pressed down blood oozed up from her chest. I lost it. In that safe small place I completely lost it. I burst into tears, and to the beat of my continued compressions I yelled at the tech administering the ambu-bag. "What the hell is going on here? Where the hell is the surgeon? Where the hell are the real doctors? How is it even possible that I am in charge here? I’m twenty-five years old! I’m just a kid! How is this my problem? How did this happen? What the holy fuck is happening here?" The respiratory tech just shook her head at me in helpless laughter. We were probably in that elevator for thirty seconds, but it felt like thirty years. The second the doors opened I was able to switch back into doctor mode, and help wheel her into the room, give report, run the code and generally comport myself. The respiratory tech was never able to look at me in the eye without breaking into giggles, but we became good friends in the three years I was a resident at that hospital. I will always love her for forgiving me letting my mask slip for those endless moments.

This journal is sometimes like that elevator, and occasionally I let the game face falter. I’ve obviously been a little blue lately, but I’m doing OK. And, it’s sure to get better soon. February is finally over, flu season can’t last forever, I have a stunningly supportive husband, a beautiful, joyous, healthy daughter and as I have stated time and again, I work with the world’s nicest women. Sometimes I forget how lucky I am and let myself mope around. Sometimes I think I am the only person in the world who freaks out once the doors are safely closed, but that can't be true can it?

Posted by: Suzie
File under: Living the Life
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Comments

What a wonderful entry. You haven't lost my respect at all.

Posted by Lisa
March 1, 2006 11:48 PM

you are not the only person in the world who freaks out once the doors are safely closed... not, not not.
i think it's a chick thing. you know, a hormonal/working person/new parent/spouse/friend/daughter/not-enough-hours-in-the-day kinda chick thing...
get some rest. or sleep.
get a massage.
do something just for YOU.
and i still respect you. how could i not? you helped create a little person with ed grimley hair! i love ed grimley, i must say...

Posted by ratty
March 2, 2006 02:58 AM

I came out of lurker-hood to lend support - but wow - ratty said what I was gonna say - only much better. Josey is so smoochie beautiful how could you not want to spend every single nanosecond with her - and your dedication to the art of medicine is so passionately conveyed here - thank you so much for that. Allow yourself the space to feel whatever you need and don't be so hard on yourself - when you're in a pressure cooker you've gotta let off steam - it's a natural thing. Be good to YOU. Sending light and hugs - connie

Posted by connie
March 2, 2006 06:29 AM

Suzie,


We all understand. Perhaps we can see something you can't right now. We see a doctor that cares deeply for her patients. We see a new mother who loves her little daughter and husband so much.


The very act of "freaking out" reminds us of this: we see a human being, not a machine. Your emotions empower you as a physician, to fight for the health of your patients, to fight for your patients! Were you our doctor, we'd know that you would care about us and not only do the best you could but inspire and prod us to do better as well. (I'm a Type II diabetic. We need prodding.)


Sometimes medical professionals have to find some balance in that emotion, have to process so much that's accumulated. We know that's when growth occurs. You do your "work" on it, and when you emerge, you'll be even better clinician.


You're cool, and we're cool with that.

Posted by Rob
March 2, 2006 06:46 AM

If I couldn't freak out when the doors are closed then I just wouldn't want to even be around anymore. You have to have a safe haven for a freak out every once in awhile. As much as we want the world to think we are Superwoman...that's just not true.

Posted by daisy
March 2, 2006 08:38 AM

Nope, haven't lost my respect. You'll have to try harder. What else ya got?

;o)

And I freak out when the door are closed, too. It's been a while-- the last time was when the babies were 1-3 months old, and my hormones were all over the place and I was sleep-deprived, and . . .
It was bad. This might not be comforting to hear, but thinking about it now, I'm like: Damn, it's so nice not to be THERE anymore.

Posted by Meira / Melanie
March 2, 2006 09:39 AM

You are under no obligation to be happy. You are well within your rights to be as blue as you need to be. Goodness knows February gets me down every year, and I'm not dealing in rivers of snot.

If there's one thing I've learned from reading blogs (and sometimes I think this is WHY I read blogs) it's that deep down, we're all pretty much the same. We all have our game faces we put on for others, but at the end of the day we're all doing what we have to do to get by. We all have ups and downs. Reading people's honest blogs (such as yours) reminds me that even the most "together" people have to shut the doors now and then. We're all in this together.

Posted by Sarah
March 2, 2006 10:22 AM

I completely agree with Ratty and Sarah. It never ceases to amaze me how many of my friends that I thought had it "all together" have finally confessed to all of the things that you (and I) are going through. I put on a game face, but ask the hubby about how miserable I made his life when Adam was first born. Go ahead and ask, I triple dog dare you ;-)
Just remember that you are not alone.

Posted by Julie
March 2, 2006 04:53 PM

We all have our moments of making ourselves look crazy or unable at many points in our lives. Having the ability to let your game falter and then acknowledge it, is big. You're only one person. Sometimes in light of being a perfectionist, this is hard to handle.

Posted by statia
March 2, 2006 08:43 PM

i'm an ms4 coming out of lurkdom today to say that you just described the very thing i fear happening on july 1. eek!
i've been reading and enjoying for a while, thanks.

Posted by bell
March 2, 2006 09:31 PM

nope. you're not alone at all. i've been at my new job 2 weeks and it has made me cry 4 times already. so we all fall sometimes when the door closes.

Posted by girlplease
March 2, 2006 09:55 PM

I think someone needs to go out and buy herself a lovely new expensive lipstick that she will have to use lipsol to get off in the morning. It will brighten up your face and perhaps your outlook.

Sisterhood therapy... ain't it grand? :-)

Seriously, I think I respect you more now after this entry than all the others combined. Really. Seriously. On my father's grave.

I especially love the line, "What the holy fuck is happening here?" Love it! *LOL*

Posted by Lilly a.k.a. kindred spirit
March 4, 2006 04:24 PM

Many doctors act like G-d. To be fair, many laymen look to their doctors to play the role of G-d in their various health dramas. In both cases these 'gods' inevitably turn out to have feet of clay.

This is fine and good since it shakes the false confidence of the laymen and brings the doctors back down to earth.

Personally, I prefer a physician who understands mortal things like fear, confusion, pain, embarrassment and above all fallibility. This is the kind of doctor who will treat me to the best of his/her ability, as a fellow human... and not like something growing in a petri dish.

Lose respect for you??? You are the kind of doctor any sane person would want to see at their bedside.

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