My poor, poor blog. So neglected. So much quackery left un-busted. It turns out that real life can sometimes be more consuming than other interests. After a significantly disruptive illness, life rarely snaps back to it’s previous shape, but slowly takes on new forms and habits. I no longer have to bathe MrsPal and pack her wounds daily, but I still have to give her IV fluids and help her with medications. I no longer have to cancel patient time to pick up PalKid or get to the hospital to visit my wife, but she’s still a needly little thing (the Kid, that is), clinging to me like one of those stuffed monkeys with the Velcro hands and feet.
And of course, the needs of my patients don’t change at all. An abnormal chest x-ray is just as important no matter what else is happening in my life. Patients have a doctor, not a team, at least not usually, and that doctor is responsible for gathering and communicating data, facilitating testing and consultations, and all sorts of other time-sensitive work. Many jobs are like that I suppose, but from my biased viewpoint, doctoring is different.
I’m currently having an ethical discussion with myself (not aloud) about whether I can make up a bottle of Placebo for PalKid. At night as attention starts to focus away from her, her throat hurts, or her lip, or some other boo-boo and she wants medicine. It seems foolish to pump her full of ibuprofen, but she sees me giving Mommy medicine and helping her feel better. I’ll probably never make up that bottle, probably never give her as much attention as she wants, but she’ll probably get as much as she needs.