Tag Archives: corporate medicine

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The isolated working

I ran my own small clinic from 2010 to 2022, working somewhere else, got Covid, was on oxygen for a year and a half, did some healing and then came back to work.

There has been a culture change in medicine that feels very strange to me. I did not notice it because I was in a solo clinic and not “part of the system”.

All the doctors, providers, are more isolated. I got a compliment yesterday when I was doing a “warm hand off” of the most sick or complicated patients, three new diabetics, a person with cancer, a person with a genetic heart problem. The doctor who I was handing off to is in the same clinic but we have barely talked since May. I don’t know her at all. She complimented me on excellent care “and calling specialists”.

I thought, huh. But I think that is a dinosaur doctor thing. I think mostly people communicate through the electronic medical record email, send messages about patients. For the decade that I was solo, I had to call other specialists because I was on a different electronic medical record. The email didn’t connect. The hospital reluctantly gave me a “link” to their system, but it was only a link to look. I could not write or send anything.

About two months ago I got an echocardiogram result. I read it and thought, ok, it’s not normal but what does it mean? Outflow obstruction by the thickened heart wall. Hmm. I called cardiology and spoke to the cardiologist who read it. He sounded surprised and said, “Idiopathic hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, most likely. It’s a classic echo.” “So, what do I do?” “Send him to me.” “Anything that I should change meanwhile?” “Yes,” says the cardiologist. He had me stop one medicine and start another. “No vasodilators and the beta blocker slowing the heart rate should help decrease the outflow obstruction.” “Got it.” I said. He also gave me two more tests to order.

I referred the patient to cardiology but it was a month before he got in. The two tests were done and they ordered more. If the diagnosis is correct, he’ll be sent to a special clinic in Denver. I called my patient while we were waiting for the cardiology visit. The medicine change had not made much difference as far as he could tell.

I was also told when I got here that I would never get a local nephrologist to see a patient, they were two busy. However, I have called two nephrologists about two patients and both took the patient and again, gave me instructions.

Two specialties have been very difficult to contact: orthopedics and gastroenterology. I have no idea why they are so difficult.

I can see that email feels faster. But there is no human contact, asking follow up questions is difficult, I don’t get that bit of further helpful education: this is what you do next. I have learned so much over the years by touching base with specialists. Once I fussed at a patient to go to hematology oncology about their high platelet count. The patient didn’t want to. He came back and said, “Apparently I have this newly found genetic problem. They put me on two medicines, not expensive. And I feel better than I have in 20 years.” I asked the oncologist about it the next time I called. He lit up, excited, and told me about the JAK-2 mutation. It is so exciting to learn about new areas in medicine and my patient says, “I have to thank you for pushing me to see the oncologist. I feel so much better.” Wow and cool.

Clinic feels like I am mostly isolated, a silo, an island, rarely talk to the other physicians unless I go to find them. I think hospital administrations like this, keeping the physicians in line by having their schedule be so packed that they almost never talk to each other. What a good way to keep physicians from interfering in the money making production! Ugh, I think it is quite horrible and unhealthy for the providers and for our countries medical system in the long run. I was seriously less lonely in a solo clinic.

The prognosis for our current medical system is very poor. The patients say to me, “Why do my doctors keep leaving?” They aren’t attached, they are isolated, I don’t think the physicians know what they are missing. Colleagues. Not silos.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: prognosis.

The photograph is from the Fruita Fall Festival.

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Love gently

Honey is older, nearly thirty years since that first feeling of being bitten by ants. She is back in corporate medicine, as a temp. Temporary, short term, maybe that will work better.

It is a joy to go in a room and be alone with a person and their monsters. Theirs and hers. Sometimes the younger ones haven’t experienced it, they are terrified if one of their monsters becomes a little bit visible, they hate seeing them. Honey tries to be gentle. If they only want to talk about the sore shoulder and not the stress and violence, well, she leaves the door open a crack. Sometimes the monsters cry.

Older people may be stiff to start with, but when they realize their monsters are seen, acknowledged, this isn’t another robot doctor in to say increase your diabetes medicine, lower your diabetes medicine, tell them a plan without ever connecting, the older ones lean back, sigh, and relax. The monsters play on the floor, Honey’s monsters playing with theirs, happy, engaged.

The hard part is the clinic staff. Honey is with them daily. The medical assistants are young. They kick their monsters aside as they walk down the hall. It is terribly hard and heartbreaking to work at her desk, with the medical assistants’ monsters cowering under their desks, kicked, abused, silent tears and holding bruises. Honey’s monsters mind. They climb into her lap and hide their faces in her shirt, under her jacket, peer over her shoulder. They don’t understand! Why can’t she be nice to THESE monsters?

Honey whispers to her monsters when the medical assistants are rooming patients. “I am so sorry, loves. If I acknowledge these, the monsters of the women working, I become a demon. It is very hard to share an office, no wonder I worked in a clinic alone for eleven years.” Honey has been through that. It is still inconceivable that some people don’t see the monsters at all. Is it learned blindness? Or just not developed unless someone had to learn it? Unless someone grows up in terror and seeing the monsters is the only way to survive.

Honey thinks some people learn to see them as adults, at least their own monsters. Hard enough to do that, without seeing the monsters clinging to other people.

Honey is tired of her monsters crying in sympathy with the staff’s monsters. She thinks maybe there are small crumbs that she can leave for these demons. Little gifts. Her monsters can creep under the desk when she is the only one in the room and leave something. A flower. A dust bunny. A crumb of a crisp. A small rock. A little gift to let them know they are seen and loved. A poem. A prayer. Just a tiny bit of love.

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: crisp.

The photograph is me all dressed up for the 1940s ball.

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