I’m going to be migrating my server and upgrading the website over the next week or so. Comments have been disabled (I have no idea why – and yes I’m quite exasperated). Please stick around… I already have blog separation anxiety. 😯
The “you may also like these posts” section is rather interesting below. How did it know I’d need stress buster tips?
This is a great example of hospital administrator leadership (from Shadowfax):
As I exited the parking garage, I noticed a man in work clothes shoveling off the walkway to the hospital. I was fiddling with my cell phone (actually texting the wife to let her know I made it OK) so I didn’t pay him any mind. I was surprised when he greeted me by name, and more surprised when I looked at him more closely and realized it was the CEO of the hospital.
Shoveling snow.
At 5:30 AM.
In the garage.
The CEO.
I was stunned. I made a little joke about how he’s been reduced to pushing a shovel, and he replied with good cheer, “Well, somebody’s got to do it, and half the staff wasn’t able to make it in, what with the roads and all. The last thing I want is for an employee or patient to slip on their way in — that’s be all we need!” We chatted for a minute and parted ways. As I was finishing my text, I noticed him stop to greet a couple of nurses on their way in, and thank them for coming in to work today.
Now that’s leadership.
I bet Nancy Schlichting would do the same. Bravo, CEOs. Keep up the good work!
My dear friend Seton Holt passed away on Christmas eve. She was 42 years old, and surrounded by family at home. I wrote about Seton’s battle with cancer – and how she faced adversity with an inspirational courage.*
When you lose someone you immediately wish you’d had the chance for one last conversation – to make sure they knew how much you loved them, and what they meant in your life. I didn’t have that final conversation with Seton, but I suspect that she knew how I felt.
Seton was a devout Catholic. She leaves behind a nearly two-year-old son, Damian, her husband David, and a large loving extended family.
I’ll be attending her wake tomorrow. May she rest in peace.
*These are some of my previous posts about Seton:
Strawberry Shortcake In Central Park
Fortunately for me, my recent brush with the healthcare system was not as frightening as Dr. Dappen’s (he blogs here every Wednesday and recently had a mild heart attack). However, it was provided me with some amusing blog fodder.
Last week I was minding my own business, planning to purchase a new batch of contact lenses from a local optometrist, when I was required (under threat of withholding my lenses) to undergo a vision exam. Much to my disappointment, my right eye was not behaving itself, and refused to correct to 20/20 despite a good deal of lens fiddling on the part of the doctor. A slit lamp retinal evaluation followed, and the optometrist concluded that my right eye’s macula “looked like an 85-year-old’s.”
Well, that was not the most welcome of observations. I asked for the differential diagnosis (being that I’m quite a few years away from 85) and wondered how I’d developed macular degernation. He suggested that it could also be a “central serous” which is (apparently) a stress-related swelling of the macula that requires no treatment and usually resolves on its own.
“So basically you’re saying that my eye could be ‘bugging out’ because of stress.” I said. “And you’d like me to see an ophthalmologist just in case it’s something worse and equally untreatable?”
“Right.”
So I made an appointment with a local ophthalmologist – one of the few working on Christmas Eve – and was sorry to have him confirm that there was indeed something wrong with my retina. He even ordered an eye angiogram (I didn’t know those existed, but it makes perfect sense) and I was injected with a vegetable dye. Photographs were taken through my dilated pupils at regular intervals as the dye wound its way through my retinal vasculature.
“It’s not a central serous.” He said with a serious tone. “And you can see the macular defect here on this photograph.”
“So my right eye is like an 85-year-old’s?” I asked, wondering how I’d been so fortunate to have one part of my body on the aging fast-track.
“Well, not exactly. I think it’s unlikely to be age-related macular degeneration. You probably have retinal thinning caused by your nearsightedness.”
“You mean all that straining to see the chalk board wore out my retina?”
“No. What I mean is that your eye is supposed to be shaped like a baseball, but yours is an egg shape. So your retina is stretched thin and is starting to wear in your macula area.”
“Well can you suck out some of the vitreous gel and shape my egg back into a baseball?”
“No. Unfortunately that doesn’t work.”
“How do you know?”
“The Russians tried it in the 1960s.”
“Ok, well how do I take some of the tension off my stretched out retina?”
“You can’t.”
“Well if I lose weight or eat carrots or exercise, or stop wearing contacts, or get lasik… would any of that help?”
“No.”
“So there’s nothing I can do to prevent further damage, and nothing to repair or treat it.”
“Right.”
Pause.
“I don’t like this condition.”
“Well, you’ll have to come and see me once a year so I can monitor the progression. Sometimes the body responds to the retinal damage by growing blood vessels in the area, and that can cause further visual deficits. But we can zap those new vessels with a laser and decrease the damage.”
“So my eye might overgrow with blood vessels like weeds in a garden.”
“It might. But it also may stay exactly the same for the rest of your life.”
“Well, the uncertainty is anxiety-provoking.”
“I’ll see you in a year. You’ll probably be fine. Don’t worry. Oh, and if you see any ‘floaters’ or flashes of light, come in to see me immediately.”
“What would that indicate?”
“A retinal tear that would need laser therapy right away. People with thin retinas can have spontaneous tears. Just keep that in mind.”
“Um… ok.” I said, smiling feebly.
So here I am, with one wonky eye, not knowing if it will get worse or remain the same indefinitely. There’s nothing I can do but watch the progression once a year with an ophthalmologist. Like so many patients, I’m in a gray zone where prognostication is a challenge and reversal of disease is not possible. I have one 85- year-old eye. May it bring me wisdom, courage, and more empathy for patients.
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