Let’s Connect
From the
President
JAMES Patrick Murphy, MD, MMM
GLMS President
[email protected]
How Will You Define
Yourself?
I am a doctor, but a doctor is not what I am.
- penned in my spiral notebook, circa May 1985
Despite a medical career’s insatiable hunger
for attention, my chosen path does not define
me, but it has provided glimpses of who I am.
For example, during my internship at Balboa
Naval Hospital I was occasionally assigned to
draw blood for labs. One such afternoon, my
blood-rounding brought me to a diminutive,
bent, hairless, elderly man sitting quietly in his
bed on the open bay ward. After a brief exchange
of pleasantries, he offered an atrophied left upper
extremity for blood acquisition. Upon completion he warmly thanked me and even complimented me on being a “good needle-sticker.”
Later, I learned that the diminutive octogenarian was a retired two-star admiral who was
admitted to this ward because he had refused any
special treatment in deference to his lofty rank.
If a no-privacy open bay ward was good enough
for his sickly comrades, it was good enough for
him too.
Besides an amazing lesson in leadership, my
encounter with the admiral taught me that, regardless of how powerful, wealthy, famous, weak,
poor, or humble one might be, we each travel a
path to the same destination. In days past, simply
rumor that he was onboard ship would have
created an air of anxious hyper-attention. But
in his life’s final chapter he was humbly grateful
that the apprentice doctor sent to draw his blood
didn’t botch the needle stick.
What defined this person: his accomplishments? his failures? his youthful conquests? his
final chapter?
Are we defined by life’s moments? Perhaps
the sum of life’s moments? Is one’s present moment - or even one’s final moment - life’s truest
summation?
I have my doubts.
Despite our yearnings to the contrary, our
present evaporates and becomes our past - no
different than a dream. And we are not defined
by our dreams - nor our past.
So, if not the past, are we defined by the present?
I have more doubts.
The brain does not work at the speed of light
- not even close. In fact, every conscious thought
results from a chain of chemical reactions initiated by sensory stimuli. Therefore, awareness
of a moment in time can only occur after the
stimulating event. Awareness of the present is
really just a memory.
So does the present even exist? Yes it does; in
theory (i.e. the theoretical present). But I can’t
prove it.
During a deposition I gave years ago, with
the lawyer’s argument hinging upon proving
the medical record to be comprehensive, she
asked, “Isn’t it true that if it wasn’t documented,
it didn’t happen?”
My response was, “If it wasn’t documented it
simply means it wasn’t documented.”
I still stand by that.
Like the medical record, your perception of
the present moment is legitimate documentation
that your present moment exists. But that’s all it
is - documentation. Not proof. Again, awareness
of the present is really just a memory.
I have lots of memories - especially of my
patients. And being a physician to a significant
number of elderly patients, I deal with loss on a
regular basis. While it is never easy to say goodbye, I usually find solace in knowing that I tried
to provide comfort in a patient’s latter steps along
life’s journey.
Obituaries, written to summarize these journeys, usually pique my curiosity. Some are just
a few lines. Some are novellas. Some offer comparison photos of the youthful and the elderly
visage. Regardless of length, obituaries cannot
define a life.
For example, by the time you read my article,
the iconic Nelson Mandela will have been laid to
rest - after perhaps the most extensive obituary
in the history of the media - and still the world
will have only gotten an infinitesimal account of
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his life. At the end of it all, will we have defined
the man?
Not a chance.
About a year ago, I read the obituary of a local
doctor, P. Patrick Hess, M.D. He was eloquently
described as: “A dedicated pediatrician, gifted
artist, collector of oddities, beloved husband,
father, grandfather, voracious reader, with a quick
wit - Patrick Hess had an obsessive curiosity
and a driving desire to unravel the mysteries
of the world.” It went on to mention his family,
accomplishments, education, and professional
endeavors - all lovely. But I felt there was more
to this man’s life. Then I read his poem and felt
something had indeed been defined.
All physicians are artists,
not always in disguise.
Our way of looking at a patient,
allowing our minds to roam all over those perceptions of our previous life,
often forgotten,
to scan these memories and pull something from
our unconscious mind - all with the purpose of
creating something.
Something to help the patient.
This creation is,
itself,
a work of art.
Every imperceptible moment that passes is
not only a new reality; it is rebirth, renewal, and
redefinition. Ther Y