From today's edition of Newsday ...
Lesson from a savvy doctor
BY MARC SIEGEL. Dr. Marc Siegel, an associate professor of medicine at the New York University School of Medicine, is the author of "False Alarm: The Truth About the Epidemic of Fear."
August 5, 2007
You wouldn't know it from the political debate, but health care is much more than just bald statistics about probability, necessity and risk. It is shaped by the quirks and characteristics of its practitioners.
When Dr. Jeffrey Siegel was killed by a hit-and-run motorist and taken last month at age 48 from his life as a prominent Long Island pulmonologist, the world lost a particular sort of physician. Our identities as doctors were molded in the Bellevue Hospital melting pot of the 1980s. He was the Siegel who cooperated; I was the Siegel (no relation) who fought.
Though he was my supervising chief resident for only a few rotations, I remember our clashes, as Jeff Siegel tried to teach me to be more politic and less confrontational. I was often arguing with nurses as well as patients, trying to get my points across, while Jeff was soft-spoken and known to be very persuasive.
Residency training was a cauldron, and as my medical personality was forged I began to learn from Jeff and others that I was often too forceful and that even when a patient's life is on the line it is still possible to negotiate. On the other hand, as I came into my own as a physician I also found that my outrage could help position me as a patient advocate.
Even with all the technology and the growing bottom-line thinking about cost-effective medical care, at the heart of the process are individual doctors who apply their personality traits to patient care. Jeff and I had very different styles, but we shared a tenacity that was essential at a busy city hospital like Bellevue. We were at our best as a team. Even as I was learning to be more politic, he was learning to be more gruff.
Once, a 55-year-old ironworker was admitted to the hospital with a severe heart attack and immediately demanded to leave the same day. As his resident, I was focused on keeping him alive medically.
I was so irritated at his self-destructive refusal of treatment that I began to argue with him relentlessly even as his stretcher was rolling him, still protesting, toward the operating room for cardiac bypass surgery. "You're giving me chest pains," he said, which brought me to my senses as I suddenly realized that I might be jeopardizing his heart further. It took Jeff, as my chief resident, to come by and calmly convince him to agree to the operation.
Afterward, Jeff quietly told me never to raise my voice with a patient, and he left it at that.
The surgery didn't go well, and in the recovery room, as the man's heart ballooned from damage and his lungs continued to fill with fluid, the staff was ready to give up. At which point I erupted in favor of toughing it out, this time directing my blunt insistence not at the patient but at the team working on him. Fortunately, we carried on, and the man's heart began to slowly recover.
I had learned from Jeff that there was little to be gained by yelling at a patient, but I learned for myself there was much to be gained from channeling my strong, stubborn emotions into not giving up. As he recovered, the patient began to see the benefits of my stubbornness on his behalf and grew to like me for it. Of course, he knew that he also owed his life to Jeff's very different intervention. He had strong relationships with both of us, which I am certain helped him get well faster.
Managed care and and health insurance policy arguments can leave us thinking that physicians are just interchangeable, replaceable cogs in a complex machine that doesn't run as well as it used to. Yet the human element remains essential.
Medicine is as much about the developing personalities of those who administer treatment as it is about the technology that measures metabolism. That's the lesson I got from Jeff Siegel's too-short life.
.
Lesson from a savvy doctor
BY MARC SIEGEL. Dr. Marc Siegel, an associate professor of medicine at the New York University School of Medicine, is the author of "False Alarm: The Truth About the Epidemic of Fear."
August 5, 2007
You wouldn't know it from the political debate, but health care is much more than just bald statistics about probability, necessity and risk. It is shaped by the quirks and characteristics of its practitioners.
When Dr. Jeffrey Siegel was killed by a hit-and-run motorist and taken last month at age 48 from his life as a prominent Long Island pulmonologist, the world lost a particular sort of physician. Our identities as doctors were molded in the Bellevue Hospital melting pot of the 1980s. He was the Siegel who cooperated; I was the Siegel (no relation) who fought.
Though he was my supervising chief resident for only a few rotations, I remember our clashes, as Jeff Siegel tried to teach me to be more politic and less confrontational. I was often arguing with nurses as well as patients, trying to get my points across, while Jeff was soft-spoken and known to be very persuasive.
Residency training was a cauldron, and as my medical personality was forged I began to learn from Jeff and others that I was often too forceful and that even when a patient's life is on the line it is still possible to negotiate. On the other hand, as I came into my own as a physician I also found that my outrage could help position me as a patient advocate.
Even with all the technology and the growing bottom-line thinking about cost-effective medical care, at the heart of the process are individual doctors who apply their personality traits to patient care. Jeff and I had very different styles, but we shared a tenacity that was essential at a busy city hospital like Bellevue. We were at our best as a team. Even as I was learning to be more politic, he was learning to be more gruff.
Once, a 55-year-old ironworker was admitted to the hospital with a severe heart attack and immediately demanded to leave the same day. As his resident, I was focused on keeping him alive medically.
I was so irritated at his self-destructive refusal of treatment that I began to argue with him relentlessly even as his stretcher was rolling him, still protesting, toward the operating room for cardiac bypass surgery. "You're giving me chest pains," he said, which brought me to my senses as I suddenly realized that I might be jeopardizing his heart further. It took Jeff, as my chief resident, to come by and calmly convince him to agree to the operation.
Afterward, Jeff quietly told me never to raise my voice with a patient, and he left it at that.
The surgery didn't go well, and in the recovery room, as the man's heart ballooned from damage and his lungs continued to fill with fluid, the staff was ready to give up. At which point I erupted in favor of toughing it out, this time directing my blunt insistence not at the patient but at the team working on him. Fortunately, we carried on, and the man's heart began to slowly recover.
I had learned from Jeff that there was little to be gained by yelling at a patient, but I learned for myself there was much to be gained from channeling my strong, stubborn emotions into not giving up. As he recovered, the patient began to see the benefits of my stubbornness on his behalf and grew to like me for it. Of course, he knew that he also owed his life to Jeff's very different intervention. He had strong relationships with both of us, which I am certain helped him get well faster.
Managed care and and health insurance policy arguments can leave us thinking that physicians are just interchangeable, replaceable cogs in a complex machine that doesn't run as well as it used to. Yet the human element remains essential.
Medicine is as much about the developing personalities of those who administer treatment as it is about the technology that measures metabolism. That's the lesson I got from Jeff Siegel's too-short life.
.
