Sunday, December 4, 2011
How could I not?
I wouldn't describe writing as fluid. To capture the moment to moment drama played out in the confines of the exam room is anything but straightforward. I grasp at the straws of fluency and try to clarify through garbled grammar and awkward phrasing.
But what choice to do I have? How else can I integrate the hum drum reality of family dinners interrupted by phone calls regarding code status and withdrawing life support? How do I explain why I tear up at the end of a sad movie yet negotiate pain and suffering as if I was a weatherman announcing another sunny day in San Diego.
When I stop writing my soul shrivels behind a protectionist shell. I become a shadow of the husband and father that I used to be. I transform from a healer to a nameless, faceless physician. The kind you look up in the index of some health insurance guide book.
But maybe, just maybe, when you read my words you'll feel a little bit closer to understanding.
Physicians will nod their heads in a shared brotherhood of traumatic experiences.
And patients will know that someone is finally listening.
Posted by Jordan Grumet at 7:39 PM