Remember Your Why

(I hope you plan to pick up 15 easy CME credits at the Real Estate & Entrepreneurship Conference for Physicians on September 26-28, 2024 in Dallas, Texas. Time is running out. Attending the conference virtually is also an option.

Thanks to all of you who test read my next book, The Doctors Guide to Reclaiming the Joy of Practicing Medicine. The deadline was Sept 2^nd so I have now begun my rewrite based on your suggestions. If you still haven’t turned yours in, please do so right away, even if you haven’t completed the book.)

Sometimes we get so caught up in the day-to-day operations of our medical practice that we forget why we took on the lofty goal of becoming a physician. We all had different reasons for beginning the long, hard road of medical training, using borrowed money that is not easy to repay. Then we start our first attending job only to find the road is still not easily navigated.

If your job has you down, it’s a good time to remember your why. Why did you become a physician? Was it to negotiate your way through the labyrinth of an electronic medical records program? Did you become a physician for the long hours that enable you to craft an excuse to miss your daughter’s 5^th grade band concert? Or was the reason you chose to become a physician more meaningful?

I’m guessing you realized that if you became a physician, you could make a big impact on the lives of others. That was why I wanted to travel the long journey of becoming a general surgeon.

Recently my friend and retired ophthalmologist, Dr. Russ Leavitt, shared a story that really captures the why behind our journey. His story had me wiping tears from my eyes. I asked if he would allow me to share this heartwarming story with you and he graciously said yes. I hope you like it as much as I did and maybe it will rekindle your why. Be sure to have some tissues handy.

I worked as a partner in a busy private ophthalmology practice. One of my passions was to help the underserved via overseas medical mission trips. Taking time off from medicine to go on these trips, however, can be a very expensive endeavor for a physician. If one has a private practice, like I did, the overhead expenses continue while we are away, and we are not generating any income to cover those expenses while we are gone. If one is an employed physician, those overhead expenses are not directly evident, but the time off is precious and there may only be 4-6 weeks available each year for vacationing. Taking time off for a medical mission trip would come out of this precious limited time off.

The poor and uninsured people in the United States can get the urgent care they need fairly readily. They often live only a few miles from a hospital emergency department that is required to see and treat everyone who walks in. They might not be able to pay the bill, but their medical problem will get solved. 

When I performed mission surgery in developing countries, the people there did not have this same access to medical care that we enjoy. They might live so far from a hospital that having surgery is not even an option for them. There might not even be a physician in their town.

Even though it was very expensive for me to make these trips, I felt I had the financial bandwidth and resources to help. These trips always made me feel good about being a physician. My why was strengthened on every trip.

On one such trip to Liberia, Africa, with Mercy Ships, I was confronted with a blind six-year-old girl. Upon closer examination, she had very severe bilateral cataracts and nystagmus. The prognosis in this case was guarded. There was no way of knowing if the retina, nerves or even the visual cortex were all connected properly and functioning. There was the possibility of us using our limited resources to operate on her and end up with a successful operation but the little girl would still be blind.

We decided to take a chance on her in the hope that if we removed the cataracts, everything would work properly, and she would see again. Without sight, her future prospects were very slim in her community. We opted for bilateral cataract surgery, more out of hope than confidence, even though we almost never do bilateral surgery in a single setting. Since this might be her only opportunity for surgery, we took the chance in doing it bilaterally and were extra careful about reducing the chance of infection. The family was well aware the surgery might not work.

This beautiful young girl left the operating room with both eyes covered with patches. On her postoperative check I removed both patches and noticed her nystagmus had lessened, which was a hopeful sign.

After disposing of the bandages, I went to the sink to wash my hands before speaking with the little girl’s mother about our expectations. When I returned to the bedside the mother asked me a question.

As I began conversing with the mother, I noticed her daughter tugging at her mother’s sleeve. The mother brushed off the distraction to ask me another question. As I answered her second question, the daughter tugged again, but a little harder this time. Yet the mother’s attention stayed focused on me.

By the third question the little girl’s tug became a fierce yank on her mother’s sleeve. The exasperated mother turned to her daughter and let out a loud “WHAT?”

The daughter smiled and said, “Mommy, I can see you.”

In that moment every hope this mother had dared to hope, every dream she had dared to dream, and every prayer she had dared to pray became realized. The mother did not jump for joy, embrace her daughter, or even speak. She simply stared at her little girl with two very large tears running down her cheeks. Through her tears she realized that she had just witnessed what seemed to her to be a miracle. Her daughter was blind, and now she sees.

That moment, and many more like it, form the backbone of why I became a physician. To this day, several years after my retirement, I still have many stories I can’t tell without getting choked up. To have the power to bring that kind of joy to other people is a blessing and a joy of its own.

I have seen firsthand the awful lack of available healthcare in several other countries. A situation that is unacceptable. For all the annoying obstacles placed into our path in caring for patients in North America, it’s easier to tolerate the inconveniences knowing what the alternative looks like. These medical mission trips improved my attitude towards practicing in Oregon.

Physicians have the knowledge, skill, and ability to bring a high level of service to others. Please don’t let a little tussle with an insurance company, a bad day with the electronic health records program, or even a tough call night stop you from spreading the joy of healing to the world. To others, what we do might be seen as a miracle.

If you have forgotten your why, or lost the joy of practicing medicine, don’t despair as you are not alone. You can get the joy back again. Watch for my next book coming out in late fall, The Doctors Guide to Reclaiming the Joy of Practicing Medicine, and bring the joy back into your life. Not just your career, but your home life as well.