, Studies show that up to 50% of medical students, residents and physicians suffer from burnout, and our profession continues to seek resources and solutions to combat it. I recently found renewed inspiration and a fresh perspective where I least expected it — a patient.
On a busy clinic morning last week, my nurse told me that a 20-year-old male and his mother were waiting to see me. Glancing at the brief hospital summary, I realized that the phone call his mother had received just before Thanksgiving last year was one that every parent dreads. Her son had been involved in a devastating motor vehicle accident, suffered a major traumatic brain injury and was not expected to survive. Prior to that dreadful day, he had been like any other college student — taking classes, studying, dating and enjoying an active social life.
When she arrived at the hospital, the patient’s mother was told that the chances of her son surviving the night were slim. Somehow he clung to life. Being a nurse, she demanded that they transfer him to a tertiary care center that specialized in brain injuries. The transfer was risky, but she was insistent. For the next two months, he was comatose. Finally one day, he opened his eyes and saw his mother.
The next two months were filled with exhausting rehab and therapy. As I opened the exam room door, I was uncertain what I would find. Surprisingly, I was greeted by a smile that seemed to light up the room and a firm handshake. His speech was slightly slow, but his general neurologic exam was reassuring. He excitedly told me the name of each of his doctors and therapists, and outlined his therapy and goals. His rehabilitation specialist had sent him to me so he could have a primary care physician.
Throughout the visit, I was struck by this patient’s optimistic attitude, constant smile and overall sunny disposition. Curious whether this may have been related to his devastating brain injury, I asked his mother whether he had always been this way. Sensing where I was going with my question, she laughed and said that he had been like this since childhood. She looked at her son, and they both laughed. She said the staff at the hospital brain injury unit and the rehabilitation center had never seen anyone like him.
I told my new patient that I was pleasantly surprised at his positive attitude. Most people with such serious injuries suffer from depression. Jokingly I told him that I thought it would be impossible to wipe the ever-present smile off of his face. He told me that is just how he is. He knew he should not be in the room with me and was grateful to be alive. He knew he had a lot of work ahead of him, but he also knew he was going to keep getting better. His goal was to drive to our next visit.
I thought about this patient the rest of the week. Life can be a struggle for all of us, and being a physician can take an emotional toll. However, my 20 minutes with this patient put things into the proper perspective. I have the degrees, education and clinical experience, but he had faced death and refused to give up. Physicians are supposed to be educators and teachers. In this instance, it is clear that my patient was the teacher, and I was the student. His resilience and perseverance was both astounding and inspiring. He gave me a lot to think about, and I am forever grateful that he chose me to be his doctor.
James Voirin, DO, FAAFP
FOMA President, February 2019 - May 2019
On a busy clinic morning last week, my nurse told me that a 20-year-old male and his mother were waiting to see me. Glancing at the brief hospital summary, I realized that the phone call his mother had received just before Thanksgiving last year was one that every parent dreads. Her son had been involved in a devastating motor vehicle accident, suffered a major traumatic brain injury and was not expected to survive. Prior to that dreadful day, he had been like any other college student — taking classes, studying, dating and enjoying an active social life.
When she arrived at the hospital, the patient’s mother was told that the chances of her son surviving the night were slim. Somehow he clung to life. Being a nurse, she demanded that they transfer him to a tertiary care center that specialized in brain injuries. The transfer was risky, but she was insistent. For the next two months, he was comatose. Finally one day, he opened his eyes and saw his mother.
The next two months were filled with exhausting rehab and therapy. As I opened the exam room door, I was uncertain what I would find. Surprisingly, I was greeted by a smile that seemed to light up the room and a firm handshake. His speech was slightly slow, but his general neurologic exam was reassuring. He excitedly told me the name of each of his doctors and therapists, and outlined his therapy and goals. His rehabilitation specialist had sent him to me so he could have a primary care physician.
Throughout the visit, I was struck by this patient’s optimistic attitude, constant smile and overall sunny disposition. Curious whether this may have been related to his devastating brain injury, I asked his mother whether he had always been this way. Sensing where I was going with my question, she laughed and said that he had been like this since childhood. She looked at her son, and they both laughed. She said the staff at the hospital brain injury unit and the rehabilitation center had never seen anyone like him.
I told my new patient that I was pleasantly surprised at his positive attitude. Most people with such serious injuries suffer from depression. Jokingly I told him that I thought it would be impossible to wipe the ever-present smile off of his face. He told me that is just how he is. He knew he should not be in the room with me and was grateful to be alive. He knew he had a lot of work ahead of him, but he also knew he was going to keep getting better. His goal was to drive to our next visit.
I thought about this patient the rest of the week. Life can be a struggle for all of us, and being a physician can take an emotional toll. However, my 20 minutes with this patient put things into the proper perspective. I have the degrees, education and clinical experience, but he had faced death and refused to give up. Physicians are supposed to be educators and teachers. In this instance, it is clear that my patient was the teacher, and I was the student. His resilience and perseverance was both astounding and inspiring. He gave me a lot to think about, and I am forever grateful that he chose me to be his doctor.
James Voirin, DO, FAAFP
FOMA President, February 2019 - May 2019