You Look Fine ...

This is something I wrote back in 2008 or so when I was very sick.  Anyone that has suffered from something that is not an evident physical problem might be able to relate to this.

What does "You look fine" mean?  You expected me to be in pajamas, dirty wrinkled clothes, unkept hair... You expected me to be long faced, ashen gray...  Take a look on the inside. Take a look in my eyes to my inner being.  This is a place that is struggling to be up, to keep up with the simplest of demands and tasks.  This is a place filled with physical pain, emotional struggles, overcoming daily challenges and chronic exhaustion.  This is not what you see when you look at me is it?  Everyday I put on my best look for you and for me.  I need to, in order to try and hold onto some normalcy in my life.  It might take me half a day or half the morning to muster the courage to face the world but I do it.  I have to.  Other wise I'm afraid I might crumble from the inside - out.

Being a doctor I believe makes me even better at hiding myself from others.  Patients come to me for help not to see a struggling doctor.  Over the years I have had to develop ways to hide my physical shortcomings, mental changes and even my ability to communicate.  I limited how much I moved in front of patients so they couldn't see my altered gait due to the pain in my knees and feet.  I hid my weak left arm resting it in my pants pocket until they were face down on the table.  I spoke slowly when asked a question.  Patients thought it was so they could understand, but really, it was a stalling tactic because I couldn't access the information in my once sharp, steel trap brain.  I began to worry that as a result of my loss of cognitive ability and physical changes that I was not offering my patients the best care I knew they deserved and the care I used to be able to give them.  I became afraid of missing a key point in their health history/story and jeopardize their care.  Additionally, I was unable to write good notes due to the difficulty getting the words from my head to my hand and then to write them legibly.  All of these concerns scared me because of the potential for a malpractice suit and I felt like I was letting my patients down.  They deserved a whole doctor.  So, I got better and better at hiding my short comings from the patients, family, partner and friends.  I even began to realize that I had become an expert at rationalizing all of it to myself in an effort to convinced myself I was OK.  Since everyone kept saying how good I looked.  I must be good - right?

The day finally came when I had to face the fact that life how it was had to change.  This meant giving up my practice.  The time had come that the constant pushing of myself was crating more harm to myself and threats of mishaps.  The life I had managed to manipulate, rationalize and struggle to hold onto ended abruptly one October day.

Scared, relieved, uncertain, exhausted are just a few of the emotions, feelings, thoughts that ran through me when the doctor said "this is it - no more work".  Scared that what had been my reason to hold it together and push on was no longer.  Scared that I would crumble emotionally and physically.  Scared to face how I really felt.  Scared of my reality.  Relieved I did not have to listen to patients while trying to ignore my own aching body and sluggish brain.  Relieved from the burden of worry about my practice. Uncertain what the future held physically, mentally and emotionally.  Then the reality of the exhaustion came to the forefront.  The pain I had been trying to ignore escalated to my attention.  I no longer had to suck it up and put on a good front for my patients and peers.  I was sinking into the extent of my illness and how it and my pushing for all those years had taken a terrible toll on me.

No one understood this because I looked fine.

A Day With Sleds Dogs Talking Structure and Function

On October 5-6 I was invited to speak at the Annual Northern New England Sled Dog Trade Show in New Hampshire.  What an experience!  The fairgrounds was filled with teams of barking, howling, enthusiastic sled dogs and their owners/mushers all camping or just visiting for the days events.   It was an honor to be there presenting along with some of the greats in the sled dog world.  Aliy Zirkle and her husband Allen Moore winners of the Yukon Quest and successful participants in the Iditarod.  I really enjoyed listening to their talks.  Mushers really know every nuance of their dogs.  They have to. Most mushers personally take care of every aspect of their dogs lives and health care - on and off the race course.  Here is the link to read about the event and the speakers.

www.sleddogtradefair.org

By the way, I presented with Christine Richardson.  She is a musher from NH and who I am very grateful to have gotten my boy Spike.  Christine took the anatomy and movement I talked about and applied it to proper harness fitting so the dogs can be comfortable and move efficiently as they run for up to 1000 miles in any given race.

A few days following the event,  I was contacted by a woman who had attended my talk.  She mentioned that someone had written a blog about it.  Wow I thought how cool.  It always blows my mind how much people appreciate what I do.  When I give a talk , I share what I have observed and learned form the animals I have had the honor to work with and on over the years. My goal is that the audience will learn something that they did not know before.  I hope that when people leave a talk that they say to themselves "Hum, I never thought about that before... or I never thought about it in that way before".   So, here is the link to the blog about the talk.

http://powershealth.com/2013/10/a-lesson-from-a-horses-derriere/


If you are interested in more info on the sled dog world and talks I have given there. Check out the 2012 Alaska Sled Dog Symposium where I was the Keynote Speaker.

http://www.sleddog.org/symposium/2012-symposium/

Fix Me Doc

Give, give, give ...  More, more, more...  Give More !?!

For 19 years I gave all of me to every patient (2 legged or 4 legged).  No matter what their dis-ease, I felt responsible to fix them physically and emotionally. To open their minds to new ways of thinking and living.  I expected myself to be able to know what was wrong even without the luxury of all the fancy medical testing.  I never thought I had done enough. Thus, continuing to give until I was empty.  Boy, what lucky patients.  At the end of a visit I hoped they were leaving the office healed, guided, educated, and supported to be able to travel on a road to better health.  What a lesson.  Now I grapple with how to use my gifts and talents to help others without causing harm to myself in the process.