User login
My office’s storage room has an old bankers box, which has been there since I moved 8 years ago. Before that it was at my other office, behind an old desk. I had no idea what was in it, I always assumed office supplies, surplus drug company pens and sticky notes, who-knows-whats.
Last week I had one of those days where everyone cancels, so I decided to investigate the box.
It was packed with 10 years worth (2000-2010) of my secretary’s MRI scheduling sheets that had somehow escaped occasional shredding purges. So I sat down next to the office shredder to get rid of them.
As I fed the sheets in, the names jumped out at me. Some I have absolutely no recollection of. Others I still see today.
There were names of the long-deceased, bringing them back to me for the first time in years. There were others that I have no idea what happened to – they must have just stopped seeing me at some point, though for the life of me I can’t remember when, or why. Yet, in my mind, there they were, as if I’d just seen them yesterday. A few times I got curious enough to turn back to my computer and look up their charts, trying to remember their stories.
Then there were those I still remember clearly, every single detail of, in spite of the elapsed time. Something about their case or personality had indelibly etched them in my memory. A valuable lesson learned from them that had something or nothing to do with medicine that’s still with me.
Looking back, I’d guess I’ve seen roughly 15,000-20,000 patients over my career. Not nearly as many as my colleagues in general practice, but still quite a few. A decent sized basketball arena full.
The majority don’t stick with you. That’s the way it is in life.
The ones we didn’t know long – but who are still clearly remembered – are also valuable. In their own way, perhaps unknowingly, they made an impact that hopefully makes us better.
For that I’ll always be grateful to them.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
My office’s storage room has an old bankers box, which has been there since I moved 8 years ago. Before that it was at my other office, behind an old desk. I had no idea what was in it, I always assumed office supplies, surplus drug company pens and sticky notes, who-knows-whats.
Last week I had one of those days where everyone cancels, so I decided to investigate the box.
It was packed with 10 years worth (2000-2010) of my secretary’s MRI scheduling sheets that had somehow escaped occasional shredding purges. So I sat down next to the office shredder to get rid of them.
As I fed the sheets in, the names jumped out at me. Some I have absolutely no recollection of. Others I still see today.
There were names of the long-deceased, bringing them back to me for the first time in years. There were others that I have no idea what happened to – they must have just stopped seeing me at some point, though for the life of me I can’t remember when, or why. Yet, in my mind, there they were, as if I’d just seen them yesterday. A few times I got curious enough to turn back to my computer and look up their charts, trying to remember their stories.
Then there were those I still remember clearly, every single detail of, in spite of the elapsed time. Something about their case or personality had indelibly etched them in my memory. A valuable lesson learned from them that had something or nothing to do with medicine that’s still with me.
Looking back, I’d guess I’ve seen roughly 15,000-20,000 patients over my career. Not nearly as many as my colleagues in general practice, but still quite a few. A decent sized basketball arena full.
The majority don’t stick with you. That’s the way it is in life.
The ones we didn’t know long – but who are still clearly remembered – are also valuable. In their own way, perhaps unknowingly, they made an impact that hopefully makes us better.
For that I’ll always be grateful to them.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
My office’s storage room has an old bankers box, which has been there since I moved 8 years ago. Before that it was at my other office, behind an old desk. I had no idea what was in it, I always assumed office supplies, surplus drug company pens and sticky notes, who-knows-whats.
Last week I had one of those days where everyone cancels, so I decided to investigate the box.
It was packed with 10 years worth (2000-2010) of my secretary’s MRI scheduling sheets that had somehow escaped occasional shredding purges. So I sat down next to the office shredder to get rid of them.
As I fed the sheets in, the names jumped out at me. Some I have absolutely no recollection of. Others I still see today.
There were names of the long-deceased, bringing them back to me for the first time in years. There were others that I have no idea what happened to – they must have just stopped seeing me at some point, though for the life of me I can’t remember when, or why. Yet, in my mind, there they were, as if I’d just seen them yesterday. A few times I got curious enough to turn back to my computer and look up their charts, trying to remember their stories.
Then there were those I still remember clearly, every single detail of, in spite of the elapsed time. Something about their case or personality had indelibly etched them in my memory. A valuable lesson learned from them that had something or nothing to do with medicine that’s still with me.
Looking back, I’d guess I’ve seen roughly 15,000-20,000 patients over my career. Not nearly as many as my colleagues in general practice, but still quite a few. A decent sized basketball arena full.
The majority don’t stick with you. That’s the way it is in life.
The ones we didn’t know long – but who are still clearly remembered – are also valuable. In their own way, perhaps unknowingly, they made an impact that hopefully makes us better.
For that I’ll always be grateful to them.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.