Mea culpa

This is one story I've never told before. Not to anyone. Not to my peers. Not to my juniors. Not even to my wife.

Even now, I'll admit, the story makes me squirm.

It was a hot summer afternoon over ten years ago, shortly after I had got my membership title in medicine. There were membership examination study aids stacked waist-high in my office, all shrink-wrapped against the gathering dust and pale in comparison with my overflowing ego. I was running around the hospital to see my patients. By noon, several dozen new patients had been admitted to our department. As the medical beds within our department were being used up, patients had to be shuffled. That means patients from one overcrowded department would be moved to another department. That's never a good idea. And there's more to patient safety than inconvenience. I didn't even know that one of my patients had been relocated until late evening.

I was intrigued, and furious. "Who in the right mind would want to know how a doctor can handle patients staying in one building, and at the same time, those far far way?" I wished to change the situation and decided to make some written complaint out of my hectic schedules. I wrote a complaint letter on behalf of my patient and coaxed her to sign it (to be submitted to the hospital). After I finished the letter, I thought I'd done a wonderful job, even more satisfying than publishing a paper in a prestigious medical journal.

At the end of the day, I was caught red-handed and received a serious reprimand. I can still remember the stern face of my boss, and the lesson sticks like Velcro to my memory. Now, decade later, I've learned to tap into my social brain, preparing myself better for the ups and downs. Much as we teach our kids to reframe an upsetting moment (like the old saying "No use crying over spilt milk"), I make use of similar wisdom to deescalate emotional storms.