I often tell my daughter to look at things from an opposite side. Just as an "unlucky" adventure in Oliver Jeffers' book What's the Opposite can turn out to be a lucky event. Who knows? How about the female figures hidden in the famous picture of The Beauty and the Hag? Make sense?
A lot can happen when you think you've had bad luck.
My daughter's school field trip was cancelled last Friday after the weather forecast of thunderstorms. I cancelled my leave, too. And that wasn't so bad. I ended up with more time to finish my PowerPoint slides for my lecture next day. My daughter had her usual school day because of the bad weather, and invited her classmate to come over after school. By the time I'd got home, my daughter was in tears. She cried because her friend was throwing up. With high fever. I cleaned up the mess and told the two little girls that it sounded like a bout of viral illness. I figured that out because her classmate's brother had just had similar symptoms three days ago.
It wasn't a day I'd like to have had it been my choice, but it wasn't.
When I heard that my daughter's field trip was rescheduled this Tuesday, I wasn't sure I should take my a whole day off. I felt I should take a half day off, with the busy afternoon clinic session in mind. At about the same time that I first broached the idea of half day off, my thought returned to the viral illness. I counted my finger to estimate the time my daughter would get sick, just in case she caught the germ from her classmate. I caught my breath. "It makes sense to take the whole Tuesday off," I said to myself slowly, "I will take care of her - in case."
Perhaps because of my sixth sense, or perhaps by luck, I made the right prediction. My daughter ran a fever in the middle of her field trip today, when I was with her. Thank God.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Judith Kerr
Imagine your kid has a curious soul with a great deal of spur-of-the-moment ideas - as yours probably are. Many a kid will come up with activities beyond our comfort zone. An example is bringing a frog, a hamster, a goldfish, a dog, a cat and three kittens to your sister's wedding. At first glance it sounds silly, suited only to a weirdo's world. Not so. My daughter and I read about this idea in a children's book the other day.
Let's see how this idea ends up in Judith Kerr's When Willy Went to the Wedding. In this entertaining story, Willy didn't want his pets to miss his sister's wedding. No sooner did he finish the question "Shall I bring my pets to the wedding?" than Willy heard an intimidating "No." And there were not one, not two, but three big "No."
"No," said Willy's father.
"No,' said Willy's mother.
"No," said Willy's grown-up sister.
The best part of this story is how another grown-up - the bride who was going to marry Willy's sister - answered Willy. "Better not, old chap," said the bride. "Your pets might not like it." I love his tone. My daughter and I read the story for the umpteenth time, each time marvelling at the bride's way of saying no. A graceful way of saying no that most grown-ups have forgotten.
Let's see how this idea ends up in Judith Kerr's When Willy Went to the Wedding. In this entertaining story, Willy didn't want his pets to miss his sister's wedding. No sooner did he finish the question "Shall I bring my pets to the wedding?" than Willy heard an intimidating "No." And there were not one, not two, but three big "No."
"No," said Willy's father.
"No,' said Willy's mother.
"No," said Willy's grown-up sister.
The best part of this story is how another grown-up - the bride who was going to marry Willy's sister - answered Willy. "Better not, old chap," said the bride. "Your pets might not like it." I love his tone. My daughter and I read the story for the umpteenth time, each time marvelling at the bride's way of saying no. A graceful way of saying no that most grown-ups have forgotten.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Wrong
Teachers are supposed to prepare lectures with meticulous attention to details and rules. Students should be told right from wrong. Well, that's the theory, anyway. Teaching medicine is a different story. It's not that simple. Although we can find protocols and guidelines (and even treat them as the Ten Commandments chiseled in sapphire), many of them don't work in real life.
Impractical rules aside, doctors are more often wrong than right. Well, surprise, surprise. In the lecture hall (or examination hall), our own sense of rightness runs deep, and our students' faith in our rightness is as fixed as the delusion of schizophrenic patients. In short, doctors can be wrong when we think we're right. That's the first lesson I told my summer students who saw patients with me this month.
Why should the students, then, follow me who can't even tell right from wrong? In a sense, that's the blind following the blind. Quite true. Still, it's somewhat better than being blind without realizing one's blindness. My lesson for them is about being wrong: about how doctors can be wrong, and how we cope when we're wrong.
Full disclosure: I just made a mistake after I demonstrated to my students how I diagnosed pericardial effusion in a patient with breast cancer last week. Oh, that's a serious condition when a big sac of fluid encases the heart. As the sac of fluid fills, it hugs the heart harder and harder, like a boa constrictor. The result can be calamitous because the heart can't beat - you can only save your patient's life by sticking a needle and then a catheter to drain out the fluid. I was glad my students were around to see how I did that maneuver.
And everything seemed to be going great until next morning, when I found out that my catheter had been pushed in far too deep.
I'd punctured my patient's heart wall. My heart sank, and so did my patient's.
Impractical rules aside, doctors are more often wrong than right. Well, surprise, surprise. In the lecture hall (or examination hall), our own sense of rightness runs deep, and our students' faith in our rightness is as fixed as the delusion of schizophrenic patients. In short, doctors can be wrong when we think we're right. That's the first lesson I told my summer students who saw patients with me this month.
Why should the students, then, follow me who can't even tell right from wrong? In a sense, that's the blind following the blind. Quite true. Still, it's somewhat better than being blind without realizing one's blindness. My lesson for them is about being wrong: about how doctors can be wrong, and how we cope when we're wrong.
Full disclosure: I just made a mistake after I demonstrated to my students how I diagnosed pericardial effusion in a patient with breast cancer last week. Oh, that's a serious condition when a big sac of fluid encases the heart. As the sac of fluid fills, it hugs the heart harder and harder, like a boa constrictor. The result can be calamitous because the heart can't beat - you can only save your patient's life by sticking a needle and then a catheter to drain out the fluid. I was glad my students were around to see how I did that maneuver.
And everything seemed to be going great until next morning, when I found out that my catheter had been pushed in far too deep.
I'd punctured my patient's heart wall. My heart sank, and so did my patient's.
Sunday, May 8, 2016
Trumpet
The British novelist C.S. Lewis once described the value of a book this way: "No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally - and often far more - worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond."
With a single sentence he moves us to another level of reading, and to a new experience of reading.
To learn why a book should be read and reread for everyone who is aging (that's all of us), I've been combining my daughter's story book and my PowerPoint presentation (when I speak to adults, of course). Let me offer an example. The other day, I was invited to speak on the topic of informed consent in an annual signature event of my organization. My first few slides come from Mo Willems' book Listen to My Trumpet! In this wonderful picture book, Mo Willems describes how Piggie invites Gerald (Elephant buddy) to listen to his new trumpet, agog with enthusiasm.
When you go through the story, you get the buzz of excitement. What is the song about? What notes are being played with the new instrument?
But there comes a point (and I think of it as somewhat common in life) when things don't happen the way you were hoping they would happen. The musical notes are utterly incomprehensible to Gerald's ears.
"Bluuurrrk!" (Oh dear, you might ask, what is this song?)
"Gr-ark, qu-ark!
Gr-ark! (How so?)
Blap-zap-Blap-Blonk."
"So? What do you think of my trumpet?" Piggie is eager to ask for opinion by the time he has finished his masterpiece.
"Um … Your trumpet is –"
"Yes?"
"Your trumpet is LOUD," Gerald replies.
"And … ?"
"You, uh, hold your trumpet very well." Well, that's what Gerald can come up with after lots of hum and haw.
"And … !?"
Sometimes we have something important to say, something that we know "deep down in our bones" is true, and yet find it difficult to say. But at what cost? Gerald's discomfort may come from his worry about hurting Piggie. Here's how Gerald discloses his feeling: "So, I will tell you the truth. Your trumpet is loud and shiny and you hold it well - But ... that was not music. Sorry"
Who is more surprised after listening to Gerald's reaction? (Hey, Spoiler Alert!) Not Piggie, of course.
"Gerald," replied Piggie, "You think I am trying to make music? I am trying to speak Elephant! I want to sound like you."
Ohhhhhh. The relevation came suddenly. Elephant doesn't know what Piggie wants him to listen; elephant doesn't know what to tell his friend Piggie; Piggie wants to know something Elephant dare not to tell.
Well, looking at how the two of them misunderstand each other, they're pretty like how doctors and patients interact. Doctors want to inform patients, and yet don't really know what to tell. Replace the character Piggie by patient, and then Elephant by doctor in the relevation, and you'll know what I mean in my lecture.
With a single sentence he moves us to another level of reading, and to a new experience of reading.
To learn why a book should be read and reread for everyone who is aging (that's all of us), I've been combining my daughter's story book and my PowerPoint presentation (when I speak to adults, of course). Let me offer an example. The other day, I was invited to speak on the topic of informed consent in an annual signature event of my organization. My first few slides come from Mo Willems' book Listen to My Trumpet! In this wonderful picture book, Mo Willems describes how Piggie invites Gerald (Elephant buddy) to listen to his new trumpet, agog with enthusiasm.
When you go through the story, you get the buzz of excitement. What is the song about? What notes are being played with the new instrument?
But there comes a point (and I think of it as somewhat common in life) when things don't happen the way you were hoping they would happen. The musical notes are utterly incomprehensible to Gerald's ears.
"Bluuurrrk!" (Oh dear, you might ask, what is this song?)
"Gr-ark, qu-ark!
Gr-ark! (How so?)
Blap-zap-Blap-Blonk."
"So? What do you think of my trumpet?" Piggie is eager to ask for opinion by the time he has finished his masterpiece.
"Um … Your trumpet is –"
"Yes?"
"Your trumpet is LOUD," Gerald replies.
"And … ?"
"You, uh, hold your trumpet very well." Well, that's what Gerald can come up with after lots of hum and haw.
"And … !?"
Sometimes we have something important to say, something that we know "deep down in our bones" is true, and yet find it difficult to say. But at what cost? Gerald's discomfort may come from his worry about hurting Piggie. Here's how Gerald discloses his feeling: "So, I will tell you the truth. Your trumpet is loud and shiny and you hold it well - But ... that was not music. Sorry"
Who is more surprised after listening to Gerald's reaction? (Hey, Spoiler Alert!) Not Piggie, of course.
"Gerald," replied Piggie, "You think I am trying to make music? I am trying to speak Elephant! I want to sound like you."
Ohhhhhh. The relevation came suddenly. Elephant doesn't know what Piggie wants him to listen; elephant doesn't know what to tell his friend Piggie; Piggie wants to know something Elephant dare not to tell.
Well, looking at how the two of them misunderstand each other, they're pretty like how doctors and patients interact. Doctors want to inform patients, and yet don't really know what to tell. Replace the character Piggie by patient, and then Elephant by doctor in the relevation, and you'll know what I mean in my lecture.
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