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Ted Osmun, MD
S
oon after graduating, a class-
mate was pleased to read the
following message in her
local newspaper: “Mr. John Smith
wishes to thank Dr. Jones for her
kind and compassionate care dur-
ing his recent illness. She is truly
an Angel of Mercy.” While a little
nonplussed at her sudden elevation
to the boardroom of God and Son,
Inc., she was obviously pleased to
find herself in such heavenly com-
pany. She wondered what she had
done to deserve the opportunity to
dance with the angels. As she told
me later, she had only been doing
her job.
My friend wanted to separate
healing from the holy. Her patient
had no such problem, having rec-
ognized that the 2 have been en-
twined from the beginning of time.
It is only in the last few centuries
that medicine has attempted to
transform itself from the sacred to
the scientific. While we may have
convinced ourselves that we no
longer deal in the mystical, it is
obvious that the public still sees
divine guidance in much that we
do. Even in their derogatory com-
ments, we are elevated: “He thinks
he is God.”
In Europe, healing was the work of the church. Some totalled the number of lives saved the result would not be
patients think it still is. Indeed, when I didn’t respond to a very impressive. We only feel worthy if we are exhausted.
request with the appropriate alacrity, a patient informed me The patients love it. “Oh, doctor,” they commiserate,
that doctors should not be allowed to have a spouse or “You look awful. Up all night, were you?”
children — such encumbrances interfere with God’s work. Their concern belies their satisfaction, for here is a doc-
For healing is a sign of divinity, a miracle. Sure, there are tor who cares, who is virtuous enough to bear the burden
other miracles, but one doesn’t get beatified for them. No of their illnesses. After all, the doctor is exhausted from
one has suggested that Bill Gates is in line for sainthood for doing miraculous things all night long.
the miracle that is Microsoft, but Mother Theresa is most Unfortunately, like Icarus, doctors get burned when
certainly in the running. they fly too close to the sun. They topple to the sea, their
The outcome of all this excessive sanctity is a heavy wings disintegrating in a flurry of melted wax and feathers.
altruism that is intrinsic to medicine’s value system. We All watch in horror as the surf engulfs them. Perhaps a pre-
Graham Ross
work very hard to prove we are worthy. We tot up our scription pad is left floating on the waves. “Oh, dear,” we
sacred points in hours worked because, let’s face it, if we say, “I never knew Dr. Brown had a problem. If only he
had talked to me.” Secretly we are pleased, because we injecting the wrong pharmaceuticals into the wrong places.
know that Brown was not made of the right stuff and there- As the intolerance of imperfection grows, the profession
fore we must be, because we’re still here. may have to examine its working conditions, recognize
The dilemma, of course, is how to release ourselves from errors made due to fatigue and rein back its enthusiasm for
the bindings of altruism without surrendering our compas- marathons of medical care. This will be done with a heavy
sion. Is altruism so intrinsic to our value system that we are reluctance, especially by the surgical specialists who value
unable to forgo it without the collapse of our medical their macho abilities to hold themselves erect for the 36th
culture? Will we become uncaring technocrats, doing straight hour. But the rest of us will probably be grateful to
McJobs in McMedicine clinics? Even worse, will we lose relieve ourselves of our more onerous duties, all the while
our place in the pantheon and have to walk among the mor- saying publicly how dreadful it all is that we can no longer
tals? After the heady days on Olympus cavorting with the care for our patients the way we previously did.
gods, a return to the plains below seems a dull alternative. So perhaps our profession has had a surfeit of the sacred
Yet others do it. Nurses are uniformly loved and yet and it is time to divest ourselves of the sacrosanct and admit
they work, gasp, shifts. They, too, are accorded a place in that we are indeed mere men and women, flesh and blood.
the celestial pecking order by the public, flitting about at Perhaps it is only by surrendering ourselves to the reality of
the lower levels of the stratosphere. Doctors are accorded a our physical limitations that we can truly become benefi-
higher status, for they bear the secrets of medicine obtained cent rather than self-sacrificing. For in denying ourselves
from the twin gods of modern medicine, Science and the simple needs of mankind, we do not become more
Technology. Like Prometheus, we are expected to pay a compassionate. We become more disillusioned, more dis-
higher price for our hubris. We are allowed to keep our liv- tant, more resentful. Our resentment far too often turns on
ers (although alcohol takes care of many of those), but we our patients, whom we label “cranks” and “nutters.” Truth
still get chained to the rock, with the lawyers and discipli- be told, we are more deserving of those pejoratives.
nary committees hovering above us like vultures, on the It is time for us to shed the hair shirts of the monastery
lookout for deviations from godly perfection. and to leave the angels to their own celestial devices.
Perhaps our salvation will be thrust upon us. Some gov-
ernments are introducing legislation to reduce the odious Ted Osmun practises family medicine at the Southwest Middle-
hours worked by house staff in the hope that they will stop sex Health Centre, Mount Brydges, Ont.