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I wrote a letter to my Dad the other day. This is a little piece of it. Many of you know that I've been particularly crispy as of late. I figured I'd post this here because some of you let me know that you enjoy my writing, and I'm probably looking for some help and advice. I see a counselor regularly. I'm going to be okay. Forgive some of the language; I had to write it so a person with limited medical knowledge could read it.
**** BEGIN COPY-PASTED SECTION ****
That’s what it comes down to.
I’m this close [ ] to casting it all off, and saying: “Go eff yourselves. Atlas has shrugged.”
I would love to see a hospital administrator come down to the ER at 2:35 in the AM to assist with a critical patient. He or (more likely, she) wouldn’t know what the hell to do, but they love to parade around in a crisp and pressed white coat with their name embroidered fancily on it.
TAKE IT OFF, YOU POSEUR! (sic) YOU NEVER EARNED THE WHITE COAT! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN WEAR IT? THE CLOSEST YOU GET TO A PATIENT IS BEHIND MY DESK, AT A SAFE DISTANCE FROM ANY PATIENT CONTACT, WITH A CLIPBOARD IN YOUR HAND, CRITIQUING ME, MAKING SURE THE CHECKBOXES ARE CHECKED. GET THE FUUCK OUT OF MY WAY! YOU ADD NOTHING TO PATIENT CARE, YET YOU HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE, A 401K , AND LOTS OF OTHER BENEFITS THAT I DO NOT.
Nobody respects our profession. To the admins, we are all just sheep with a bell around our neck so the shepherd (an administrator) can count the flock. You don’t see me wearing dog tags, camo, or jump boots! You know why? BECAUSE I’M NOT MILITARY! I can’t handle an M-16. I can’t handle a grenade launcher… and I DON’T PRETEND TO ! To the patients, we are just waitstaff that should jump at their every need, lest their be a "4" instead of a "5" on the Press-Ganey Survey. GASP!
There was a movie a few years back called “The Watchmen”. I highly recommend you watch it. It really is right up your alley. It is set in the mid 80s, during the height of the Cold War and the concept of “Mutually Assured Destruction” These were the days that you were stockpiling canned food under the basement stairs in (my hometown) not far from the pool table. (Yep, I remember. I used to re-arrange them by size and by variety because I was a kid, and I liked to play with blocks. Or Cans. Cans are like blocks, but they don't stack the same way, so you have to THINK it thru.
EXCEPT: the superhero in the movie; “Dr. Manhattan”, who won the Vietnam War for the US (in this alternate timeline) and is holding the Soviets at bay (because he can intercept a nuclear launch with his mind power) decides to leave Earth for Mars, because he can breathe/exist anywhere and has no interest in selfish human conflict anymore.
He is not subject to the frailties of human physiology. Interstellar travel? No problem. He creates himself a palace of glass on Mars because… it suits him, and he can watch the Americans and the Soviets destroy each other if they like. He is no longer interested in taking a side, in an almost God-Like role.
The underlying conflict is: “Well, who Watches the Watchmen?!”
After some time, Dr. Manhattan is alone on Mars, and says (to nobody, because nobody is listening besides the viewer).
“I quite prefer this small red planet, to that larger blue planet.”
10 years in medicine has taught me that “Only those who can’t understand… they are tasked with watching the Watchmen.” And the Watchmen… aren’t superheroes, at all. They're just trying to do a job that eats away their sanity."
I quite prefer this small red planet, to that larger blue planet.
**** BEGIN COPY-PASTED SECTION ****
That’s what it comes down to.
I’m this close [ ] to casting it all off, and saying: “Go eff yourselves. Atlas has shrugged.”
I would love to see a hospital administrator come down to the ER at 2:35 in the AM to assist with a critical patient. He or (more likely, she) wouldn’t know what the hell to do, but they love to parade around in a crisp and pressed white coat with their name embroidered fancily on it.
TAKE IT OFF, YOU POSEUR! (sic) YOU NEVER EARNED THE WHITE COAT! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN WEAR IT? THE CLOSEST YOU GET TO A PATIENT IS BEHIND MY DESK, AT A SAFE DISTANCE FROM ANY PATIENT CONTACT, WITH A CLIPBOARD IN YOUR HAND, CRITIQUING ME, MAKING SURE THE CHECKBOXES ARE CHECKED. GET THE FUUCK OUT OF MY WAY! YOU ADD NOTHING TO PATIENT CARE, YET YOU HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE, A 401K , AND LOTS OF OTHER BENEFITS THAT I DO NOT.
Nobody respects our profession. To the admins, we are all just sheep with a bell around our neck so the shepherd (an administrator) can count the flock. You don’t see me wearing dog tags, camo, or jump boots! You know why? BECAUSE I’M NOT MILITARY! I can’t handle an M-16. I can’t handle a grenade launcher… and I DON’T PRETEND TO ! To the patients, we are just waitstaff that should jump at their every need, lest their be a "4" instead of a "5" on the Press-Ganey Survey. GASP!
There was a movie a few years back called “The Watchmen”. I highly recommend you watch it. It really is right up your alley. It is set in the mid 80s, during the height of the Cold War and the concept of “Mutually Assured Destruction” These were the days that you were stockpiling canned food under the basement stairs in (my hometown) not far from the pool table. (Yep, I remember. I used to re-arrange them by size and by variety because I was a kid, and I liked to play with blocks. Or Cans. Cans are like blocks, but they don't stack the same way, so you have to THINK it thru.
EXCEPT: the superhero in the movie; “Dr. Manhattan”, who won the Vietnam War for the US (in this alternate timeline) and is holding the Soviets at bay (because he can intercept a nuclear launch with his mind power) decides to leave Earth for Mars, because he can breathe/exist anywhere and has no interest in selfish human conflict anymore.
He is not subject to the frailties of human physiology. Interstellar travel? No problem. He creates himself a palace of glass on Mars because… it suits him, and he can watch the Americans and the Soviets destroy each other if they like. He is no longer interested in taking a side, in an almost God-Like role.
The underlying conflict is: “Well, who Watches the Watchmen?!”
After some time, Dr. Manhattan is alone on Mars, and says (to nobody, because nobody is listening besides the viewer).
“I quite prefer this small red planet, to that larger blue planet.”
10 years in medicine has taught me that “Only those who can’t understand… they are tasked with watching the Watchmen.” And the Watchmen… aren’t superheroes, at all. They're just trying to do a job that eats away their sanity."
I quite prefer this small red planet, to that larger blue planet.
