Doctor Sunshine

My dad always wanted to be a doctor. He grew up, the eldest of three brothers, in upstate New York. His father worked in the factories of Rochester, his mother Coletta did her best to provide. She suffered from primary biliary cirrhosis, an autoimmune disease that slowly destroys the liver. My Dad recalled that she was always sick.

Joe delivered newspapers and studied hard in school. He was driven and lucky to be gifted. He received a scholarship to St. John Fisher college. Then, he applied to Harvard Medical School and by some small miracle was accepted. Before he could graduate, Coletta passed away from liver failure. I can only imagine how awful that must have been. It fueled my dad’s passion. He would try to heal what could not be healed.

My dad was the kind of person I think of as a ‘natural doctor’. He cared about his patients beyond ‘professional’ obligations. He was like family to them. He loved them. He wasn’t afraid. Once another doctor warned him that he shouldn’t drive his patients home from the hospital – ‘You might get sued!’ he exclaimed. My dad just smiled, knowing how impossible that was.

His patients, friends and colleges came to know him as ‘Doctor Sunshine’. He always had a ready smile. Everyone was equal – everyone had a name. From the janitor on the 4th floor, to the new radiology tech, to the E.R. nurse’s mom. For almost thirty years my dad took care of people in small town Connecticut. He was their doctor. That was my dad.

Cancer took him too early. I remember I first heard the news while traveling in the Philippines. He didn’t want me to come home, but to finish my work there at San Lazaro hospital. That was typical of my dad, he always put others first.

I had hoped one day to show my dad the Philippines. There was so much work to do, so many to take care of. He would have to see it through my eyes and hear it through my stories. The Philippines was such a far away place.

For some reason, my dad never had pain during the weeks his health declined. That was another miracle. As the cancer spread, he slipped into a long sleep without suffering.

It’s hard to believe it’s been five years already since he left. I know I’ve got big shoes to fill.

RW

Inspiration

I’ve just finished Stephen King’s book, On Writing, which a friend of mine gave me.  It was a brilliant read – inspirational, riveting, and funny - a ‘personal masterpiece’.  Stephen interweaves his life experiences into an encouraging guide of the writer’s craft. It’s a story that’s meant to be told:  From humble beginnings to a troubled youth, through difficult times to success despite severe obstacles, and finally to a wisdom earned.

His stories and dark themes terrify me.  Cujo is based on the terror of a rabid monster of a dog.  Misery describes the psychotic tendencies of a fan who ‘hobbles’ her victim with a bone-crushing whack of a sledgehammer.  Yikes!

HIV needlestick!

A good friend of mine who works as a nephrologist was putting in a dialysis catheter. She had done many ‘lines’ before and this one was just routine. The catheter looked like a very large needle with tubing attached. The catheter or dialysis line provides access to the blood stream to provide the patient with life saving hemodialysis. When the kidneys fail, a patient will die in a very short time without dialysis, as toxic levels of metabolites build up.

She accessed the neck veins and got a good flow of blood, indicating the line was in position. She finished up the placement and was preparing to give some fluids to flush the line clean. Now that the ‘hard’ part of placing the line was done, her attention lapsed ever so slightly. While preparing the fluids, she inadvertently stabbed the needle through her glove and into her finger. A lancinating pain ran up her arm – it was a bad ‘stick’ or injury. The needle had penetrated through and through her finger.

My first patient with rabies

I will always remember Joey, the first patient
I ever saw with rabies.

I was a medical resident on a rotation at San Lazaro Hospital, in the heart of Manila, 10,000 miles from home.

Joey was a small boy, not more than 5 years old. Two months ago, he suffered a dog bite on his leg from the neighbor’s puppy. It was just a small nip in the skin, with only a few drops of blood produced. The puppy seemed alright, but it died a few days later – seemingly a victim of the stifling Manila heat. The parents struggled to make ends meet for their family of 5, it would be too much to take Joey to see a doctor – instead they would visit a local faith healer.

After some incantations and a procedure where a black porous stone was affixed to the wound (tandok), the family felt reassured rabies would not strike. The family had heard of rabies, but trusted the faith healer, as he proclaimed to have saved many lives from that cursed illness.

When Joey started to get sick 7 weeks later, the parents thought it was just a cold. He didn’t have much appetite and had some headache. A few days later he had some fever and felt tired. Then, he started to complain about itching on the leg where he had been bitten before. That night, he didn’t eat any dinner. His older sister thought he should at least try to drink something, so she brought him a glass of water. Joey suddenly shrieked and held his hand to his mouth when he saw the water, trying to get away from the threat in front of him. Terrified, the mother realized her son had rabies!