Kdv Blue Orchid 2000 Part1
Carey Jangam
Ever since the fateful day when I walked through the tunnel joining our office building to the parking lot and discovered the limp, lifeless form of my friend and colleague, I have wrestled with the meaning and value of our work, our lives, and our calling as physicians. My friend ended his very fruitful life in despair, having been systematically and relentlessly devalued over the years by the very career to which he had given his heart, mind, body, and soul.
This good physician moved through his days at the hospital with a warm, open smile for everyone, all the while struggling in a health care system that is often unwelcoming to solo practitioners. In the early 2000s, he enjoyed a stable practice and was an inspiration to those of us who encountered him each day. His dedication and work ethic were clear for all to see. He always wore a short white coat, a white shirt, and khaki pants. That was his uniform. Behind his spectacles, he had kind blue eyes. A dermatologist, he had great skin. Disciplined, highly observant, ethical in large and small matters, this man possessed an immense desire for lifelong learning. His enthusiasm was contagious. He took great pleasure in spontaneously sharing his knowledge and findings.
I knew him as a physician since 1995, and from 2007 I knew him as a colleague when I became chair of the department of medicine and he was a faculty member. Our offices were across the street from the hospital. I was on the second floor and he was in private practice on the fourth floor where he was leasing space from the hospital. A tunnel connects the hospital and office buildings. Our paths would cross in the tunnel, and he would always take time to wish me well, and I would wish him well in return. Having passed each other several times one day, he noticed a spot on my cheek.
His office was full of stories. He still preferred paper charts to electronic medical records. His nurse greeted me with a warm smile; she had been with him for over fifteen years. He proudly showed me a photograph of himself with two of his three sons and his son-in-law on the golf course at the Masters in Augusta. This was a gift of love to him from all his children and their families. His shelves held photos of patients and exotic places around the world. Potted orchids of different hues were all over his office.
During my appointment, he explained about my skin lesion and took time taking my full medical history. The good physician gave me detailed instructions about why I needed to get it taken care of, explaining the importance of the skin as an organ. He emphasized the importance of sunscreen.
\u201CI love growing orchids,\u201D he said, \u201Cbut I garden before the sun comes up or after it sets. Even then, I always wear sunscreen.\u201D His skin was immaculate even though he was seventy-six years old.
\u201CI know about sunscreen now in America,\u201D I said, \u201Cbut I never grew up with sunscreen in India.\u201D I enjoyed speaking with him. You could easily spend an hour or more in his company because he had so much to talk about. That appointment really began our relationship. He helped me take care of that lesion, which could have been precancerous.
Only one thing seemed almost at odds with his kindness and compassion. That was his attachment to his designated parking space next to our office building. Nobody was allowed to park in his spot, even if it was empty. One time, my daughter parked there for a few minutes to briefly visit me. He left a stern sticky note on her windshield. It said something like, \u201CThis spot is reserved. Do not park here. Please move the vehicle immediately.\u201D That was his one pet peeve. We respected it. I took him an orchid as a peace offering and we laughed about it afterwards.
Around 2015 there was a lot of change within the organization, including a reengineering of the building spaces for physicians and patients. I had made my decision to step down as department chair and was moving into the dean\u2019s office. It was autumn and we were all busy moving.
One Wednesday afternoon he stopped by my office. I was surrounded by boxes. \u201CMukta, I need to know what to do,\u201D he said. \u201CThey\u2019re asking me to leave my office. I need to work and take care of my wife.\u201D He\u2019d brought a big portfolio of photos he had prepared for teaching. \u201CLook, I want to teach. I have all this teaching material.\u201D He hated technology, but had gotten a computer and trained himself to make PowerPoint presentations, converting his old slides into PowerPoints. \u201CI want to continue doing this.\u201D
\u201CI don\u2019t know what to do about that. I am not in a position of authority anymore. I am leaving myself. But I can definitely try to help get you involved in teaching the students. We\u2019ll have to talk to the university leadership about that.\u201D
\u201CLook, let\u2019s get an appointment for you with the university leadership.\u201D I walked with him downstairs to the medical education office, where he made an appointment for that Friday. I found out later they did have the meeting and that it went okay.
This week on September 17 is National Physician Suicide Awareness Day. I hope to help shine a light on this epidemic that now exists within a pandemic, and a stark \u201Csecond wave\u201D season ahead fighting COVID-19.
Each day this week I am posting an excerpt from Chapter 16, \u201CThe Good Physician\u201D from my recent book, Resilient Threads: Weaving Joy and Meaning into Well-Being. This chapter is the story of losing my good friend and colleague to his death by suicide and how it fueled my inner fire to co-create a culture of well-being at my institution and to help establish the Lifebridge Program with the Chattanooga-Hamilton County Medical Society to encourage physicians to reach out before they are in a crisis.
In April 2020, Dr. Lorna Breen, an emergency physician, died by suicide. She is not the only one, not by far. Her family has established the Lorna Breen Foundation and has partnered with CORD and other organizations to present a bill to the U.S. Congress, the \u201CDr. Lorna Breen Health Care Provider Protection Act.\u201D Learn more and share this link to urge Congress to support this initiative:
The other day I was leading a tour under a perfect blue sky across some rocks in the recently dried-out borrow ditch onto Lee Cypress Prairie. As we pushed through shoulder-high goldenrod on the far side, a bright green anole inspected us from perch just below the dried flower heads.
It made me recall as a child when every U.S. five-and-dime store sold green anoles as chameleons, along with baby red-eared turtles. Although our anoles can change color, chameleons they most certainly are not. Anoles are creatures of the new world and members of the Iguana family. They are very limited in their color palette compared to the rather prehistoric-looking true chameleons of Africa and the old world. These have feet with two toes facing forward and two back to better grip branches in common with parrots and woodpeckers, independently rotatable eyeballs, prehensile tails and famously, projectile tongues to seize their prey.
Our native green anole (Anolis carolinensis) seems mundane in comparison. It is however, very versatile and a remarkable survivor in the face of collection for the pet trade, habit loss and invasion by its cousin, the Cuban or brown anole (Anolis sagrei), native of course to Cuba, as well as to the Bahamas and nearby islands.
7fc3f7cf58