Medic Interrupted

Seems like one of the only manly outposts left in Long Island suburbia is the barber shop, where dads can go by themselves or with their sons and enjoy discussing sports, women and life in general using vocal tones amplified with testosterone. There was actually a priest sitting in the barber’s chair next to mine, sympathizing with my plight as an attorney. You see, the priest had played in his first poker game the night before. After finishing his third hand, the priest concluded that he couldn’t find the morality to bluff his fellow players, and left the game.

As an attorney, it is never acceptable to tell a lie. Painting a picture for the judge and jury using the facts of the case as colors is more akin to what lawyers like myself do. Using the facts is what makes us advocates. Creating falsities is what would get us in trouble. Yet, there seems to be an art in treading the fine line between these two concepts. Take, for instance, palliative phrases I use as a medic with injured patients and their families: “we are going to do everything we can for your daughter”; “we are going to help you the best we can”; “you’re going to feel some pressure while I start this IV”. So next time someone asks you the riddle of what a priest, an attorney and a medic have in common, you can say the answer .

On the other hand, when my seven year old son asked me whether I knew why the chicken crossed the road, I asked back to him, “why?”. I usually tuck my kids into bed before they go to sleep. But on this night, both my son and daughter bravely professed to me that they wanted to go to sleep on their own. We kissed and hugged downstairs, and up the stairs to bed they went while I finished watching the basketball game on TV. Needless to say, after the game, I heard their scurrying, saw their bedroom light go off suddenly, and found my two munchkins giggling (at absolutely nothing!) in their room in bed under the covers . “Get to sleep – NOW!” I admonished them. “We are trying daddy!” I hope they don’t learn to play poker anytime soon.

A client came into my law firm yesterday. He was scared. Genuinely scared. And he was a firefighter/EMT. He sat in the chair across from me in my office, and the first thing he said to me was, “I’m here because I trust you.” He suspected he was going to be sued for discrimination. Even if he prevailed on such a case, he still would be scarred and marked for life. Think “The Rocket” Roger Clemens walking around with a halligan and a trauma bag. As I listened to his story, I felt it was more important to look into his eyes as he spoke rather than taking notes as I usually do. “I don’t know what to do, Rich. Is this the end for me and my family?”. I told him in no uncertain terms that there was no danger and that he did nothing wrong. He was thankful- both to God and to me. “I know I can believe you, Rich. Thanks.” We finished up, and he gave me a Svengali-like bear hug. Royce Gracie, eat your heart out. He left my office a new man, ready to fight fires and rescue the injured.

I responded to a car accident that night. Three cars, and a lot of damage. A young girl, who was anunrestrained backseat passenger was walking around at the scene. No outside signs of DCAP-BTLS, but my suspicions ran high for internal bleeding. She must have called her parents before my bus arrived on scene, becase they came to the accident site. “Why aren’t you taking her to the same hospital as the others? It’s closer.” Not much time to sit with them in consultation to explain the difference between a trauma center and the other hospital. I told them that I have two children of my own, and I would do the same thing for my kids as I would their daughter. “OK. We trust you are doing the right thing.”

My kids are both sick today. They sound like seals when they cough, and elephants when they blow their noses. My house is, literally, a zoo. They take the medicine I give them so readily. I tell them that they will be better soon. “When, daddy?” “very very soon.” They smile at me, and then they go downstairs to play.

I went to the gas station to fill my tank up before I hit up Dunkin’ Donuts for some coffee and a bagel. I had to pay the attendant before he would turn the pump on. Guess he didn’t trust me.