I had the opportunity to spend Easter on call, and it was very interesting how, here in the ICU, no one acknowledged that this was a holiday for the rest of the world. I did my best to wish families and patients a Happy Easter, but felt somewhat uncomfortable doing so, as no one else on the medical team wanted this to enter into "the serious business of healing." One patient, after the team had left, felt comfortable telling me that what she really wanted on this Easter was a purple jellybean to eat. Luckily, she was one of the few patients in the ICU who was allowed to eat, and I then trecked to see if I could find the purplish treat...I also started coming up with my story, so that when I was asked, I could convince my superiors that this was really a powerful medicine I was delivering.
"What is that you are bringing to room 16?"
(a beautiful exhibition of the inability to refer to patients as humans...they are either known by their disease, their room number, and if they have an impressive enough case, maybe just by an organ..."the liver over there")
"Uh, yeah, this is the noon dose of the antibiotics she is on."
"You mean, the Jelly Belly brand of antibiotics, since that is what is plastered on the side of the pills?"
"I guess the Jellybean industry is as cutthroat as the Pharmaceutical industry, and have decided to place ads on prescription meds" (mumbled as I walk away)
Well, I found a purple jellybean, delivered it without incidence, and was met with such a great smile that I quickly thought back to common sense medicine (which is not taught in medical school), which suggests that if a small dose is effective in bringing healing, then a larger dose is indicated...so, a little while later, after going through the stash of jellybeans I had found, picking out the purple ones, I had a nice little cup of "medicine" to deliver...and indeed, common sense medicine held true - her smile was just a bit bigger this time, and I even got a positive "laugh sign" on my physical exam!
A good reminder to myself that, as a healer, I can
cure occassionally,
heal often,
and comfort always
Also a reminder that when suffocated with seriousness, a random act of kindness is good medicine for all.
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