This is a GREAT glimpse into the world of an ER doctor:
Chess With God
Boris D. Veysman, MD
[Ann Emerg Med. 2010;55:123-124.]
Give me a bad position, I will defend it. Openings, endgames, complicated positions, dull draws, I love them and I will do my very best.—Hein Donner, Chess player, 1950
Not only does God play dice, but… he sometimes throws them where they cannot be seen.—Stephen Hawking
Amidst a busy shift when patients pile in, seasoned nurses start to grumble, and my blood sugar and bladder volume are most discordant, I overhear a fourth-year medical student share wisdom with a third-year newbie. “ER’s got a good schedule if you like doing overpaid triage.” I smile, enjoying the involuntary adrenaline boost from sublimated anger, before refocusing on the labs of the 80-year-old woman with digoxin toxicity and acute renal failure, presenting with runs of unstable tachycardia, prolonged QT interval, hyperkalemia, hypocalcemia, and a filthy cough suggesting preseptic pneumonia.
The next 20 seconds is a synaptic typhoon. Could elevated lactate mean not sepsis but mesenteric ischemia? A benign exam would not rule it out, and she is too sick to complain of abdominal pain. Tachycardia and hypoxia suggest pulmonary embolism (PE), given her edematous legs and recently stopped Coumadin when she had a GI bleed. This also increases the risk of mesenteric clot. Yet the contrast timing is different for CT angiograms of chest and abdomen, and I will have to choose which to optimize. Both studies are perilous because of the dye load, given acute renal failure, but failure to make either diagnosis would be fatal in a patient this sick. Meanwhile, empiric anticoagulation risks another massive GI bleed. Dialysis and transfusion may be necessary damage control to be considered concurrently with the diagnostic studies. Furthermore, calcium gluconate is contraindicated in digoxin toxicity because of mostly hypothetic cardiac tetany but would probably help with the blood pressure. Calcium would also treat hyperkalemia and hypocalcemia (strangely equal at 6.5), which both contribute to cardiac toxicity. If the heart gives out, it’s my fault either way, and I find that liberating. Digibind for the hyperkalemic digoxin toxicity, but that will worsen the heart failure. Definitely fluids for hypotension and sepsis but absolutely no fluids because of pulmonary edema and renal failure.
“Dr. V, she’s 80/50,” the nurse reports. Time’s up. Make a move…
.
We may choose emergency medicine for different reasons, but we fall in love all over again when after a few years of practice we begin to understand its magic. For me, it’s the intensity of thought when time is short and stakes are high in a battle against the worthiest of opponents. There are many hard cases that challenge the depth of our ability and ingenuity. We believe that God plays fair and you often get a shot at winning, regardless of how dismal the malady. A broad differential and rapid and often imperfect diagnostics are often the only way to find in time what’s lethal and irreversible. And before the diagnostics are back, preemptive strikes of empiric therapy based on calculated risks and hunches may earn you a guerrilla victory.
There are no simple cases. Not at this level. There are simple doctors unwilling to try harder to optimize efficiency, cost, and outcomes, to do it with less radiation exposure, fewer side effects, and higher real and perceived quality. Every ankle and ear doesn’t need radiographs and antibiotics, but some do, and most need thoughtful pain management and anticipatory guidance, with the entire encounter limited to only a few seconds by more pressing cases. Every patient, sick or well, is a chance to be our best, to recognize when our best is not enough, and to get help before it’s too late. If it were easy, I wouldn’t want to do it.
When consultants who see the patient the next day whine about “shotgun workups,” “excessively broad antibiotics,” and “inconsistent management,” emergency physicians laugh nostalgically and think, “that was a good save.” However lacking in elegance the evaluation may appear to the hammer who sees the world as a nail, he should have spoken when he was somehow unavailable at 2 am on a Saturday. We are emergency specialists and we step up to the board, for anyone, at any time, and with a unique skill set.
We know that you don’t always get second chances playing against God. Specialists wishing to “see the patient in the morning,” surgeons who interrupt with “what did the CT scan show?” and primaries requesting to “wait for the blood cultures before treating” are occasionally right, but more often they fail to feel our sense of urgency and appear not invested in the battle. Seasoned ER docs are not desperate for approval, camaraderie, or admiration; often we can even write a rain check on respect. When squaring off against our adversary 30 times a shift, self-respect is earned and goes a long way toward self-esteem. But we deserve alliance, for others to be on our side in caring for the patient. This means trusting our instincts. This means respect for our expertise in ambiguity and patients who don’t read the textbook.
The metal doors burst open and the paramedics roll in a man who looks grayer than the sheet. “All we know is he’s got a kidney pancreas transplant with a pacemaker and he’s been depressed lately. We found him unresponsive next to some pills. Good vital signs in the truck but now I can’t feel the pulse.” The third-year med student stares blankly at the paramedic, while the fourth-year looks close to passing out. The nurses run to the gurney to transfer the lifeless body onto the stretcher, begin working on access, connecting leads. I stand up slowly and take a deep breath. The board is set; the next move is mine.
Welcome back, old friend. You open well. Let’s play….
Article Outline
[Ann Emerg Med. 2010;55:123-124.]
Give me a bad position, I will defend it. Openings, endgames, complicated positions, dull draws, I love them and I will do my very best.
—Hein Donner, Chess player, 1950
Not only does God play dice, but… he sometimes throws them where they cannot be seen.
—Stephen Hawking
Amidst a busy shift when patients pile in, seasoned nurses start to grumble, and my blood sugar and bladder volume are most discordant, I overhear a fourth-year medical student share wisdom with a third-year newbie. “ER’s got a good schedule if you like doing overpaid triage.” I smile, enjoying the involuntary adrenaline boost from sublimated anger, before refocusing on the labs of the 80-year-old woman with digoxin toxicity and acute renal failure, presenting with runs of unstable tachycardia, prolonged QT interval, hyperkalemia, hypocalcemia, and a filthy cough suggesting preseptic pneumonia.
The next 20 seconds is a synaptic typhoon. Could elevated lactate mean not sepsis but mesenteric ischemia? A benign exam would not rule it out, and she is too sick to complain of abdominal pain. Tachycardia and hypoxia suggest pulmonary embolism (PE), given her edematous legs and recently stopped Coumadin when she had a GI bleed. This also increases the risk of mesenteric clot. Yet the contrast timing is different for CT angiograms of chest and abdomen, and I will have to choose which to optimize. Both studies are perilous because of the dye load, given acute renal failure, but failure to make either diagnosis would be fatal in a patient this sick. Meanwhile, empiric anticoagulation risks another massive GI bleed. Dialysis and transfusion may be necessary damage control to be considered concurrently with the diagnostic studies. Furthermore, calcium gluconate is contraindicated in digoxin toxicity because of mostly hypothetic cardiac tetany but would probably help with the blood pressure. Calcium would also treat hyperkalemia and hypocalcemia (strangely equal at 6.5), which both contribute to cardiac toxicity. If the heart gives out, it’s my fault either way, and I find that liberating. Digibind for the hyperkalemic digoxin toxicity, but that will worsen the heart failure. Definitely fluids for hypotension and sepsis but absolutely no fluids because of pulmonary edema and renal failure.
“Dr. V, she’s 80/50,” the nurse reports. Time’s up. Make a move….
We may choose emergency medicine for different reasons, but we fall in love all over again when after a few years of practice we begin to understand its magic. For me, it’s the intensity of thought when time is short and stakes are high in a battle against the worthiest of opponents. There are many hard cases that challenge the depth of our ability and ingenuity. We believe that God plays fair and you often get a shot at winning, regardless of how dismal the malady. A broad differential and rapid and often imperfect diagnostics are often the only way to find in time what’s lethal and irreversible. And before the diagnostics are back, preemptive strikes of empiric therapy based on calculated risks and hunches may earn you a guerrilla victory.
There are no simple cases. Not at this level. There are simple doctors unwilling to try harder to optimize efficiency, cost, and outcomes, to do it with less radiation exposure, fewer side effects, and higher real and perceived quality. Every ankle and ear doesn’t need radiographs and antibiotics, but some do, and most need thoughtful pain management and anticipatory guidance, with the entire encounter limited to only a few seconds by more pressing cases. Every patient, sick or well, is a chance to be our best, to recognize when our best is not enough, and to get help before it’s too late. If it were easy, I wouldn’t want to do it.
When consultants who see the patient the next day whine about “shotgun workups,” “excessively broad antibiotics,” and “inconsistent management,” emergency physicians laugh nostalgically and think, “that was a good save.” However lacking in elegance the evaluation may appear to the hammer who sees the world as a nail, he should have spoken when he was somehow unavailable at 2 am on a Saturday. We are emergency specialists and we step up to the board, for anyone, at any time, and with a unique skill set.
We know that you don’t always get second chances playing against God. Specialists wishing to “see the patient in the morning,” surgeons who interrupt with “what did the CT scan show?” and primaries requesting to “wait for the blood cultures before treating” are occasionally right, but more often they fail to feel our sense of urgency and appear not invested in the battle. Seasoned ER docs are not desperate for approval, camaraderie, or admiration; often we can even write a rain check on respect. When squaring off against our adversary 30 times a shift, self-respect is earned and goes a long way toward self-esteem. But we deserve alliance, for others to be on our side in caring for the patient. This means trusting our instincts. This means respect for our expertise in ambiguity and patients who don’t read the textbook.
The metal doors burst open and the paramedics roll in a man who looks grayer than the sheet. “All we know is he’s got a kidney pancreas transplant with a pacemaker and he’s been depressed lately. We found him unresponsive next to some pills. Good vital signs in the truck but now I can’t feel the pulse.” The third-year med student stares blankly at the paramedic, while the fourth-year looks close to passing out. The nurses run to the gurney to transfer the lifeless body onto the stretcher, begin working on access, connecting leads. I stand up slowly and take a deep breath. The board is set; the next move is mine.
Welcome back, old friend. You open well. Let’s play….