Several supporters of Grand Rounds have contacted me about the Carnival study from Free Money Finance -- are there conclusions here that can help expose the writers and hosts of Grand Rounds to a larger audience?
In short, I don't think it has much bearing on our practice. Former GR hosts on the discussion board can learn why; I'm not interested in airing this publicly. In the meantime, I look forward to watching Carnival of the Colonoscopists and every other niche group try to manipulate Instapundit into greater traffic -- if that's not a zero-sum game, it's asymptotically approaching it.
But have no doubt: the writing in Grand Rounds is worthy of a wide audience. Go check out the latest edition, now up at Straightfromthedoc.com.
Next week's host is Healthy Concerns. It's worth noting that both these blogs feature a lot of advertising, and are, in fact, part of corporate ventures. I've been a part of another such enterprise for several months now.
Has sponsorship compromised these blogs, these writers? Is advertising something you're sad to see? Mull it over, because the path to boosting Grand Rounds traffic may lie in this direction.
Time and Place
I've been reading and writing about global positioning technology for a few years now, and still to partake in the occasional geocache hunt from time to time. But Wade Rousch has written something pretty insightful and novel on the subject:
The author thinks it's inevitable that cell phone companies turn on the GPS devices they've included in their phones. I think there will be some tentative steps in that direction, but there's potential for a huge backlash against location-tracking.
Maybe it's like broswer cookies: if the benefits outweigh the potential loss of privacy, and if people can opt-out if they want, then the technology will be adopted.
Indeed, GPS is transforming geography in much the same way that mechanical clocks and watches regularized our once fluid experience of time. As soon as there were simple ways to measure time, we could organize our actions around specific moments; every school bell and factory whistle in the nation could sound at 8:30 A.M. The concept of synchrony set the stage for the 19th-century revolutions in industry and transportation.
Similarly, now that we can easily measure latitude and longitude, we can organize our actions around specific locations. Adventurers can navigate to the same remote spot at different times, as in geocaching; businesses, artists, or historians can share online information about any physical thing using its GPS-supplied coordinates rather than a Web-type Uniform Resource Locator (URL). Call it "synlocality."
The author thinks it's inevitable that cell phone companies turn on the GPS devices they've included in their phones. I think there will be some tentative steps in that direction, but there's potential for a huge backlash against location-tracking.
Maybe it's like broswer cookies: if the benefits outweigh the potential loss of privacy, and if people can opt-out if they want, then the technology will be adopted.
XLVII
Circadiana is hosting the 47th Grand Rounds. Check out the latest from the medical blogosphere, and be sure to peruse this interesting sleep research blog.
Maybe somewhere in Bora's archives is the answer to why I'm awake right now.
Next week's host is Kevin Pho, M.D., coming to you straight from the doc. Email me if you're interested in hosting future editions of Grand Rounds.
Maybe somewhere in Bora's archives is the answer to why I'm awake right now.
Next week's host is Kevin Pho, M.D., coming to you straight from the doc. Email me if you're interested in hosting future editions of Grand Rounds.
Buried Treasures
Lileks was in rare form with today's Bleat -- disclosing the secret Amazon customer service number (800-201-7575), wandering around renovated malls, and musing about Shakespeare's role in Psalm 46:
Like that man a hundred years ago, who discovered the (potential) Easter egg in the King James Bible, the question is not so much "who put it there?" but -- "how was it ever discovered?" Then again, if you look at a typical science grad student's day, it's spent poring over data, looking for trends in excel spreadsheets.
I guess the difference now is we generate our own data, rather than analyzing and re-analyzing the masters.
I think about this sometimes when I'm quickly scanning through slices of a head CT, looking for gross blood. How many megabytes am I skimming through? How many head CTs will I order tonight? How many will be done in this ED, in this city, just tonight?
These are images of the seat of consciousness, and I spend about twenty seconds scanning for particular patches. When I don't see them, I close the window and move on. After the radiologist confirms, that data is consigned to the dustbin, maybe never to be viewed again.
I'm confident we (almost never) miss anything that could affect the patient's short-term health. But maybe we're missing something else.
Count 46 words from the start, and you get "Shake." Then count 46 words from the end. You get "Spear." The KJV was published in 1611; Shakespeare turned 46 in 1610.
Like that man a hundred years ago, who discovered the (potential) Easter egg in the King James Bible, the question is not so much "who put it there?" but -- "how was it ever discovered?" Then again, if you look at a typical science grad student's day, it's spent poring over data, looking for trends in excel spreadsheets.
I guess the difference now is we generate our own data, rather than analyzing and re-analyzing the masters.
I think about this sometimes when I'm quickly scanning through slices of a head CT, looking for gross blood. How many megabytes am I skimming through? How many head CTs will I order tonight? How many will be done in this ED, in this city, just tonight?
These are images of the seat of consciousness, and I spend about twenty seconds scanning for particular patches. When I don't see them, I close the window and move on. After the radiologist confirms, that data is consigned to the dustbin, maybe never to be viewed again.
I'm confident we (almost never) miss anything that could affect the patient's short-term health. But maybe we're missing something else.
Against the Tide
I remember riding the subway on Friday evening, heading to the first of three night shifts in the emergency department. I had slept poorly during the day, and didn't know what to expect from these first weekend overnights. Traumas? Procedures? Would I be able to handle the pressure?
I surveyed my fellow passengers. The subway seemed bouyant, full of laughter and the relief of people leaving the work week behind. I felt a pang knowing that, whatever happened these next few nights, I'd be missing the party.
But I was wrong -- the party, as it turned out, came to me.
Riding back on this morning, with my post-shift giddiness, I scanned the solemn Monday morning faces. Are they concerned about the same things I was? Could they possibly enjoy their jobs as much as I do mine?
I surveyed my fellow passengers. The subway seemed bouyant, full of laughter and the relief of people leaving the work week behind. I felt a pang knowing that, whatever happened these next few nights, I'd be missing the party.
But I was wrong -- the party, as it turned out, came to me.
Riding back on this morning, with my post-shift giddiness, I scanned the solemn Monday morning faces. Are they concerned about the same things I was? Could they possibly enjoy their jobs as much as I do mine?
A More Significant Diversion
My phone received a text message last night, from a friend who knew me back when:
And as my texting friend noticed, there are some parallels in Dubois' account of a normal descent, no cautionary word from the cockpit, etc., and my tale from a few months back.
Except, you know, his plane crashed and caught fire, and he could have easily been killed, while my flight was just diverted for a few hours. Details.
Of all the passenger interviews, Dubois gives the best summary of what happened on Air France 358, and what it felt like, and wisely leaves the editorializing to passengers like Gwen Dunlop. So, kudos to him for keeping cool and remembering details after an unbelievably distressing experience.
But it remains to be seen, of course, where Dubois goes from here. A blog? Memoirs? Movie of the Week? Because his ceiling is sky-high, let me tell you.
"Olivier Dubois is the new Nick Genes!"I didn't know what this cryptic phrase meant, until I picked up the Metro this morning and saw Dubois all over the front page, relating details from his airline adventure.
And as my texting friend noticed, there are some parallels in Dubois' account of a normal descent, no cautionary word from the cockpit, etc., and my tale from a few months back.
Except, you know, his plane crashed and caught fire, and he could have easily been killed, while my flight was just diverted for a few hours. Details.
Of all the passenger interviews, Dubois gives the best summary of what happened on Air France 358, and what it felt like, and wisely leaves the editorializing to passengers like Gwen Dunlop. So, kudos to him for keeping cool and remembering details after an unbelievably distressing experience.
But it remains to be seen, of course, where Dubois goes from here. A blog? Memoirs? Movie of the Week? Because his ceiling is sky-high, let me tell you.
Pitching Relief
Two articles caught my eye recently, dealing with Red SOx pitcers and the physicians and psychologists keeping them on the field.
In today's Boston Globe, there's a discussion with noted sports psychologist Harvey Dorfman, on why he thinks Matt Clement will successfully return to the mound after being beaned in the head by a line drive:
Interesting, that a split-second response, barely effective, might save him from debilitating fear down the road. I would have thought the severity of the injury (in this case, luckily, minor) would play a larger role.
Also, from a few weeks ago, the LA Times had good report of Dr. Bill Morgan's dismissal from the Red Sox last fall (if you can stomach some of the sportswriter's overwrought style). The best part of the piece was the physician's perspective in watching Game 6:
A great look behind the events of that week. But some details are missing from the larger picture: though he touched upon Morgan's drinking, the the writer should have informed readers about Morgan's driving record. More importantly, the reporter neglected to mention the Red Sox management's principle of non-sentimentality. Hell, they traded the high-energy Cabrera and even Dave Roberts, who stole second base and began the greatest turnaround in sports history. Both these guys became fast fan favorites, performed above and beyond expectations, and certainly didn't cost much.
In today's Boston Globe, there's a discussion with noted sports psychologist Harvey Dorfman, on why he thinks Matt Clement will successfully return to the mound after being beaned in the head by a line drive:
"A lot of it has to do with where you've been hit, believe it or not," said Dorfman, who has worked with the Athletics and Marlins and is now on the staff of sports agent Scott Boras.
"I was watching on TV when Matt was hit and the first thing I said to myself was, 'I think he'll be all right, it was on the side of the head.'
"Look, you can't predict the future. How people respond is up to them individually. But what I mean when I say it was better that he was hit on the side of the head is that it allows a guy the idea that essentially, he got out off the way. Of course, that's almost absurd in a sense, but he was turning out of the way of the ball. When you're hit flush in the face, that's a different story."
Interesting, that a split-second response, barely effective, might save him from debilitating fear down the road. I would have thought the severity of the injury (in this case, luckily, minor) would play a larger role.
Also, from a few weeks ago, the LA Times had good report of Dr. Bill Morgan's dismissal from the Red Sox last fall (if you can stomach some of the sportswriter's overwrought style). The best part of the piece was the physician's perspective in watching Game 6:
While others were writing off the season, however, Morgan was having a brainstorm. Instead of fixing Schilling's ankle, he wondered, what if it were somehow possible to temporarily freeze its malfunction? What if the dislocated tendon could be held fast to the bone, just to keep the thing from flicking back and forth?
An intriguing idea. Just one small problem. It had never been done before. In the annals of medicine, in the annals of ankles, the procedure Morgan proposed was unprecedented, the surgical equivalent of coming back from 0-3. "I've never thought of doing it myself, nor have I ever read of someone else doing it," says Dr. Robert Leach, professor of orthopedics at Boston University Medical School and former team doctor for the Boston Celtics.
Morgan ran his idea by Schilling and found the pitcher willing. Nervous but willing. "I walked in the training room," Schilling recalls, "and Doc looked at me and said, 'Let me throw this at you.' It was a last gasp. We'd exhausted all our options. It was either this or I didn't pitch. I'd resigned myself to the fact that I was done."
Once Schilling—and Sox officials—agreed to the procedure, Morgan decided he'd better practice first. He needed to make sure the procedure was even feasible, that the tissue around a human ankle bone was soft enough to be penetrated by sutures. With time running out on the season, Morgan performed a dry run on a dead body.
The practice surgery worked. Sort of. There was no way to really test it because there was no way to send the dead guy out to face the Yankees. Then, turning from corpse to ace, in a remote training room far below Fenway Park, Morgan knitted Schilling's ankle with five or six deep O-shaped stitches.
Schilling's teammates, meanwhile, partly inspired by the specter of their comrade laid out on a makeshift operating table, managed two wins against the Yankees, staying alive until Schilling could take the ball again.
October 19, 2004. Game 6. Cameras zoomed in on Schilling's ankle and millions of Americans saw the sock slowly turn red, as Schilling's face turned white. "I was scared to death," Schilling says. Tentatively, perilously, he stood propped on his Morgan-repaired joint, peering at New York's batters over the webbing of his glove.
Fans everywhere held their breath. Morgan, watching on a TV in the clubhouse, held his breath, too. Some bleeding was normal, he knew, but what he looked for, what he dreaded, was blood on the sock that appeared "frank," or dark red, which would mean the sutures had torn.
Everyone in the Sox organization had a lot at stake that night, but Morgan and Schilling were risking the most. They both knew that if Schilling's tendon ruptured, if infection set in, if any number of things went wrong, Schilling could fall to the ground like a man shot with a deer rifle. More, he might never heal properly. He might date the end of his brilliant career from that night, that game, that unprecedented procedure.
A great look behind the events of that week. But some details are missing from the larger picture: though he touched upon Morgan's drinking, the the writer should have informed readers about Morgan's driving record. More importantly, the reporter neglected to mention the Red Sox management's principle of non-sentimentality. Hell, they traded the high-energy Cabrera and even Dave Roberts, who stole second base and began the greatest turnaround in sports history. Both these guys became fast fan favorites, performed above and beyond expectations, and certainly didn't cost much.
Breaking News
I like to browse the headlines on ScienceDaily, looking for stuff to read or blog about. I don't know if it's my mood or a particularly obvious set of headlines, but this Friday's edition gave my inner snark some material to work with:
Do Free Drug Samples Influence Residents' Prescribing Decisions?
I think it depends on how fastidiously the residents take the drugs.
Nuclear Weapons Continue to Pose a Serious Health Risk to Europe
I actually thought this was lazy headline-writing -- that it was really an article about storage leaks or background radiation. But no, the report is about nuclear weapon detonation being a health risk. Because, you know, they're weapons.
Delirium Associated with Premature Death
But what a way to go!
Knee Pain Often Linked To Pain Elsewhere In The Body
This was particularly true of patients who had been run over, or had fallen from great heights.
Top Ten Reasons Blogborygmi's Been Quiet
10. This new city I'm living in has more things to do
9. Furniture shopping can expand to fill all my free time if I let it
8. I've been writing on Medgadget (and using the royal "we" has left me without a sense of identity)
7. I have two posts about moving, two on orientation, and one post about my first shift that still need some polishing
6. Making new friends, keeping the old
5. The PGY-2's are 'teaching' me poker
4. It's really humid
3. I find myself reading more medical journals, instead of surfing medlogs
2. Interns don't seem to talk a lot
And the number one reason I haven't posted here in a while:
1. The networks stopped calling me, what's the point anymore?
9. Furniture shopping can expand to fill all my free time if I let it
8. I've been writing on Medgadget (and using the royal "we" has left me without a sense of identity)
7. I have two posts about moving, two on orientation, and one post about my first shift that still need some polishing
6. Making new friends, keeping the old
5. The PGY-2's are 'teaching' me poker
4. It's really humid
3. I find myself reading more medical journals, instead of surfing medlogs
2. Interns don't seem to talk a lot
And the number one reason I haven't posted here in a while:
1. The networks stopped calling me, what's the point anymore?
Inside the Beltway
Last year I blogged about Nathan's Hot Dog eating contest. This year, I gave some thought to attending this spectacle of competitive eating (these plans were laid to rest the night before, when I enganged in the spectacle of competitive drinking).
Anyway, it doesn't look like I missed too much. The same guy, Takeru Kobayashi, won again (though last year, he was frequently called by his nickname, "the Tsunami." Not so much, this year).
Also unchanged: the dearth of scientific inquiry into this ... sport. I mean, it's been over twenty years since competitive race-walking was examined in detail -- is that any more of a sport than competitive eating? Which activity is of more relevance to the obese American taxpayer?
All I can really find on the matter is this press release from the International Federation of Competitive Eating:
Sadly, Popular Science doesn't really conclude the 'belt of fat' theory is correct. The reporter just asserts it, and goes on to talk about satiety signaling. The entire piece is not much longer than the IFOCE press release.
I think there's plenty of room for more ... data. Granted, I have an appetite for this stuff, but I think it's worthy of extra helping from the scientific community. Because the few morsels of information we have now are hard to digest (as are these puns. I'm sorry.)
Krachie and company are arguing, essentially, that a belly of fat is more compressive than skin and muscle are distensible. I'm not convinced. I wouldn't be surprised if the thin eating champs were born with weak pyloric sphincters, or exhibit higher capacity for smooth muscle relaxation. But until we start doing some barium swallows and endoscopies on these people, we're just guessing.
Sooner or later, the reward money for these contests will prompt some competitors to fund their own clandestine research. And it would be a shame if these athletes were smeared with allegations of shady practices. Let's keep the research open and freely available -- let science have a seat at the table.
Anyway, it doesn't look like I missed too much. The same guy, Takeru Kobayashi, won again (though last year, he was frequently called by his nickname, "the Tsunami." Not so much, this year).
Also unchanged: the dearth of scientific inquiry into this ... sport. I mean, it's been over twenty years since competitive race-walking was examined in detail -- is that any more of a sport than competitive eating? Which activity is of more relevance to the obese American taxpayer?
All I can really find on the matter is this press release from the International Federation of Competitive Eating:
The November 2003 Popular Science addresses the tendency for thinner, in-shape gurgitators to beat heavier eaters in competition. Many intuitively believe that a larger individual has more room to hold food, but this is not the case. The magazine states that the size of the stomach at rest is inconsequential and that the ability for the stomach to expand is all that matters.
This is the conclusion reached by former world champion hot dog eater Edward Krachie in his 1998 scholarly journal article, "CAN ABDOMINAL FAT ACT AS A RESTRICTIVE AGENT ON STOMACH EXPANSION? An Exploration of the Impact of Adipose Tissue on Competitive Eating." In his article, Krachie goes a step further and proves that the stomach of a heavier eater is prevented from expanding by a "belt of fat."
The IFOCE and Edward Krachie submitted his piece to numerous academic journals including the New England Journal of Medicine. Sadly, all journals rejected his piece.
Sadly, Popular Science doesn't really conclude the 'belt of fat' theory is correct. The reporter just asserts it, and goes on to talk about satiety signaling. The entire piece is not much longer than the IFOCE press release.
I think there's plenty of room for more ... data. Granted, I have an appetite for this stuff, but I think it's worthy of extra helping from the scientific community. Because the few morsels of information we have now are hard to digest (as are these puns. I'm sorry.)
Krachie and company are arguing, essentially, that a belly of fat is more compressive than skin and muscle are distensible. I'm not convinced. I wouldn't be surprised if the thin eating champs were born with weak pyloric sphincters, or exhibit higher capacity for smooth muscle relaxation. But until we start doing some barium swallows and endoscopies on these people, we're just guessing.
Sooner or later, the reward money for these contests will prompt some competitors to fund their own clandestine research. And it would be a shame if these athletes were smeared with allegations of shady practices. Let's keep the research open and freely available -- let science have a seat at the table.
Escaped from the Madhouse
A conversation fragment from the incoming resident orientation (I used proper names in reality):
Me: "So, you did your medical internship at Hospital X? Maybe you know Madhouse Madman?"
2nd-Year Resident: "Oh, yeah. He's great. Actually, he told me to look out for you, that you'd be here. He said you two met online."
Me: "Uh, well, I wouldn't put it that way, really. I mean, I heard of him through his website..."
PGY-2: "You've never met him in person?"
Me: "No. I don't even know what he looks like. But I've seen pictures of his new daughter, though. And he just got back from this trip to Israel, it sounded nice."
PGY-2 pauses to wonder how I know these disparate pieces about a man I've never seen.
Me: "He leads a very public ... private life."
41
Tim Gee of Medical Connectivity is hosting Grand Rounds this week:
Well said. As a medical connectologist, Gee is an interesting and underreported player in the health care industry. Stop by his site, learn about what he does, and check out the latest from the medical blogosphere.
Next week's host is Shrinkette.
Grand Rounds always impresses me with the diversity, richness and good writing that comes from folks in the many areas in health care, and today is no different.
Well said. As a medical connectologist, Gee is an interesting and underreported player in the health care industry. Stop by his site, learn about what he does, and check out the latest from the medical blogosphere.
Next week's host is Shrinkette.
Lordy, Lordy: Grand Rounds 40
David Williams' Health Business Blog is hosting Grand Rounds XL (though it looks the appropriate size). Go check out the latest and greatest from medical bloggers around the world, and get your submissions to Medical Connectivity for next week.
Transition
Today, Lileks compares antique stores to funeral parlors -- the sadness that surrounds forgotten treasures of our past, abandoned when we go off to school. Coincidentally, I was just musing to a friend about my old Snoopy pencil-case today, which always signified the end of summer and start of another year of elementary school.
It's taken twenty-five years, but I'm not a student anymore. Tomorrow is my first day of work.
I wish I had more to say, more I could articulate about this transition. I'm going to try to heed Doc Shazam's advice, and record my early impressions of doctoring and internship. But for these past few weeks, it seems I've lost my voice. Blogging, for me at least, requires some modicum of stability, and these heady times have been anything but stable.
But I've found a new home, and a busy schedule is about to be thrust upon me. Order will reassert itself soon enough. And as Ben Folds reminds us on his new album, it's not wise to get nostalgic about the last ten years, before the last ten years have passed.
I think I get what he means. But of course, it's his song about airlines and new beginnings that really speaks to me:
The entry below is actually something I wrote a few weeks ago, around graduation, but couldn't quite bring myself to post. Now seems like a good time to clear out the drafts -- a new wave of experiences begins in a few hours.
It's taken twenty-five years, but I'm not a student anymore. Tomorrow is my first day of work.
I wish I had more to say, more I could articulate about this transition. I'm going to try to heed Doc Shazam's advice, and record my early impressions of doctoring and internship. But for these past few weeks, it seems I've lost my voice. Blogging, for me at least, requires some modicum of stability, and these heady times have been anything but stable.
But I've found a new home, and a busy schedule is about to be thrust upon me. Order will reassert itself soon enough. And as Ben Folds reminds us on his new album, it's not wise to get nostalgic about the last ten years, before the last ten years have passed.
I think I get what he means. But of course, it's his song about airlines and new beginnings that really speaks to me:
If you wrote me off, I'd understand it
'Cause I've been on, some other planet
So come pick me up... I've landed.
The entry below is actually something I wrote a few weeks ago, around graduation, but couldn't quite bring myself to post. Now seems like a good time to clear out the drafts -- a new wave of experiences begins in a few hours.
Appearances
Graduation week alone should be more than enough to consume me, with its good-byes, fond remembrances, and the commencement of a grand and challenging career.
But add to the mix the ups and downs of apartment hunting, furniture shopping, trying to find a home for my cat and my car, a bachelor party in Cancun, and making sure I'm sufficiently overexposed, in print and on TV. I've got a full plate.
It's been over three months since I've seen a patient, and I'm missing it. This weekend our class heard some speeches about the privilege and noble duty of medicine, of treating the sick. Among the things that have stayed with me is a talk honoring a faculty member who passed recently. The speaker said:
I think I know what she was talking about (and it's not hospital billing codes).
I think I need those kinds of encounters to stay grounded. I sometimes worry if that's pathological, but frankly, there's more pathology in the extremely fun but ultimately superficial interactions that have preoccupied me since I got back from Greece.
Our graduating seniors take the Oath of Maimonides, and the excerpt below seems particularly relevant:
I'm very, very lucky to be in medicine, and to have such family and friends.
But add to the mix the ups and downs of apartment hunting, furniture shopping, trying to find a home for my cat and my car, a bachelor party in Cancun, and making sure I'm sufficiently overexposed, in print and on TV. I've got a full plate.
It's been over three months since I've seen a patient, and I'm missing it. This weekend our class heard some speeches about the privilege and noble duty of medicine, of treating the sick. Among the things that have stayed with me is a talk honoring a faculty member who passed recently. The speaker said:
"She was so enthusiastic about connecting with patients, really, deeply connecting. She sometimes called those encounters 'Level 5 Interactions' -- I have no idea what that means but it sounded really intense."
I think I know what she was talking about (and it's not hospital billing codes).
I think I need those kinds of encounters to stay grounded. I sometimes worry if that's pathological, but frankly, there's more pathology in the extremely fun but ultimately superficial interactions that have preoccupied me since I got back from Greece.
Our graduating seniors take the Oath of Maimonides, and the excerpt below seems particularly relevant:
The eternal providence has appointed me to watch over the life and health of Thy creatures. May the love for my art actuate me at all time; may neither avarice nor miserliness, nor thirst for glory or for a great reputation engage my mind; for the enemies of truth and philanthropy could easily decieve me and make me forgetful of my lofty aim of doing good to Thy children.
I'm very, very lucky to be in medicine, and to have such family and friends.
Mainstreamed
The phenomenon that is medical blogging receives coverage in today's LA Times. The reporter, Marianne Szegedy-Maszak, chose to focus on physician blogs, but that's ok, what with me now being a physician and all. My Medgadget colleagues, Dr. O and Dr. Bradley, are also featured.
And I like how she introduces the topic:
I'm consistently surprised about what makes it into the final version of a story. For instance, the reporter and I were discussing how bloggers discover each other, how we cross-reference posts. Sure, there's medlogs.com, and now Grand Rounds (which she graciously acknowledged). I also mentioned one post which really seemed to put me on the map last year -- "Hard to Swallow", a pun-laden critique of a Austrian nose-picking advocate.
Well, very little of the conversation about blog cross-linking and meme propagation made it into print. But, naturally, my views on nose-picking are prominently excerpted in the sidebar (in stark contrast to the really insightful quotes from Dr. Charles, the Cheerful Oncologist, and others -- I suppose it's appropriate that the print debut of "Dr. Nicholas Genes" is a little... juvenile).
At any rate, the article provides a good survey of doctor blogging, and the various motivations behind it. And the reporter leaves her readers (and interviewees) with some good questions: will blogging improve the doctor-patient relationship? Will it help disseminate medical data amongst peers? Will it "spawn the next Oliver Sacks?"
I've tried to be cognizant of the risks in believing our hype, of overestimating the potential of medical blogs. So it's exciting to hear an outside reporter asking these questions. And I look forward to learning the answers, in the coming years.
And I like how she introduces the topic:
The family pictures on the desk. The diplomas on the wall. A few magazine subscriptions, perhaps, or some sailing, tennis or golf memorabilia scattered around the office. In the past, a curious patient could only turn to these bits of evidence to try to know more about the individual behind the medical degrees, the white coat and the carefully scripted bedside manner.
The temptation is understandable. After all, when someone holds your life in his or her hands, it would be nice to know a bit more about what makes them tick. But today, anyone with an Internet connection can have access to the fevered, funny, angry and very human thoughts of these men and women who help us navigate the perilous shoals between illness and health. The vehicle? The doctor's blog. A blog is the name used to describe a weblog, the constantly updated platform for the idiosyncratic and highly personal musings (or rantings) of anyone who wants to set one up in cyberspace.
"It's a direct line to see what doctors think that you won't pick up in the office or from television shows," says Michael Ostrovsky, a cardiac anesthesiologist in Daly City, Calif...
I'm consistently surprised about what makes it into the final version of a story. For instance, the reporter and I were discussing how bloggers discover each other, how we cross-reference posts. Sure, there's medlogs.com, and now Grand Rounds (which she graciously acknowledged). I also mentioned one post which really seemed to put me on the map last year -- "Hard to Swallow", a pun-laden critique of a Austrian nose-picking advocate.
Well, very little of the conversation about blog cross-linking and meme propagation made it into print. But, naturally, my views on nose-picking are prominently excerpted in the sidebar (in stark contrast to the really insightful quotes from Dr. Charles, the Cheerful Oncologist, and others -- I suppose it's appropriate that the print debut of "Dr. Nicholas Genes" is a little... juvenile).
At any rate, the article provides a good survey of doctor blogging, and the various motivations behind it. And the reporter leaves her readers (and interviewees) with some good questions: will blogging improve the doctor-patient relationship? Will it help disseminate medical data amongst peers? Will it "spawn the next Oliver Sacks?"
I've tried to be cognizant of the risks in believing our hype, of overestimating the potential of medical blogs. So it's exciting to hear an outside reporter asking these questions. And I look forward to learning the answers, in the coming years.
Lacrimation Day
I was standing in the buffet line of one of the many graduation fetes this weekend, next to a dear physician on my school's faculty. But she was suffering:
I smiled back and said, for the first time, "Well... I am a doctor."
Not surprisingly, at the ceremony today, quite a few of us graduates, faculty, and family members got a little misty-eyed. Must be the pollen.
Distinguished faculty: My eyes are watering, my nose is running, I feel awful.
Me: Allergies?
Distinguished faculty (chuckling): Yeah, how could you tell?
I smiled back and said, for the first time, "Well... I am a doctor."
Not surprisingly, at the ceremony today, quite a few of us graduates, faculty, and family members got a little misty-eyed. Must be the pollen.
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