Twice the police saved my life... and twice I saved them from themselves
Let us not sacrifice human contact and self exploration on the altar of social media
From the exhibit floor to the council meeting, musings on emergency medicine’s biggest circus.
Give me residents who are more than their CVs, doctors who base their practice on actual beliefs and values
Twenty fourteen is the centennial of the first publication of Carl Sandburg’s love letter to Chicago, a city of life with all its good and bad; a place of vitality, energy, excitement and yes, the 2014 ACEP Scientific Assembly. The Committee could not have picked a better place.
Travel to medical training venues is becoming more painful. People in line to check-in at hotels want to comment openly on my column. Recently in Las Vegas at the Paris Hotel – in the private check-in lounge no less – one of the PAs registering for the emergency medicine boot camp course I was teaching at wanted to vent her spleen and give me editorial direction. Enough already.
I’m beginning to detest the casual overuse of the war metaphor for every issue coming down the pike. There was Johnson’s “War on Poverty” – how did that work out? – followed by the government’s “War on Drugs,” in which we tied up a third of our penal budget and introduced the single largest source of corruption in our border patrols, city police and judicial system.
I present to you, dear readers, a true conundrum, an intellectual Gordian knot of an unusual nature to challenge your thought processes. It will not, at first, seem as profound as the meaning of life or even what sandwich to order at Katz’s Delicatessen (“I’ll have what she’s having”). But it involves the roles of government, the basics of the First Amendment, religion and, heaven forbid, common sense.
To those would-be ACEP leaders running for election in the fall, I’d like to pose a series of questions about where our specialty is heading.
Earlier this year, I informed readers of some sad news: My 13-year-old golden retriever, Tucker, had died. He'd made an appearance in the column when I unkindly outed him as a Platonist. Tucker went downhill quickly with two cancers. As he lost strength, lost the use of his hind legs and his pain increased, I knew I had to take him to the vet. He really was a good friend to me. Useless in all ways but a great friend. The influx of letters that I received following this news was truly moving. One reader went so far as to write a poem in Tucker's memory, which we'd like to share.