Doctor. Diva... or leader?
Mondays are my scheduled days to be in the Operating Room. I have a schedule of patients who need surgery and I have a staff of excellent people to help me. And usually, I have the same team, people who know me and whom I know and trust.
Beyond the obvious benefit of knowing and trusting an experienced staff, there develops a camaraderie, a closeness which not only makes the days more pleasant, but facilitates an efficiency and an environment which benefits the patient.
And they also talk to me.
They talk to me about the problems in administration, who is quitting and looking for work at other hospitals, who is fighting with whom. While I don’t always get to listen actively because I am otherwise occupied, it does give me insight into the inner workings of my local ivory tower.
Most recently, as I was finishing the day with my team, I was thanking them for all their help and giving hugs (I am a hugger). My nurse anesthetist thanked me for being so pleasant. I was surprised, honestly. Of course, I said. I was told by other members in the OR that it wasn’t always the case.
I know this. That there are doctors that yell, that throw things, that use abusive language. I told them that I would not be that person. Then I told them why.
My father is a retired general surgeon. A consummate doctor. An internist (the doctors who know everything) who operates (a doctor that does everything). I have always said that my dad is the smartest doctor I have ever met, and I would say that even if he wasn’t my dad. He spend the last years of work as Chief of Staff at a Veterans’ Administration hospital, working toward making an outstanding outpatient facility for his patients and giving up over a year’s worth of vacation to care for our nation’s veterans.
But dad was also a gentleman. He did not yell or throw things in the OR. And he instilled that in me. To the point that he tells me if ever hears of me acting the fool in an OR he is not above punishing me. To be a leader, the “captain of the ship” as a crusty old neurosurgeon once told me I should be, requires carrying oneself with a respect beyond just a title or a degree.
As we move into an era of value-based health care, the title of physician will likely require more than just the practice of clinical medicine. Doctors will be expected to be physician executives, team leaders who can organize other professionals to provide the most efficient care for each patient. The era of the Diva Doctor who thrashes and cries and demands to be pandered is long gone. To be less than the example we would ask our health care system to follow is beneath our education and calling.
I would hope that all physicians would follow the example set by my father. We cannot expect to be the driving force for positive change for the future of health care without holding ourselves to this standard.