It Takes Practice - Softcover

Kemp, MD Aaron W.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1426931484 ISBN 13: 9781426931482

Verlag: Trafford Publishing, 2010

Inhaltsangabe

It Takes Practice provides rare insight into one doctor's life and experiences during a career spanning over forty years. Humorous and poignant, it offers insight into Dr. Aaron Kemp's quest to become a doctor. What motivates someone to make that commitment to study medicine so that they can help others? Dr. Kemp shares the events that caused him to realize that being a doctor was his destiny! Entertaining and inspiring, It Takes Practice offers a bird's eye view into the daily life of a doctor. He relates stories about his patients that are sometimes funny, sometimes heartbreaking but all are based upon actual events that he experienced during his career. All of his stories are told with insight and unmistakable affection for his profession and his patients. This is a journey that you won't soon forget!

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Aaron Kemp, MD practiced medicine and general surgery for thirty-two years in Washington State before moving to Arizona in 2000. He is active in community and commercial theater in the Phoenix area. His love and endeavor-de-cour is writing. Dr. Kemp and his lovely wife, Shirlene Joy, live in Scottsdale, Arizona.

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IT TAKES PRACTICE

By Aaron W. Kemp

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2010 Aaron W. Kemp, MD
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4269-3148-2

Chapter One

Before it All

There are probably as many reasons for people to go into medicine as there are people who do so. It's a decision that requires long hours of study-not all of which are very interesting, many kinds of commitments, and, in the thinking of some, investing youth. A valid, true reason is a wish to help the ill or infirm. Some enter medicine out of compassion or pity.

I have known people who truly believed they were called by God Herself to become a physician, just as others are called to become a preacher or a priest. Perhaps I was one of those. Such people don't seem any better or worse than other physicians.

There are other reasons. I observed something interesting-those whose parents were physicians, or people who came from situations where money was never a problem, seem high on the list of fine people and fine doctors. Those who seek to better themselves in some way, seeking admiration, respect, status, position, and money, have strong motivations to succeed. They don't sacrifice much in the long run. They think about security, while those from well-to-do situations aren't so strongly inclined.

The idea that doctors who come from the slums and the poor are more feeling, understanding, or compassionate hasn't been true in my experience. Those who have these positive attributes are very rare, God bless them. Where would medicine be without them?

Just as rich people don't think about money-or, at least, it's not high on their priority list-the real science people are more interested in projects and answering questions, gaining more knowledge and understanding of physical facts, than seeking patients for their own gratification. They were my professors and teachers, and I thank them, but they weren't my inspiration. That's a rather dramatic and true tale.

My family was quite poor. My father worked in construction, logging, and later, on cannery ships, to house and feed his eight children, as well as my grandmother, who lived with us as long as I can remember. During the Depression, they moved from a small town north of Spokane to Seattle. I always felt they never adjusted well to the big city, and they always spoke of home as the place they came from. There wasn't much contentment in our house, and I struggle with that issue to this day. Perhaps I never learned how to be content.

Judy, the last child, had cerebral palsy. Sad and ill, unable to talk, with little control of her functions, she was able to walk on rigid legs, resembling a puppet. She moved around the room, drooling and fretting, twisting her hands and making animal-like sounds. There were frightening, heart-breaking times when she lost her balance and fell, hurting herself terribly if there was no one to catch her. My mother cried frantically, mopping blood from Judy's face, lips, and broken, bent nose.

That added to our difficulties when my father was out of work during Washington's dreary, rainy winter. I never understood why we stayed, but I don't understand why I spent sixty years of my life there, either. The place was like a joke-warm in May spring days, with clear air and singing birds, and the promise of summer to come. Then June came, when it rained steadily until, and often through, the Fourth of July.

In mid-July through August, we had beautiful summer and autumn. Indian summer ran through the middle of October. Then came more overcast and rain. Before I moved to Arizona, it rained for ninety-six days and nights. That might sound like a digression, but I wanted to paint a picture of overcast, dreary skies and being poor and insecure.

My mother was Christian Science to the core. She attended church every Sunday and dragged my siblings and me along when she could catch us. My grandmother was Christian Science, too, but she never left the house. My father didn't say anything about religion, but he demanded respect for my mother's beliefs and faithfully drove her to and from church every Sunday when possible.

Ritchie, my brother, quit high school and joined the Air Force. He came home on furlough when he was twenty-one, and I was thirteen. He'd been working under a car, trying to repair it, when I heard him moan and yell in distress.

I helped drag him from under the car and stumble into the house. He held his stomach in agony, unable to stand up straight, crying out in pain. He reached the bed in the front room and collapsed, curled up and moaning like a wounded animal.

My mother and older sister wrung their hands, fretting hysterically, not knowing what to do except to pray over him in pleading tones. The panic grew, as did Ritchie's pain, until my oldest sister announced she was calling a doctor. My mother didn't protest.

A short time later, though it seemed like hours, we heard a knock at the door. I opened it, and a young man with broad smile, carrying a shiny, new black bag, walked in, radiating confidence, calmness, and purpose.

I followed him, as he was shown to the bed where my brother lay, writhing. He asked a few kind questions, then took out a stethoscope and listened to Ritchie's stomach for a minute. He gently pushed in and released his abdomen, and Ritchie moaned. Putting away his stethoscope, the doctor asked my mother to speak with him in the next room.

"Your son has a ruptured peptic ulcer," he said quietly. "I'll give him morphine now, which will relieve most of the pain, but he needs emergency surgery."

The color drained from my mother's face. Unable to speak, she stared at him, as the air filled with dread and fear.

"He'll be all right," the doctor said. "He'll be all right."

His confidence was reassuring beyond description. Panic dissipated, and fear melted. I was aware of his presence and manner, as well as his understanding of what happened. I saw his assurance, kindness, and, under it all, his knowledge and wisdom. Those things ended the air of chaos and panic that filled our house.

I wanted to be that man someday. I wanted to be like him, someone in control of misfortune, with the power to lighten the load that fear and lack of knowledge brought. I had a purpose at that moment. It was an epiphany that lasted a long time.

His word was good. Ritchie was taken to Madison Army Hospital, where he had surgery. One month later, he was home again, looking pale and drawn. I always remembered my appreciation and gratitude. Even relieving Ritchie's pain with morphine seemed like an act of God Himself. Doctors aren't gods, but I knew then, and I still know, they can be used by Him for great good.

That dramatic moment was how I felt my calling.

I had a 2.0 grade average in high school. I liked drama and speech arts. At the time, that was enough to enable me to enter college, though it takes better than a 3.0 average now. That makes me wonder about late developers, those who find their purpose later in life. Many of them must be left behind, wandering and wondering.

I knew I could succeed, but I had very little encouragement, though what I received was enough, because it came from people I admired and cared for.

I went into college with great resolve. I studied hard. The situation in premed was tense. No one could afford to have a C on anything. It was more pressure than medical school. I applied myself, and, with only three years of college, I was called for an interview in Seattle.

I drove from Pullman to Seattle with an acquaintance who...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Trafford Publishing
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2010
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1426931484
• ISBN 13: 9781426931482
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 108
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: GPSR Kontakt; gpsr@libri.de; ; Europaallee 1; Bad Hersfeld; 36244; Deutschland