In the Ghetto...

Sometimes life is really tough slugging. I guess you could say I’ve had a rough go of things lately. Occasionally, I am tempted to feel a little sorry for myself. I’ve been heard to utter that I will likely end up alone in a condo with 50 cats who will reluctantly eat my rotting corpse when I die in the apartment and no one discovers my body until the stench and meowing become overwhelming….

Despite my urge to self deprecate, I am (pathologically) comforted by the social failures of my current patient population. I’m doing family medicine in a northern city and on Wednesday evenings we do a walk in clinic. The clinic is in the ghetto. I have never seen so many sorry sorry people in one place in my life.

One third of the patients are seeking narcotics, and none too pleased when denied their fix. 61% are just really depressing people with very hard lives, who seem to repeatedly make poor choices, and/or are shit on by the Gods of fate. 5% are reasonable people with real illnesses that are not related to the fact that they are sedentary, weigh 300lbs, smoke, drink, and do drugs.

It’s a little distressing that I have already become so cynical about things; however, I take comfort in the fact that my life could be much worse. Also, it makes me never ever want to work in a walk in clinic, because the care we provide is so limited and poor compared to what we can do in my preceptor’s regular office.

I’m totally wrecked from from this 14 hour day.