Doctors In Danger — Real, Physical Danger

The first thing you get when you “in-process” into the Army — at least the first thing I got — was dog tags.  I had to decide if I wanted my religion on my dog tags, and tell the lady at the typewriter what kind of funeral I wanted. For all my ups and downs, I decided I would die Jewish, and get a traditional funeral, and make the Army find a rabbi.  I could put that on them with no thought of guilt. I had the option of putting my faith on my dog tags.  I was warned, in the most dispassionate possible way, that some enemies of the United States of America would kill me if it said “Jewish.”  I chose a resolution some co-religionaries had chosen in World War II.  I chose “Hebrew,” feeling more in common with the ancient faith than with the heavily politicized modern tripartite (Orthodox, Conservative and Reformed) ways of filling congregations.

Then I got my “Geneva Convention” card — Lavender and black and white, it said in 22 languages, roughly the equivalent “Don’t kill me.  I’m a doctor.” 

I probably looked like I had already been a prisoner of war — I was frail and dieted toward near starvation, with sunken teeth, about to go blind because of my heavily compromised immune system.  I had only one thought as I looked at that card. Nobody is going to take the time to read this thing.  I have been following news more and more that comes from outside the United States, where the political biases have all but rendered the news useless — indeed, they may have done so already. I know that about 400 doctors a year commit suicide in these United States.  I do not know how many decide to leave practice and buy a laundromat, or retire early to a life of luxury (which the clever investors might) or to a life of penury – which is unfortunately more common. There are a few impassioned souls like me who are stuck, by believing that this job is still necessary and important. They call it, quite simply, a “diminished respect for healthcare.” It is a way to make the extinction of human life even more effective.  Kill those who save lives, and you are killing logarithmically instead of arithmetically.  And it is not the trend of a single people, or a single war zone.  It is international and multicultural. I thank the forces I believe in that I left the militia before I ever had to show my Geneva card to anybody but myself. Medical care, once considered the right of all, is falling back worldwide to becoming a rare luxury. I am not particularly interested in more examples.  There are too many. You decided to devote your life to prolonging human life and maybe, just maybe, sometimes improving its quality.  And this is what you get.   I have written recently on the increasing attacks on healthcare workers in southern California. I don’t want more examples. I want solutions, and I am having one hell of a time finding them. Our friends back in Geneva are talking about expert workshops.

I am old enough and experienced enough to know that solutions discovered by committee are not always the best. I think while we are figuring this out, we need concrete, armed security.  They defend ammo storage. They defend oil fields.  Why the hell can’t armies defend hospitals. In the days of the MASH TV series I knew lots of doctors who liked to imagine they were MASH.  They were in well-heated and/or air-conditioned city hospitals.  Not even the enemy would do much to attack MASH. Hawkeye and Trapper John and the rest would care for enemy soldiers as well as our own. I look at the tiny scar on my left arm, where a French drunk attacked me with broken glass, so long ago.  If the cops had not already been there, it could have been lots worse. I cannot remember the last time I worked in a facility with a “panic button,” where I could summon security if I was threatened — although I did once succeed in having one installed.  I have had to rely on my own ability to be charming and talk down the potentially violent. There was not much I could do except run on the occasion several years ago when a psychotic pulled a pen knife on me and said “all psychiatrists must die.”

Oh, the courses I have taken — on self-defense, on non-violent “takedowns.”  I don’t like to have the police summoned – most of the time, they use force first and then worry about the consequences later. Sometimes I think I survive mainly because I have an old set of female skills — I make people want to take care of me, and I am not afraid to ask for protection.  My husband drives me to and from where I work, and escorts me out, and when it was a place with a security force, sometimes they would salute me to say good night, especially when they knew there were drug deals outside the door, and I was clutching my husband’s hand in mine. Until our friends in Geneva figure out what the hell to do, please be nice to me. Save me. Save all of us who — instead of diving for the fast salary — made the decision to stay in school long enough to learn at least part of a skill set to help other folks.