laughter is good medicine

One has to admit, there is something intrinsically humorous about being an obstetrician/gynecologist. Putting aside the prepubescent school boy snickers, dealing with the subject matter of reproduction, intimacy, and “those parts” lends itself to jovial anecdotes and curious situations. I have discovered over the years that laughing at myself and the predicaments I attract is as necessary as peanut butter is to jelly.
A few years back I was working in my home office when I heard my then 5 year old daughter playing with a friend in the hallway. The friend proudly announced, “My daddy is a banker!” Half listening, half working I waited for a response from my daughter. After a few seconds she planted her hands on her hips and stoically responded, “Well, my daddy is an obstruction and groinocologist!” My laughter was only muted by my spewing diet coke from my mouth.
Not long ago I was speaking at a church gathering and concluded my talk with a call for questions. One lady who looked vaguely familiar stood up and said, “Dr. Eaker, I know you won’t recognize my face because I am a patient of yours...” I couldn’t even hear her question as the crowd burst into raucous laughter. She realized what she had said and turned the shade of a blood rose and immediately sat down.
I often shirk going to social occasions simply because I have been told numerous times that some patients are uncomfortable seeing their gynecologist in public. In all honesty, it doesn’t phase me in the least, but I understand how some folks may be a bit taken back thinking I remember every detail of every exam. Indeed I have seen piercings in places where holes were never meant to be and tattoos placed such that they must have been both painful and interesting to obtain. However, there is a group of patients that migrate to the other extreme. They will approach you in public and discuss any manner of intimacies with complete disregard for surroundings or appropriateness. For example, I was lounging by the side of a community pool one summer’s day, lazily watching my daughters splashing and frolicking in the cool water, when a young lady approached me. She was in her early twenties wearing a bikini that was little more than a thread holding together a napkin. She eagerly sat down beside me at the water’s edge and reminded me that she had been in to see me at the office a couple of weeks ago. I vaguely remembered her (not to insult anyone but we will see sometimes 30-40 people a day) yet I feigned recognition and asked her how she was. As my daughter paddled by she recounted the intimate details of her last sexual encounter that led to her visit and, in a voice that I was sure was heard on the next block, inquired about the result of her sexually transmitted disease cultures. I admitted that I didn’t remember her results and that as soon as I got back to the office on Monday I would try to track them down. She seemed satisfied and went back to her boyfriend sitting behind us. He had obviously overheard the conversation, as had most of the county, and looked like he had seen a ghost. I noticed that throughout the afternoon he made several trips to the bottle of hand sanitizer on the life guard stand. My daughter, always the curious one, wasn’t satisfied until she knew why the nice lady wanted to know if she had “chirpies”.
Unfortunately, if you practice medicine long enough you will have patients die. Luckily in my area, that doesn’t happen often, but when it does it is a likely more tragic and untimely. I attended the viewing of one such former patient a while back. There was an open coffin and my wife and I stood respectfully at the edge of the resting place remembering this sweet lady. I startled as I felt a light tap on my shoulder and from behind heard, “Dr. Eaker I’m so glad I saw you here. Do you have a second?” I was too flustered at the interruption to say what I wanted (which was, “No, I don’t you inconsiderate fool) so I just grunted which she took as an opening for conversation. It turns out she had been in the office a few days past and I had recommended a particular medication for a benign condition. She had gone home, jumped on the Internet and become an instant PhD regarding her situation. I am all for patient responsibility and self education, but thinking you have the big picture by pulling up www.KnowItAllDoc.com and reading about some lady in Peoria who treated her problem with beetle dung juice and sandpaper is a mistake. Not only is Internet voodoo not good science, but asking about it during a wake is poor form! If I had been thinking I would have turned to the recently departed and said, “Gee Mildred, what do you think?”
If laughter is the best medicine then I should be immune to about anything!