Posts by Amy Givler, MD

Let me introduce you to Aidah. She worked in our home (our “inside worker”) during the eight months our family lived in Kenya in 2003/2004. Don and I worked at Tenwek Mission Hospital as family physicians, and our three children attended elementary and middle school at nearby Rift Valley Academy. She helped me buy food and cook it, and she kept our house clean. Aidah was our backbone. She was a rock.

The first time I ever heard of a lobotomy was in the early 1980s. I was a medical student, but I didn’t learn about it in class. Instead, I was in a darkened room with a bunch of other family members, watching a family home movie filmed 30 years earlier. The scene was some kind of a garden party, and in the midst of the lively antics of my parents, their siblings and my great-aunts and great-uncles, there was a late middle-aged woman who just…stood there. Eventually someone took her arm and led her to a chair where she just…sat there. Completely still, no facial expression, no interaction with anyone else.

Do you remember your high school, college or medical/dental school graduation? Probably a bit, I suppose, but if you’re like me, those days are a bit of a blur. How about the graduation speaker at each of those events? Do you remember what was said?

Blankets and quilts are nice, but for cozy wonderfulness on a chilly winter night, give me a comforter every time. A comforter is an old word, but it refers to a particular piece of bedding. Big and puffy, comforters have soft fabric on both sides of a fluffy interior. In addition to warmth, comforters provide…well…comfort.

Apparently, Medscape does a yearly survey on physician burnout, and the one that just came out asked 13,000 physicians from 29 specialties about their personal experience with stress and signs of burnout. Being in the midst of a global pandemic, it won’t surprise anyone that burnout rates are rising.

I’ve read novels ever since my youth, and I’ve had an enduring fascination with the side character of the rich elderly female relative who “took to bed” decades earlier. Even before I was a doctor I wondered, “What illness caused her to ‘take to bed’?” There are seldom enough clues to unlock the mystery of which exact medical diagnosis she had that kept her in her bedroom. Writers of novels one to two centuries ago didn’t focus on those clues. She was, after all, a side character.

When my husband and I worked at a mission hospital in Kenya for six weeks in 2013, we ate dinner every evening with another volunteer doctor, an orthopedic surgeon. We often discussed the use of opioids, or rather, the seldom-use of opioids in Kenya. After a U.S. surgery, he said his patients would receive opioids round the clock in the hospital, and they’d go home with a prescription for 30 to 60 pills. Yet here, patients’ pain was managed with non-opioid pain medications, and nobody was prescribed opioids after discharge.

Words are important. The words I use to describe my patients, even if I am only thinking those words and not speaking them, affect how I feel about them and how I treat them. I’ve known this for a long time, so I work hard to guard both my thinking and my speech as I care for patients. I don’t consider myself prone to making snap judgments about people based on their appearance—that is, I don’t see myself as biased.

Nobody who knows me would call me an athlete. If I wasn’t picked last for team sports at school, then it was next to last. Every time. Because of this pathetic natural ability, I have never been one who availed myself of all the sports opportunities I was given.