This is a class work day.  The students are preparing their next
project.  I'm nervous.  It's a new one and really stretching them into
unknown worlds.  Anyway, something was stirring as I walked the streets
this morning and then it hit me as I sat on the deck.  Sipping a cup of
freshly brewed coffee, surrounded by a relaxing delightfully cool
pre-dawn morning darkness, watching the shadows and light embrace each
other as they danced off the rocks and plants above the lighted koi pond,
mesmerized by the soothing symphonic rhythms of the water falls, my mind
zeroed in on thoughts about Dr. Francis Coleman, "Frank" to his friends. 

	"Yeah," I exclaimed to myself as if I just had discovered specific
gravity, "Frank is my answer."  And, I rushed into to tickle the keyboard
of this computer. 

	Frank is my answer to a rather vitriolic response to my message
on how I use the arts as an educational tool in my history
classes.  I committed, according to this person, the crime of
impersonating an educator and am an example of the reason education is in
the "sorry state that it is."  One of his less rancorous statements was:
"If you needed heart surgery to save your life, would you rather have it
done by a doctor who had had a "dry, boring" conventional education in
cardiology, or would you like to have your heart cut on by someone whose
education had consisted of writing and performing a 3 minute pop song
about heart surgery?"

	For these past few days I have been struggling with how to answer
this person's attack.  I knew the person was missing the point, not to
mention throwing a few rancid red herrings out there.  What, then, is the
point?  The point is a doctor named Frank Coleman, a diminutive man who is
a giant of a compassionate human being.  Frank knows his medicine.  Oh, he
is a superb physican.  More important, he also knows each of the people he
treats, and he treats them as sacred individuals.  Frank is not one of
those production line "a patient every fifteen minute"  physicians.  He is
a healer, not just a doctor.  He treats the whole person, not the malady. 
He is a listener.  He holds your hand, touches your soul.  He has a
soothing and reassuring aura about him.  He puts you at ease.  He has a
laying on of presence.  It's hard to be anxious and scared when he is with
you.  He makes you feel comfortable in the usually awkward, nervous, and
often intimidating and frightening environment of an examining or hospital
room.  It is easy to see him as a human being, not just as a doctor
costumed in a white coat because he sees you as a human being.  He
converses with you, notices you.  He doesn't merely examine your body; he
treats your spirit as well.  You are to him a fellow human being rather
than just a patient.  He makes the time to take time with you.  There were
no barriers between him and the other person in the room.  There never is
a harsh, cold, clinical distance when he was in the room.  You know he
wants to be there and is not in a rush to be somewhere else.  You know he
cares, deeply cares.  He wants to help.  His very presence tells you, "It
will be okay."  You know you are safe in his hands.  He was our family
physician until he closed his private practice;  he saved my Susan's life
a few decades ago. 

	We talked often during that long week Susan was in the hospital
waiting for the infection to disappear before she could be taken into
surgery, why he spent so much time with each "patient."  We subsequently
talked a lot in his office when I was there for my annual check-ups or for
some other reason.

	Over years I've never forgotten the essential bits and pieces of his
answers, although I have to admit it has only been in the last decade
that I really have appreciated his words.  

	Rushing in from the deck I went to a folder lying on one of the
shelves.  In it is a batch of yellowed pieces of paper of different sizes
and shapes and colors.  There's even a matchbook, a torn piece of
newspaper, an envelop.  You get the point.  Often, after I left Frank, I
had jotted down his comments in the car on anything and with anything I
could get my hands on. When I got home I haphazardly stuffed that stuff
into an unmarked folder.  Rarely go to that forlonre folder lying ignored
on a top shelf. It was just there for whatever.  That will change now that
I have rediscovered it.  As I read his words, some for the first time in
over a decade, I think I'll use Frank more often as a reminding mentor. 
Anyway, "whatever" has arrived. Here are some of Frank's answers to this
person's comments: 

No one is a textbook case.  No two people are the same and no two
treatments are alike.

You know a lot of so-called doctors say that they can't be bothered by
this and that.  You always have to be ready to be bothered.  You just
can't rush.  You've got to slow down and be there, and be ready to be
there.

Sometimes being a doctor gets in the way of practicing medicine.  Being a
doctor can scare people.  They're afriad of what you'll find and tell
them.  They won't think clearly and say all that they need to say about
themselves, or they don't know how to say it. 

Each person is far more different than you think.  Their chemistry is
different, their make-up is different, their anatomy is different. The
disease is different even if you call it the same thing.  You have to
react differently.  You just can't prescribe for a disease without knowing
about the person.

There is nothing routine when it comes to a person.

When you automatically 'go by the book' you and your patient can quickly
get in trouble.  The 'book' is a reference, not an absolute.  Don't let it
dictate in every situation. 

You have to have a feel for each patient and each situation.  You have to
listen, not just hear.  You have to see, not just look. 

There are times to talk and times to keep your mouth shut.  There are
times to laugh and joke around and times to cry.  There are times to
give orders and times to just let things go.  They don't tell about
those things in med school.  You need people skills, not just
medicial stuff.  Practicing medicine is knowing about people and how
to communicate with them.

There's a person inside that shell of a body connected to it.

I'm always learning from each patient, how to treat a little better,
listen a little better.  A lot of times you have to throw away the book
and be a creative detective.  Almost every time.  Sometimes you have to
look at a situation differently from what you usually do.

You have to watch each person and see how they act.  I have to listen to
each patient, and not just to their words.  The patient has something to
tell you, but won't or will miss something if he's nervous and scared.

Real medicine is a healing art as much as, if not more, as it
is a hard science.  Intuition plays a lot larger role than most think. 
There's a lot more creativity and imagination that most people think.  And
that can sometimes be more important than information.
 
Sometimes it's just trial and error groping, and guessing.

Medicine is far less of a cut-and-dry specific formula:  someone comes in
with an illness, I examine, and then I prescribe treatment.

Medicine is about people, not just pills.

Just because you know medicine doesn't mean you're good at it.  If you
don't like people or care about them, if you can't talk with people and if
you're not a people person, I don't care how much medicine you know. 
You'll be a lousy doctor.  And you'll do more harm than good. 

	Sounds like a teacher, doesn't he.  Well, we're both in the people
business.  Anyway, Frank is my answer to this person's barbs. The point is
that Frank Coleman knew and these students hopefully are discovering that
having the information is not enough; it's what you can do with it that
really counts.  I think maybe learning and practicing--and that includes
teaching--is a product of emotional and spiritual development, not just a
gathering of information.  Actually, you need all three working in a
proper relationship like the three separate sides that join to form a
triangle.  The practice of anything is an act of creativity and
imagination.  It is far more a state of mind and spirit than an activity. 

	Maybe that's what Einstein really meant when he said imagination
and creativity are more important than information.  

	Lots more thoughts, but enough for now.
	

Make it a good day.

                                                       --Louis--


Louis Schmier                     [log in to unmask]
Department of History             http://www.halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html 
Valdosta State University
Valdosta, GA  31698                           /~\        /\ /\
912-333-5947                       /^\      /     \    /  /~\  \   /~\__/\
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                        -_~    /  "If you want to climb mountains,   \ /^\
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