Today an elderly man who had undergone surgery a couple of weeks ago came to see me. His incision had become infected and he had just finished a week of antibiotics the surgeon had given him. It still hasn't healed, so he came to see me. Me, the internist. Me, the one who was not even remotely involved in his surgery.
After examining him I decided he may need drainage of this infection and wisely suggested he go back to the surgeon. This really made him angry. "I knew you would tell me that. Listen, all you guys do is send me back to the surgeons. I know what I need, little missy. In my day we didn't have doctors, we just treated ourselves. I've been around here a lot longer than you and what I need is some antibiotics. I'm tired of you docs sending me all over the place and always acting scared that you're going to be sued. But if you want me to go to the surgeon I'll do it. Just make the appointment and I'll be on my way. I guess you can't do anything else. . . "
I wrote him a prescription for the antibiotics and he huffed out of the room. I'm glad I went to four years of medical school, three years of residency and put myself into six figure debt so I could learn how to write the prescriptions my patients tell me to write. It was all worth it.
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