A Few Days Later

It was a bad week. I know a lot of other people who felt the same. I happen to be fortunate enough to live in an area where the vast majority of the population shared my dismay, but it was still difficult. Not much sleep. No appetite. Hard to concentrate. Anhedonia. Calls for “healing” and “moving on” didn’t help. I feel assaulted, and it’s just too soon to try forgiving my attackers. I had to keep going, though, so this morning I went downtown to work at one of my side gigs. Actually, I was there last week, but someone called out so they asked me to fill in this week as well. So I went. It’s a Suboxone clinic*. A crazy-busy place where people struggling with addiction come to get a prescription medication that allows them to lead a normal life — their words — in conjunction with psychotherapy and close drug monitoring. They are probably the only buprenorphone prescribers in Pennsylvania who take insurance**. They average 200 patients per session, but because of the SEPTA transit strike last week, there were lots of folks who had to re-schedule. I’ve been working there since June, and I love it. Don’t get me wrong: I love my practice, but reassuring yuppies that their back pain will go away in a few weeks and trying to explain why they don’t need antibiotics for their bronchitis doesn’t exactly feel like the cutting edge of saving lives and easing suffering. But this place does. These are people who...
Source: Musings of a Dinosaur - Category: Primary Care Authors: Tags: Medical Politics Source Type: blogs