My father lived his entire life as a medical practitioner.
He always looked only at the patient and was not interested in anything else.
He didn’t attend any medical or hospital meetings, and he refused to speak to Rotary or the media.
He left only for academic conferences, looking forward to seeing his medical school alumni.
He was unusually enthusiastic about studying new drugs, new treatments.
He had no interest in management and had no trust in organizations or groups.
You can trust the team’s nurses and the best surgeons and radiographers.
He placed great importance on building trusting relationships with the best doctors, and continued his studies as a gastroenterologist.
But I think the number 1 is that he was a sincere physician who built trust between surgeons and patients.
My father’s memento is a doctor’s notebook.
On it, in small print that can only be read with a magnifying glass, my health data is written in detail every day.
The doctor’s notebook is carefully left in a drawer for decades of working as a doctor.
My father’s own health diary.
Every day he took off his glasses and wrote in his notebook in small print.
My father suddenly announced that he would retire from the outpatient clinic.
As an internist, he was still old enough to continue working.
Originally, his stethoscope was a person who never gave up even when traveling.
On holidays, I have encountered several scenes where patients call me and leave my family behind.
That was my childhood.
Pulse is a doctor who used to boast that he could tell by experience, even without a watch.
The natural doctor decided to retire from practice, he says, because his tenosynovitis made writing on his charts a burden.
I asked a nurse or a medical secretary to continue, but I refused because I had cancer.
If you can’t write on your own charts and can’t even read your own handwriting without taking off your glasses, you should stop being a doctor.
Unable to change his mind, he stopped appearing at the hospital.
Thinking about it now, for the sake of his father’s health, he should have hired a medical secretary and had him continue to diagnose patients.
After that, after the death of his mother, his father himself also hastened the decline of old age.
I would have liked to have been more involved in management.
I had no interest in management at all, and I may not have understood it, but I wanted you to show me more, more, how the white coat works in the outpatient.
Patients and staff must have thought so too.
I shouldn’t have let him go away.
By the way, where is my retirement from saying that?
That’s when I can’t type this diary, at this time, on my word processor.
I even considered having my secretary dictate.
However, in the daytime, I am overwhelmed by work and feel restless.
Even if you are bedridden, there is a service where you can dictate over the phone.
But then, it would be embarrassing, and it wouldn’t be like what it is now.
The psychology of the dawn hours is unique.
Because in church, I feel like I’m confessing, and I’m writing my true feelings.
Of course, even now.
At this time, only the faces of my parents when they were young come to mind.
Pulse oximeter 98/99/99
Body temperature 36.2 Blood sugar 205
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