Magazine

The Four Leaf Clover

I am an orthopedic surgeon, retired since 2003. I spent the last 13 years in solo practice, the first 20 years in a group setting. During my career, I had the opportunity to see myriads of interesting cases. I’ve always had a ton of respect for physicians in a similar setting who could compile their data and come up with something interesting and meaningful. My problem always seemed to be “inadequate sampling” or “lost to followup”.

Recently, I was answering a questionnaire sent out by our medical society and thought that something that would give the magazine some flavor would be a “clinical anecdote,” which leads me to:

SINCE I’VE BEEN A SMALL BOY, I’ve always had a penchant for finding four leaf clovers. I don’t know why. Somehow my eyes just seem to be able to pick them out. My golfing friends claim that because my game is so lousy, I’m usually looking at the ground (probably more truth than fiction).

As a community orthopedic surgeon, I cared for a wide variety of general orthopedic conditions: fractures in children and adults; degenerative joint disease and hip and knee replacement; tendonitis of all types; and a lot of “aches and pains.”

One thing I learned a long time ago is “listen to the patient” — always be tuned in to their problem. Be upbeat. Never tell a patient “Nothing can be done.” As Osler said, if one could not do anything else, “change the position of the pillow.”

One Wednesday evening, I received a call from the Mercy San Juan emergency room. Mrs. X, an 82-year-old lady had fallen, fracturing her hip. I had cared for both her and her husband in the past — both active community people (she never missed a garage sale).

When I met her in the emergency room, she was totally devastated — in pain from the injury, yes, but more from the realization of what had happened. Severe depression was setting in.

“I guess this is it; I won’t be able to live independently, will I?”

“We’ll do the best we can, Mrs. X, and if all goes well, you’ll be in the hospital a few days, a week or so in a convalescent facility, and then back home.”

The surgery went well. The next day, however, she was still quite depressed.

On Saturday morning, walking across the lawn next to the hospital parking lot, I spotted a four leaf clover. As I walked into her room, her demeanor was as before. So I held the four leaf clover in my hand, presenting it to her.

“Look, Mrs. X, your luck has changed. This is for you. I found it coming in from the parking lot.” Her frown suddenly changed to a smile as she held it and studied it.

Objectively, this probably had little to do with healing, but she seemed to be almost instantly energized. She spent about a week in the convalescent hospital and returned to her home.

Several weeks later, I saw her in the office. As I entered the exam room, she was smiling and upbeat. “Look what I have.” She pulled a pendant from her neck — inside it the four leaf clover.

So what do we have here? The four leaf clover seemed to change her attitude from pessimism and despair to optimism and hope. And perhaps, the act of “finding” it on the hospital grounds gave some kind of aura that we, the hospital staff, “cared” about her. And isn’t this what we should be doing with all of our patients?

Hope goes a long way in helping our patients recover.

dvhummel@sbcglobal.net