I was twenty-three years old and had just finished my first year of medical school when my residency application was accepted. I had wanted badly to go back to school and get my second degree, but my father and others were adamant that I not be away from the practice for such a long time. It was a wonderful offer, and from the moment I accepted it, I did everything I could to adjust to the lifestyle. I went from having no money at all to having a handsome salary, which I immediately began to invest in our family's practice.
My father suggested that I take a few months off and devote my time to my studies, as well as time with my practice. I was so eager to comply with his request, but when I did, I discovered that I was never going to study again. I spent the time at home, researching and reading, both novels and books of medical information. I read a great deal on sports injuries that seemed similar to the one I'd received, because after all I was the injured party. I also spent a lot of time with my father, learning a great amount about the practice of medicine.
About a month after I started to work I was called back to my practice. There was a big game early in the season and my team had a star player who had injured his ankle and was unable to play. He asked if I would take his place. I hadn't touched a basketball since I'd broken my ankle a decade before, so I declined. The next day, I was informed that the team had made a decision, however, and declined me. They would like me to be their team doctor right now.
That night, I had a great dinner at my home with my parents and a few of my friends. I told them all about the new position, and the fact that I had never really been a big basketball fan. I told them I didn't know the first thing about basketball and I had no real desire to learn about the game.
The following morning, I had breakfast with my mom and dad, then went to a nearby arena and met with my team's trainer. We walked over to the practice court where I met with my new patients. The first one was our star, who had come in complaining of a sore elbow and a bit of long term pain in his knee. He had found me through friends who had also found me through my practice. I examined him, and had him go through a physical therapy program that was similar to the one I'd had in the past. After a few weeks, we both decided that he was well enough to start practicing. I told him that I would be right back, and then went to my mother's office to tell her what I could.
A few minutes later, my father called to tell me that the team president had called him. He'd left a voice mail message saying that he'd received a word from someone off the record and to please not discuss the outgoing team doctor with anyone. He also left a message stating that the team physician would only be leaving under these conditions. I was going to be the team's physician from now on.
I left my mother's office and went back to the arena to see what I could do for my newest patient. There was little that he could do about this injury, other than ice it, spray on more anti-inflammatory cream, and keep the swelling down. Then I went to lunch with the team trainer. We talked about a number of things, including the team itself and what the team would be like without their injured star. She told me that he didn't seem to be that bad of a guy, but she also told me that he was hard to talk to.
She even told me that he had no problem trash talking her, but he was like this with everyone. The thing that I remember most from our lunch is that he was very self centered and didn't seem to notice the injuries that other players were complaining about. He seemed to see them as either minor nuisances or serious injuries.
I left the training facility that day and was instructed to be at the practice court at seven a.m. the next morning, just in case there was an emergency. I didn't really have any sleep the night before, so I went home and had a quick meal. I was back at the arena at five thirty.
The team was already starting their morning practice, so I stayed and watched as they went through their drills. They were good, but I noticed that their position on the court changed a lot day to day. They stayed with the same position for most of the practice, but at least one or two players had a position switch in the middle of their drills.
About two hours later, the team was asked to get their coats, since they were done for the day. Coach had them all meet in an office and told them they'd have time in their free time to talk about the practice. He then told them to wash their hands and go to the locker room.
I began to gather my things to leave, when I noticed the player I had treated yesterday sitting in the back corner, looking out the window. I waited for everyone to leave, but he was lost in thoughts, so I approached him. He turned to me and smiled, but then turned back to the window. He began to speak.
"The team wants you to start watching me since I'm the star, but they don't want you to write anything down. They want you to follow me around and notice if anything like this happens. Then they want you to do your best to diagnose it, but never write down or speak to anyone about my injuries. I need to know you can keep a secret about me."
I immediately began to invest in our family's practice.My father suggested that I take a few months off and devote my time to my studies, as well as time with my practice. I was so eager to comply with his request, but when I did, I discovered that I was never going to study again. I spent the time at home, researching and reading, both novels and books of medical information. I read a great deal on sports injuries that seemed similar to the one I'd received, because after all I was the injured party. I also spent a lot of time with my father, learning a great amount about the practice of medicine.
One day, when we were reading in the evening, I asked my dad if he thought I could be a good physician. He smiled and said, "I think you can be the best one ever."
I realized that my dad knew something I didn't. I left the book I was reading and approached my dad. He was in his chair, writing a letter. He pushed it away and looked at me. "Your college transcript is at the front of my desk."
