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At a carnival last year, my kids won a magic wand and gave it to me.
For a while it sat on a bookshelf at home, along with a clay snowman and decorated picture frame they’d given me. It was one of those things that I had no idea what to do with, but was afraid to get rid of for fear of hurting their feelings.
About a month later, I was dealing with a young lady who wanted me to make her better, but didn’t want to take any medications or try treatment of any sort. In her own words, she "just wanted to get fixed." (Fortunately for her, I’m not a veterinarian.)
She left my office, with both of us frustrated – I, because she wouldn’t let me help her, and she, because in her mind I couldn’t offer her what she wanted: a magic cure.
That evening, it occurred to me that she would have been the perfect subject for my magic wand. The next morning I hung it up in my office, where it’s remained since.
It even lights up when I press the button.
So now, I have a treatment option. At no additional charge and covered by all insurance plans, I wave a magic wand. Granted, it has absolutely no capabilities to evaluate or treat, but it often gets my point across.
Now, when people want me to figure things out without doing tests, or want me to make them better without medication or physical therapy, I offer them the wand. Initially, I was afraid it would make people angry, but have since found it surprisingly effective at getting my point across: There is no magic in medicine, and I need their help to help them.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
At a carnival last year, my kids won a magic wand and gave it to me.
For a while it sat on a bookshelf at home, along with a clay snowman and decorated picture frame they’d given me. It was one of those things that I had no idea what to do with, but was afraid to get rid of for fear of hurting their feelings.
About a month later, I was dealing with a young lady who wanted me to make her better, but didn’t want to take any medications or try treatment of any sort. In her own words, she "just wanted to get fixed." (Fortunately for her, I’m not a veterinarian.)
She left my office, with both of us frustrated – I, because she wouldn’t let me help her, and she, because in her mind I couldn’t offer her what she wanted: a magic cure.
That evening, it occurred to me that she would have been the perfect subject for my magic wand. The next morning I hung it up in my office, where it’s remained since.
It even lights up when I press the button.
So now, I have a treatment option. At no additional charge and covered by all insurance plans, I wave a magic wand. Granted, it has absolutely no capabilities to evaluate or treat, but it often gets my point across.
Now, when people want me to figure things out without doing tests, or want me to make them better without medication or physical therapy, I offer them the wand. Initially, I was afraid it would make people angry, but have since found it surprisingly effective at getting my point across: There is no magic in medicine, and I need their help to help them.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
At a carnival last year, my kids won a magic wand and gave it to me.
For a while it sat on a bookshelf at home, along with a clay snowman and decorated picture frame they’d given me. It was one of those things that I had no idea what to do with, but was afraid to get rid of for fear of hurting their feelings.
About a month later, I was dealing with a young lady who wanted me to make her better, but didn’t want to take any medications or try treatment of any sort. In her own words, she "just wanted to get fixed." (Fortunately for her, I’m not a veterinarian.)
She left my office, with both of us frustrated – I, because she wouldn’t let me help her, and she, because in her mind I couldn’t offer her what she wanted: a magic cure.
That evening, it occurred to me that she would have been the perfect subject for my magic wand. The next morning I hung it up in my office, where it’s remained since.
It even lights up when I press the button.
So now, I have a treatment option. At no additional charge and covered by all insurance plans, I wave a magic wand. Granted, it has absolutely no capabilities to evaluate or treat, but it often gets my point across.
Now, when people want me to figure things out without doing tests, or want me to make them better without medication or physical therapy, I offer them the wand. Initially, I was afraid it would make people angry, but have since found it surprisingly effective at getting my point across: There is no magic in medicine, and I need their help to help them.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
