Self-Absorption

Irma had a few spots on her face. I told her I could freeze them off.

"This may not be a good time," she said. "I'm going to a professional convention this weekend, and I don't want to be self-conscious."

"That's fine," I said. "In that case, maybe when you have vacation."

"No, any other week will be fine."

"But won't your patients notice?"

"Probably not," she said. "They're too self-absorbed."

Irma is a psychologist.

Her observation is striking, because it contrasts so strongly with what most people say about the reactions they get when there is something noticeable on their faces. Irma may think her patients will be indifferent, but teachers and relatives of small children expect the opposite. Children don't know much about tact.

"What is that ugly thing on your chin Mrs. Donnelly!?" the kids yell. Grandparents tell similar stories about their little darlings. That's when they decide to get the growth taken off, the one they've had for decades.

All of us have a very strong urge to point out blemishes, especially on the face--a red mark, a piece of food hanging off our dining partner's lower lip. Not noticing takes an awful lot of self-absorption.

But some people rise to the self-absorptive occasion in other ways. For instance, one of my colleagues collaborates with a plastic surgeon based in his office 2 days a week. The surgeon developed acute abdominal pain one night and was rushed to a local emergency room. When a CT scan showed appendicitis, he was taken to the operating room first thing in the morning. My friend's secretary started calling the surgeon's patients to let them know that their consultations or surgeries would have to be postponed.

Most people reacted with appropriate concern - "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that! How is he doing?" and so on - but not everyone.

"I'm sorry to tell you that Dr. Jenkins won't be able to see you today. He's having emergency surgery himself."

"Oh. I see. That's very disappointing."

"Of course. But we'll let you know as soon we find out when he's coming back to work."

"This is very disappointing."

Alas, so it is.

Another patient had flown up from Florida for a second opinion about biopsy-proved skin cancer. When the second opinion was the same as the first - that the cancer be removed - an expedited consultation was arranged with the surgeon so the Floridian could go right back to the sun. When appendicitis struck the surgeon, the patient was apprised of the situation.

"But when will Dr. Jenkins be able to operate?" he wanted to know.

"He's in surgery himself right now," he was told. "We hope he recovers fast, but at this point we really can't tell you."

"But I have to make plans," he said. "When will he be able to take care of my problem?"

What the secretary thought of saying, but didn't, was this: "Tell you what. We'll camp out in the recovery room with a phone next to Dr. Jenkins' lips. The second his anesthesia wears off, we're sure his very first words - after he asks about his mistress - will be to tell us when he can operate on you."

Talk about self-absorption.

Of course, we meet self-absorbed people in all walks of life. And all of us - even doctors! - are entitled to think about our own pressures and problems, though sharing them with patients is generally not a good move. ("You think you've got a rash? Have a look at mine!") It's okay to be annoyed when your doctor, lawyer, or accountant can't see you as scheduled, but most people older than a certain age can see the larger context and stifle the urge to express our annoyance.

I saw Irma again after her convention and froze her offending spots. "I guess from what you said," I said, "your self-absorbed patients won't even notice."

"I'm not sure my colleagues would have, either," she said with a wry smile. "They're psychologists."

Irma had a few spots on her face. I told her I could freeze them off.

"This may not be a good time," she said. "I'm going to a professional convention this weekend, and I don't want to be self-conscious."

"That's fine," I said. "In that case, maybe when you have vacation."

"No, any other week will be fine."

"But won't your patients notice?"

"Probably not," she said. "They're too self-absorbed."

Irma is a psychologist.

Her observation is striking, because it contrasts so strongly with what most people say about the reactions they get when there is something noticeable on their faces. Irma may think her patients will be indifferent, but teachers and relatives of small children expect the opposite. Children don't know much about tact.

"What is that ugly thing on your chin Mrs. Donnelly!?" the kids yell. Grandparents tell similar stories about their little darlings. That's when they decide to get the growth taken off, the one they've had for decades.

All of us have a very strong urge to point out blemishes, especially on the face--a red mark, a piece of food hanging off our dining partner's lower lip. Not noticing takes an awful lot of self-absorption.

But some people rise to the self-absorptive occasion in other ways. For instance, one of my colleagues collaborates with a plastic surgeon based in his office 2 days a week. The surgeon developed acute abdominal pain one night and was rushed to a local emergency room. When a CT scan showed appendicitis, he was taken to the operating room first thing in the morning. My friend's secretary started calling the surgeon's patients to let them know that their consultations or surgeries would have to be postponed.

Most people reacted with appropriate concern - "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that! How is he doing?" and so on - but not everyone.

"I'm sorry to tell you that Dr. Jenkins won't be able to see you today. He's having emergency surgery himself."

"Oh. I see. That's very disappointing."

"Of course. But we'll let you know as soon we find out when he's coming back to work."

"This is very disappointing."

Alas, so it is.

Another patient had flown up from Florida for a second opinion about biopsy-proved skin cancer. When the second opinion was the same as the first - that the cancer be removed - an expedited consultation was arranged with the surgeon so the Floridian could go right back to the sun. When appendicitis struck the surgeon, the patient was apprised of the situation.

"But when will Dr. Jenkins be able to operate?" he wanted to know.

"He's in surgery himself right now," he was told. "We hope he recovers fast, but at this point we really can't tell you."

"But I have to make plans," he said. "When will he be able to take care of my problem?"

What the secretary thought of saying, but didn't, was this: "Tell you what. We'll camp out in the recovery room with a phone next to Dr. Jenkins' lips. The second his anesthesia wears off, we're sure his very first words - after he asks about his mistress - will be to tell us when he can operate on you."

Talk about self-absorption.

Of course, we meet self-absorbed people in all walks of life. And all of us - even doctors! - are entitled to think about our own pressures and problems, though sharing them with patients is generally not a good move. ("You think you've got a rash? Have a look at mine!") It's okay to be annoyed when your doctor, lawyer, or accountant can't see you as scheduled, but most people older than a certain age can see the larger context and stifle the urge to express our annoyance.

I saw Irma again after her convention and froze her offending spots. "I guess from what you said," I said, "your self-absorbed patients won't even notice."

"I'm not sure my colleagues would have, either," she said with a wry smile. "They're psychologists."

Irma had a few spots on her face. I told her I could freeze them off.

"This may not be a good time," she said. "I'm going to a professional convention this weekend, and I don't want to be self-conscious."

"That's fine," I said. "In that case, maybe when you have vacation."

"No, any other week will be fine."

"But won't your patients notice?"

"Probably not," she said. "They're too self-absorbed."

Irma is a psychologist.

Her observation is striking, because it contrasts so strongly with what most people say about the reactions they get when there is something noticeable on their faces. Irma may think her patients will be indifferent, but teachers and relatives of small children expect the opposite. Children don't know much about tact.

"What is that ugly thing on your chin Mrs. Donnelly!?" the kids yell. Grandparents tell similar stories about their little darlings. That's when they decide to get the growth taken off, the one they've had for decades.

All of us have a very strong urge to point out blemishes, especially on the face--a red mark, a piece of food hanging off our dining partner's lower lip. Not noticing takes an awful lot of self-absorption.

But some people rise to the self-absorptive occasion in other ways. For instance, one of my colleagues collaborates with a plastic surgeon based in his office 2 days a week. The surgeon developed acute abdominal pain one night and was rushed to a local emergency room. When a CT scan showed appendicitis, he was taken to the operating room first thing in the morning. My friend's secretary started calling the surgeon's patients to let them know that their consultations or surgeries would have to be postponed.

Most people reacted with appropriate concern - "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that! How is he doing?" and so on - but not everyone.

"I'm sorry to tell you that Dr. Jenkins won't be able to see you today. He's having emergency surgery himself."

"Oh. I see. That's very disappointing."

"Of course. But we'll let you know as soon we find out when he's coming back to work."

"This is very disappointing."

Alas, so it is.

Another patient had flown up from Florida for a second opinion about biopsy-proved skin cancer. When the second opinion was the same as the first - that the cancer be removed - an expedited consultation was arranged with the surgeon so the Floridian could go right back to the sun. When appendicitis struck the surgeon, the patient was apprised of the situation.

"But when will Dr. Jenkins be able to operate?" he wanted to know.

"He's in surgery himself right now," he was told. "We hope he recovers fast, but at this point we really can't tell you."

"But I have to make plans," he said. "When will he be able to take care of my problem?"

What the secretary thought of saying, but didn't, was this: "Tell you what. We'll camp out in the recovery room with a phone next to Dr. Jenkins' lips. The second his anesthesia wears off, we're sure his very first words - after he asks about his mistress - will be to tell us when he can operate on you."

Talk about self-absorption.

Of course, we meet self-absorbed people in all walks of life. And all of us - even doctors! - are entitled to think about our own pressures and problems, though sharing them with patients is generally not a good move. ("You think you've got a rash? Have a look at mine!") It's okay to be annoyed when your doctor, lawyer, or accountant can't see you as scheduled, but most people older than a certain age can see the larger context and stifle the urge to express our annoyance.

I saw Irma again after her convention and froze her offending spots. "I guess from what you said," I said, "your self-absorbed patients won't even notice."

"I'm not sure my colleagues would have, either," she said with a wry smile. "They're psychologists."