Flustered v Composed
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Upon moving to Australia, I lived with a classmate whom I'd known through high-school and uni. In addition to Pharmacy, we both played Hockey, he at much higher levels than I. In fact, Rip was selected a few times in NZ underage squads.
One night after hockey practice, we were talking about a player in the club who, despite having capable basic skills, struck us both as uncoordinated. Rip astutely observed that the guy was 'frantic' on the ball. As sports-watchers will know, a good player seems to have 'time' every possession. This appearance of time, due to their superior skills and composure, may almost reveal their decision-making processes, but their opponents are powerless to act. Think Michael Jordan's clutch plays, Mark Waugh's magnetic slip catching or Dan Carter slicing through a defensive line.
The opposite, of course, occurs too. Not that it's shown on television or other international stages, but there are many, many sportists whom, in addition to poor decision-making, have rubbish skills. When they receive a pass or need to make a tackle, their eyes go big, their heart races and *bang* something happens. Either it's good or abysmal or lucky or sufficient; they've frantically played their part.
After a while, the conversation turned to pharmacy. Several parallels were evident between clinical practice and sport, and the metaphor certainly extends to doctors.
In pharmacy, the composed pharmacist copes well with a store full of people, a line-up of 'scripts, several requests for consults. They remain cool, calm and collected, they prioritise according to time, urgency and staffing factors.
Conversely, the same situation my fluster and frazzle an inexperienced manager. Patients wait too long and customers get shirty; no-one leaves entirely convinced that things are going well.
Confidence in one's skills is imperative; safe in the knowledge that you can handle whatever situation presents itself, from an irate customer, to a very sick patient or even an armed holdup.
Whilst I'm yet to see a completely flustered clinician, I'm sure they exist. Generally, though, docs seem to err on the side of composure, bordering on detachment. This is unsurprising, given the sheer volume of patients most clinicians see; their knowledge and skills are well honed. Moreover, a term or two in acute psychiatry certainly establishes a sort of Zen in most docs.
A good clinician has 'time', even in the most acute situation. They have strong skills, both physical and mental, and can action them systematically and repeatedly under stress. Their goals and approach adjust as the situation warrants, all with the 'big picture' in mind.
Rip, quite rightly, describes good sportspeople as 'clinical'; composed, accurate, consistent, aware. All evident to the keen onlooker, and sensed by teammates and patients alike.
One night after hockey practice, we were talking about a player in the club who, despite having capable basic skills, struck us both as uncoordinated. Rip astutely observed that the guy was 'frantic' on the ball. As sports-watchers will know, a good player seems to have 'time' every possession. This appearance of time, due to their superior skills and composure, may almost reveal their decision-making processes, but their opponents are powerless to act. Think Michael Jordan's clutch plays, Mark Waugh's magnetic slip catching or Dan Carter slicing through a defensive line.
The opposite, of course, occurs too. Not that it's shown on television or other international stages, but there are many, many sportists whom, in addition to poor decision-making, have rubbish skills. When they receive a pass or need to make a tackle, their eyes go big, their heart races and *bang* something happens. Either it's good or abysmal or lucky or sufficient; they've frantically played their part.
After a while, the conversation turned to pharmacy. Several parallels were evident between clinical practice and sport, and the metaphor certainly extends to doctors.
In pharmacy, the composed pharmacist copes well with a store full of people, a line-up of 'scripts, several requests for consults. They remain cool, calm and collected, they prioritise according to time, urgency and staffing factors.
Conversely, the same situation my fluster and frazzle an inexperienced manager. Patients wait too long and customers get shirty; no-one leaves entirely convinced that things are going well.
Confidence in one's skills is imperative; safe in the knowledge that you can handle whatever situation presents itself, from an irate customer, to a very sick patient or even an armed holdup.
Whilst I'm yet to see a completely flustered clinician, I'm sure they exist. Generally, though, docs seem to err on the side of composure, bordering on detachment. This is unsurprising, given the sheer volume of patients most clinicians see; their knowledge and skills are well honed. Moreover, a term or two in acute psychiatry certainly establishes a sort of Zen in most docs.
A good clinician has 'time', even in the most acute situation. They have strong skills, both physical and mental, and can action them systematically and repeatedly under stress. Their goals and approach adjust as the situation warrants, all with the 'big picture' in mind.
Rip, quite rightly, describes good sportspeople as 'clinical'; composed, accurate, consistent, aware. All evident to the keen onlooker, and sensed by teammates and patients alike.
