CAP TODAY Pathology/Laboratory Medicine/Laboratory Management
Gene N. Herbek, MD
October 2013—This is my first column, and it’s only good manners to introduce myself.
I grew up on a small farm in south-central Nebraska, half a mile outside a town of 80 or 90 people. My parents came from big families and our town was small; half of our neighbors were also our relatives. We worked together, played together, held it together.
Dr. Herbek
Winters are cold in Nebraska. Rural public power and running water didn’t reach us until I was five or six. I learned as a small boy that trips to the outhouse should be made with intention, especially in winter.
At age nine or 10, I was big enough to help with morning chores. We’d get up at 5:00 am, milk the cows, clean up, have breakfast, and head off to school, where two teachers taught nine grades in two rooms. That was the rhythm of our lives. The cows didn’t get weekends off and we didn’t either.
If we learned from the outhouse to be intentional, we learned from the schoolhouse to be respectful. When another class was learning, you were quiet. When the teacher spoke, you paid attention and practiced the art of listening.
I was the second in our extended family to go to college. In my junior year, I got a job as a respiratory therapist working nights at the local hospital. A couple months into the school year, one of my patients was found to have active TB. Those who’d had contact with this patient were called in for a scratch test. A radiology technologist friend had access to the x-ray equipment, so we decided to do a quick x-ray instead.
The x-ray revealed a goose-egg–sized lesion in my left lower lung that hadn’t been there at my pre-employment physical six months before. Further tests showed a low-grade leiomyosarcoma. Its discovery was unlikely and serendipitous, an argument for guardian angels, and a reminder that life is short. The tumor was removed without complications, although it did lead my girlfriend to decide that I was eligible for “serious boyfriend” status. Jean and I married a year later; that was nearly 42 years ago.
All that history was intended to introduce what I think is important and enlist your support as we set out on this two-year journey.
Pathology requires uncommon discipline and skill. Without an accurate diagnosis, nothing else goes right for our patients. It’s a big responsibility.
Most people do not understand what we do and we need to tell them. We need to explain how we care for patients. We need to help our patients and colleagues understand exactly what that means.