A little spiel me…
I’m a writer and a doctor. I’m both. And I need both to make me tick. We all have balance in our lives. Medicine brings me in contact with others, serving and helping, creating human bonds. Writing gives me solace, a chance to separate from the milling throng, and channel my inner muse. (I know that sounds a bit high-falutin’, but I don’t know how else to put it.)
When I write, I take my knowledge, lessons, and personal experience, and I put it down on screen. What comes out is not the product of that simple equation, and the feeling it gives is not the sum of these things either. There is more to it than that. Someone much wiser than me once said that in order for our livelihood to be sustainable, we need to engage in things that feed us, that give us energy, not in things that take from us, or use our energy. Medicine unashamedly takes from me – but that is the nature of the deal. Within this western medical model, I provide a service to others, a utility, as payment and thanks for the brain I have been given, the training I have received, and the knowledge I can impart. Writing, on the other hand, feeds me, it nourishes me, and it fills me full.
So, it’s art versus science. The creativity of writing, balanced by the structure of medicine. The solitude of typing, complemented by the busyness of emergency. The freedom of the scribe, contrasting the perfect order of the physician. In the end, it’s a perfect balance.
And, having explored medicine, and writing a number of different genres, and being a slightly anal man of science, who quite enjoys the dichotomy of this energy equation, the obvious next step is to balance the two. To write about health. To give, and to take. To feed and be fed at the same time.
It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?