Meandering Musing

Thoughts on Medicine, Life, Technology


Brian Yount

Left Brain. Right Brain.

pexels-photo-963056.jpegI checked my right brain at the door when I started medical school in 1995.  Writing, performing music, and acting didn’t make it in.  How could they?  I had very little free time and why would I want to cling to touchy feely distractions?  I was prepared to sacrifice personal interests and passions to clear my mental decks.  I wanted to dedicate all my brain power to the promise of learning critical information that would empower me to care for the ill.  It was a left brain dominant exercise for sure.   And walking the hill at my graduation from KU, I remember thinking I had given up my love for art and beauty in the world to fill my mind with far too much clinically irrelevant minutiae.

I had screwed up very, very badly.  No doubt, many of my peers made the same mistake I did when we started med school.  Until recent life events smacked me upside the head (much, much more on that later), I had given up on my right brain enthusiasms.  On an EEG, it would have been a virtual flat-line.  The creative, inventive, passionate side of me was in squalor and disrepair.  What I thought had been an informed decision to become a brilliant doctor (and I only use that adjective as a hypothetical description, not necessarily my reality!) left me as a doctor who only used half his brain.  That, dear reader, was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done.

Certainly, there were limited benefits to this decision.  If I spent my career as a right brain dominant person, then I would have been crushed by the emotional nature of the work and flamed out long ago.  I even managed to find the love of my life, and I take great joy in being with my children.  Being with my family is the primary motivation that gets me through my week.

Keeping some distance and being slightly dispassionate on the job is how most of us survive.  We also find individual tools to keep us going.  My primary coping skill is sarcastic humor.  Without the ability to laugh at myself and the impossible situations I sometimes find myself in professionally, I’d have been carted to the loony bin long ago!  And in the hospital, where I’ve spent almost my entire career, it hits every single one of us in the face at times.  And some days, just when we manage to pull it all together after being sucker punched emotionally, we find ourselves knocked to the ground again.  Medicine can be the most rewarding, as well as the most cruel, profession in the world.

Nobody who works in a hospital gets by unscathed – from the highly trained and professional code blue team desperately working to resuscitate the 23-year-old expectant mother who won’t live see her baby – to the housekeeping crew who cleans up the blood soaked floor and walls from the family of 5 killed in a car accident – it can be terrible.  Personally, I’ve seen bad things TNTC.  That means “too numerous to count” for all of you normal, non-medical people of whom I have been increasingly jealous over the past decade.  If I let my right brain run amok, I’d never get out of bed.  I’d never go to work again.  None of us would.  It would simply be too much.

Compartmentalization is a key to survival, but the expectation and demand for compartmentalization is also destructive to us personally and professionally.  The internet is littered with hundreds, if not thousands, of vignettes from physicians, nurses and support staff who have given their all at work, only to find themselves inadequately cared for with respect to their own mental health.  And with the nearly universal philosophy of “doing more with less,” the pressure cooker is only going to increase in intensity.  More on this later, after some additional research.

As for now, in reading this, you are an unwitting victim of my need to practice writing again.  It’s akin to watching a 46 year-old former minor league baseball player at batting practice after not playing for 23 years.  Sure, he can swing the bat, but it’s a helluva lot slower and sometimes ugly to watch.  And like the ball player who dreams of getting just one chance to play in the Bigs, I’m dreaming of making a larger difference than settling for just one-patient-at-a-time.

What I can only now call some “healthcare-related concepts” have fired up my right brain.  Maybe too much.  The din of exploding ideas inside my head is deafening at times.  But other than asking my lovely wife to marry me, the conscious decision to bring my right brain back from the brink of death might be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.


PS – for any of you neurologists or neurobiologists out there, I am well aware that the left brain, right brain concept is not very accurate clinically.  Get over it.  I’m emoting.

33 Years.


It has been a struggle to get out of my own way.  I’m sure many of you have the same feeling.  My health and well-being have suffered mightily from the stress of taking care of others in my work as a physician.  I have not taken care of myself.  Period.  My career does not make me unique in this situation, as the patients I treat every day suffer from similar emotions of frustration and despair.  Many of them are trapped in far more serious situations, with truly life-threatening diseases, and they see no visible way out.  They are losing, or have lost, hope.

I went for a walk today to clear my mind and ponder my path forward.  I glanced at my watch and realized to my dismay that today it had been 33 years – almost to the minute – since my life was changed forever.  The moment the school secretary took 12-year-old me from Mr. Rhodes’ classroom, down seemingly endless hallways to the principal’s office.  Sitting there was my father and our dear family friend, Nancy.  The only words I remember from that day are, “Your mother has gone to be with God.”  After that—void.

When I was younger, I would dread May 7 starting weeks in advance.  It represented the wrecking ball that tore down the walls of my childhood.  It represented the sudden, inescapable knowledge that mortality is real and my innocence was lost.  It tormented me and tortured my mind.

And then the healing measure of time passed over me.  Little by little, the gaping wound of loss began to heal and scar covered the hole in my heart.  Twenty years down the road, I would sometimes remember my loss a day late.  And then the wound would rupture open and bleed from the guilt of having forgotten.  However, I’m certain Mom would have been thrilled I was finally almost whole, and that May 7 was no longer a day filled with emptiness.  Sometimes, May 7 could be just another day.  She would want me to remember how much she loved me, and that she never wanted to go.  But she would want me to move past despair and focus on hope.

And so, 33 years later, I will despair no more.  I chose to be a physician because of what happened that warm spring day.  My fate was cemented in that moment, and I know she is proud.  And so, 33 years later, I dedicate my future work to her and the patients who see no way forward.  The patients who measure their life in days and breaths.  The patients who are about to give life to another in birth.  The patients who grip my hand to calm their fears, and the patients who hug me in joy.  The patients who just need to talk, and the patients who would certainly die without my help.

33 years to fully realize what my life’s work is about and to know how I must shape my future.

33 years…

Meandering Musing

Welcome to my blog.  In all honesty, I write this much more for me than for you.  In fact, there is a 98.9% chance no one else will ever read a syllable.  My wife will undoubtedly groan when I tell her I’m going to start putting myself out on the internet.  I can’t blame her.  She is recalcitrant in embracing Facebook and a lot of the other tech I enjoy.  I’m glad – she’s a true and honest person in a fleeting digital world.  She is an analog LP to my binary iPhone and a guiding light in a world in which I would have otherwise become lost long ago.

That said, it’s time to write again.  I was a bit of an essayist and poet in college but the rigors of med school beat the passion to write out of me.  In an effort to re-energize my life and career, I’m ready to pickup up my pen (ok, keyboard) once more.  I’d like to share some of the great things I love, call out things that are simply not right, and if I can touch just a handful of lives, then maybe I can leave this world a little better place than I found it.

And so, here goes….

Blog at

Up ↑