Happy hospitalist coincidences
Patients and editors make some coincidental appearances.
We all have crazy coincidences pop up in our lives, but I've always found the ones that came my way to be fascinating.
One arose during one of my early meetings with ACP Hospitalist Editor-in-Chief Stacey Butterfield at an annual Internal Medicine Meeting. She asked, “Is Roberta Newman your sister?” I thought, “Geez, they really do their background research at this magazine” and “What has my sister done to get me in trouble?” But Stacey explained that her best friend was my dear departed cousin Bobby's daughter and that she had crashed in my sister's attic while exploring New York City in her youth. So I was not in trouble at all! Instead, I had an in with my new boss thanks to my sister's hospitality, although Stacey did note that the attic had been pretty chilly during her December stay.
Long before that came the oddest coincidence I ever experienced. In 1989, I was exploring an antique shop in Auckland, New Zealand, when I heard someone say, “My, isn't that the cutest little thing?” (Please imagine my imitation of a lovely lilting Southern drawl.) Since I'm fluent in that dialect, I turned to her and said, “How are you doin’, darlin’?” She smiled and asked if I was from the South. Of course I responded that I was from the south side of Brooklyn, although I did eventually admit I was living in Galveston, Texas, at the time.
She introduced herself as Paula, we chatted for a while, and as I left the shop, I offered her my card and said, “If you're ever in Galveston, please look me up,” even though she lived in a distant part of the country.
Several years went by, during which my office moved locations. One day I was sitting surrounded by my collection of medical books (even back then they were old and dusty!), international curios, and unanswered mail when I heard a ruckus in the waiting room. Initially I thought to make my escape out the back door, but since I was the medical director I thought I should probably intervene instead.
When I came out front, there was a well-dressed older businessman facing my determined and immovable office administrator and demanding to see Dr. Newman. It was too late to make a hasty exit, so I faced him, even as I feared he was probably a lawyer, an IRS agent, or a sheriff's deputy serving a warrant. (Yes, I had some wild times back in those days, but that's another column.)
He demanded to know if I was said Dr. Newman. I somewhat hesitantly admitted this was the case. He said his name was Louis and asked what I was doing with his wife. I was flummoxed, to say the least. What made him think I even knew his wife?
He proceeded to pull my old business card from his pocket. Then, with a big smile, he said, “You met Paula in New Zealand. We just moved to Galveston and bought the house right next door to your office. Like it or not, we are your new patients.”
Louis and Paula were my patients for many years after that. It's been over 20 years since I've left Galveston, but I've never forgotten that chance encounter in 1989.
I'm not sure there is a lesson to be learned in this other than that coincidences happen, and sometimes you might self-refer a patient from 7,500 miles away, so it never hurts to have a business card in your pocket. Oh, and tell your sister to turn the heat up, in case that kid in the attic is editing your columns someday!
