Gregory L. Phelps / Gregory LPhelps
I was in a Panera’s taking a quick minute between patients to scarf down some food. Sitting alone, I was surrounded by the buzz of couples dining and friends meeting -- including an animated threesome of middle-aged women at the table next to me. My phone rang; it was one of my nurses calling about a patient in pain. I asked a few questions and then said, 'OK well increase the morphine to 60 milligrams three times a day and add another 5 mg of methadone to the current dose that she’s taking. As I rang off, I realized it had suddenly gotten quiet around me. I looked up from pocketing my phone. The threesome of matrons was glaring at me. Cockroaches get more benign stares. The woman closest to me curled her lip, it was clear she could see the large MD on my ID badge clipped to my lapel. 'What kind of a doctor would hand out those kinds of medicines, are you one of those ’pain doctors?' she spat at me. Her friends nodded. Clearly, the public campaign against pain clinics and their doctors was having its desired effect.
