Cut off from public utilities, the old hospital stood cold, dark, and vacant, awaiting demolition, making room for progress. My father had been on the medical staff before I was born, while it was known as The Sacred Heart Hospital. Being the Medical Staff President when it was torn down, I leveraged a self-guided tour for a few hours, discovering riches that could not be removed--riches that remained long after the building was torn down. Most everything of value had been torn out, leaving hallways and rooms cluttered with debris. The 1940’s architecture with areas of green tile walls, glass block windows, and marble floors reminded me that this building was as old as I was. The room where my mother died a few years earlier brought a flood of unexpected emotions. On the next floor, the uninviting “rubber room” was still intact. It was here where they took uncontrollable patients in straight jackets to decompress safely. The vacant Radiology Suite reminded me of when it housed the only CT scanner in Idaho Falls. I have been told that I was taken there with a concussive head injury following a serious car wreck--but could not remember being there. Wandering into the old ICU space, I remembered when we chose it to locate one of the first two pulse oximeters in Idaho Falls--the other one was shared by anesthesia. Nowadays, pulse oximeters are ubiquitous and no one has to argue over who gets to use one. The medical history memories faded as I entered the last room on my tour and met some of the ghosts of Liar's Club. Only one of the two hospitals in Idaho Falls had a Liar's Club, where doctors could meet for lunch and crow about their adventures. The LDS Hospital may have been too close to the Idaho Falls Temple to tolerate such a label. Across town, the Franciscan Sisters who ran the Sacred Heart Hospital must have been more forgiving when they created such a space for doctors. Affectionately called Liar's Club, it was where I learned early on to have lunch and take the pulse of the medical community. It was here that the rich tapestry of Idaho Falls Medicine was spun among contemporary doctors. There were stories of people who were the legends of Idaho Falls and those who were legends in their own minds. There was so much material that we didn't have to make stuff up and couldn't possibly write it all down. Whoever named it, Liar’s Club wasn't for everyone. Those doctors who went home to annoy their wives for lunch missed out. During the first few months of my practice, I went home for lunch for a while and soon discovered that I was more welcome at The Liar’s Club. As MK explained, “RT, I love you deeply and we may be married for time and all eternity, but that does NOT include coming home for lunch!” So it was that I found myself there, standing alone in the doctor’s lounge of an abandoned hospital--possibly the last doctor to see Liar’s Club. It felt like I was on hallowed ground—not so much because of the forgotten stories that had been spun there, but because of the truly great doctors who had told them. One of those doctors was Milton Reese. When asked by the tissue committee why he had removed a normal appendix, he said, "I had to hurry and get it out before one of you unethical donkeys did it." Without further discussion, the meeting was over. Dr. Reese was buried a few years later, but the story lives on. When we moved into the gleaming new hospital, we found the new physician’s lounge and called it Liar’s Club for a while, but it never was the same. A few years ago the lounge was updated to include a buffet, a big screen TV, computers and comfortable furniture. I am fairly certain that a group of fresh faces still meets there, spinning new stories and creating their own memories. I wonder if someone will be reverently standing in that room years from now, just before it is demolished to make room for progress—and a new Liar’s Club.
Ever vigilant,
RT
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