He left a little early to stop by the cath lab to see his patient before her procedure.  Cordial “hellos,” “good mornings,” and “any last questions?” were mentioned before she signed her consent.  The team was working feverishly to prepare her for her procedure.  “Have you met the anesthesiologist yet?” was next, and almost on cue, the anesthesiologist arrived and took over for a bit.

He hurried upstairs to the conference room.  There, was an all-too-fattening array of welcoming donuts and bagels, a coffee and hot water dispenser, and a few remaining empty cups. This was the stuff of breakfast on more hurried days.  Still, a small cup of coffee was welcomed and poured quickly. Another nurse had arrived with him and he asked, “Can I pour you one?”  She accepted and they quickly made their way into the conference room after signing the attendance sheet.  They didn’t want to miss the start of the conference for that was sometimes the best part of the conference.

In a stroke of genius, the organizers of the cath conference quickly review the news of the week, both locally, nationally, and medical.  They even show wild things colleagues did the week before outside of conference, like flyboarding or a shot of a colleague holding a huge striped bass they caught the weekend before with their 8-year-old daughter.

Complaints about the design of the restrospective trial reviewing digoxin’s use for atrial fibrillation, sodium’s uncertain consumption recommendations were met with rolled eyes, and the possibility of transcaval retrograde transaortic valve replacement in patients with no other access was discussed, with a quick aside of direct translumbar aortic punctures and even direct left atrial punctures being performed by surgeons in earlier times.  In short, they shared the other side of themselves together, the reality of science, their humanness.

Then they shared cases.

The cases are not always pretty.  Some were tough cases, wonderful cases, cases no one had seen before.  They discuss the complicated social situations that bring even more complicated dynamics to the case.  They discuss the errors and the complications.  Importantly, they all understand this is a legally protected conference — a morbidity and mortality conference, if you will — a place where there are frank discussions about the right way to treat things and the wrong way, but a place that is supportive to those who have struggled, and incredibly helpful to those who still struggle with many challenges.  Administration hears about the problems doctors had with the lab equipment or staff or whatever, professionally.

And it’s the most popular conference in our hospital.  People of all ages and technical backgrounds are welcomed.  Old and young, cath lab staff, nurses, quality personnel, research staff, administrators, guest speakers, cardiologists and surgeons.  Everyone, that is, except industry or pharmaceutical folks.  This is, after all, the work of health care, not marketing.

At the end, they greeted, however briefly.  A quick question is asked.  A consult requested.  A research form signed.  Then off they went on their ways for another week to do their jobs.

This is lifelong learning as it should be: cordial, professional, collaborative, fulfilling, timely, up to date, and self-generated.  And it happens because it has to, not because it’s directed by a centralized bureaucratic money-making organization who claims they know what’s best for doctors and what’s best for society.

When doctors, nurses, technologists and health care teams learn this way it’s sustainable for a lifetime for one simple reason: Because it’s enjoyed.

Wes Fisher is a cardiologist who blogs at Dr. Wes.