But the 56-year-old, who recently marked his 25th year at Atrium Medical Center, is part of the Urology Group, is serving his second three-year term as the hospital’s Chief of Surgery, and hopes to work 10 more years.
Why the change?
The urologist enjoys his profession, cares deeply about his patients, and feels he’s still on top of his game.
“I absolutely love what I do,” Dr. Miller said recently while sitting in the hospital’s cafeteria. “Given the opportunity, I would not rewrite the script.”
He’s not ready to write the last chapter.
“As long as I can do what I do well, I will do it,” the Middletown resident said. “I don’t want to waste what I have been given. The ultimate goal is to leave the operating room before I’m asked to leave. I don’t want to be one of those guys that missed the horse to ride off into the sunset because I’m still here.”
Every few months or so, Dr. Miller runs over a career checklist in his mind. Still love my job? Am I a good surgeon? Is there any cause for fear?
“The day will come and I will say, ‘I don’t want to do this,’” he said.
That day will have to wait.
Dr. Miller’s career path, and the way he treats his patients, were directed by the way he was treated as a patient his second year of medical school at Indiana University. He had a kidney stone removed, and was so impressed by the treatment he received, he chose urology.
In fact, as a senior at IU, he took some rotations with the same urology group.
“They cared for me like I was family,” Dr. Miller said.
Now, he tries to emulate them. Before he leaves the room, Dr. Miller touches his patients, as a way to assure them, he said. It may be on the big toe or a shoulder.
“That’s the personal touch that medicine today is missing,” he said. “Because of the albatross system that we have become. Family doctors nationwide are not coming to hospitals anymore. It’s the change in times.”
Then he added: “This machine is in motion and it’s hard to get off, and even if you wanted to get off, it’s going too fast.”
For Dr. Miller, there is nothing like performing a surgery when the staff is “hitting on all cylinders.”
He called the operating room his “sanctuary” because when he’s there, he can’t be bothered. At that point, nothing is more important than his work.
He cherishes the relationships he builds with his patients. They confide in him, sometimes after only a few minutes, what they haven’t told their loved ones.
“That has always amazed me, that human nature has always desired to be cared for,” he said. “We’re all starving for that attention, that affirmation that somebody cares.”
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