Hard-CHARGING Doctor Among the Cast of the ABC Medical Series
By ART CHAPMAN
7-23-02
HOUSTON, TX (Fort Worth Star-Telegram) -- Dr. Drue ``Neel'' Ware is an adrenaline junkie. He thrives on it, depends on it.
At Memorial Hermann Hospital at the heart of Houston's gigantic Texas Medical Center, Ware rushes among the maze of hallways that connect the emergency rooms with the intensive care units, then to the rooftop heliport and back again.
He is a swirl of white, his lab coat lapping against his green scrubs, his long legs and arms in never-ending motion.
Ware is a Fort Worth native, the son of a doctor, a charter student at an exclusive private school. And Tuesday night at 9 CDT, he will be one of the doctors featured on the ABC reality summer series ``Houston Medical.''
Ware is on the staff of the University of Texas Medical School in Houston and a trauma surgeon at Memorial Hermann. It is a difficult, stressful job that holds enormous responsibility and boundless gratification.
It feeds his need for speed.
``He's been that way for his whole life,'' said longtime friend Buck Neil, a veterinarian. ``We grew up together, hunting and fishing. He will work harder fishing than most people work in their daily jobs. And when it comes to hunting birds, he'll have two knocked down before you get your safety off.''
Neil and Ware were from rival schools in Fort Worth - Ware was at Country Day while Neil attended another private school, Trinity Valley - but they were inseparable when the school day was done and it was time to grab a rod and reel or pick up a shotgun.
``I remember his dad bought him an old Jeep and told him not to drive it over 50 miles an hour or he'd take it away,'' Neil said. ``We never went over 50, but we drove that Jeep miles and miles to find the good hunting and fishing.''
Ware and his father were extremely close. And even now, several years after his father's death, Ware is emotional when speaking of Dr. Drue O.D. Ware.
``He was great,'' Ware said. ``I think I wanted to be a doctor the day I was born. He took me on rounds with him at Harris Hospital and I would stand on a stool while a nurse held me and watch him stitch some guy up.''
Ware said his father always wore a mustache and, ``when I was born, the doctor used a mascara pencil to paint a mustache on me and then he carried me around the hospital asking whose baby I was.''
The elder Ware was a general practitioner in the truest sense, his son says. He delivered babies, sometimes several generations within the same family, and he did his own surgery. He was everything to his patients.
Neil recollected Ware's father: ``He was with the Marine Raider divisions in the Pacific during World War II, and he took care of the wounded with only a .45 pistol on his hip and his medic kit.
``He came back here and went into practice. He took care of the obstetrics, general surgery, everything. He never slept. His patients would come to the house, and when they couldn't get him at the front door, they went around and got him at the back. Drue saw that and was impressed by it.''
Ware thought briefly about being a veterinarian, like his friend, but gave in to his lifelong urge to be a doctor.
Watching over him during his medical training was an old associate of his father's, Dr. James Henry ``Red'' Duke, chief of trauma at Hermann Hospital.
Duke is legendary in Texas medical circles. He helped elevate Hermann's trauma care to the highest level - Level 1 - and established the first helicopter ambulance service in the state.
He is also Ware's godfather.
``I'm the only Episcopalian doctor I know of who has an ordained Baptist preacher for a godfather,'' Ware said. Duke received a divinity degree from Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in 1955.
The two men are so inextricably linked at the hospital, employees there call Ware ``Pink.''
``They call me that because I'm not old enough to be `Red,' '' he said with a grimace. Duke is in his 70s, Ware is 45.
Ware wanted a practice like his father's, a general practice in which the doctor does everything and becomes involved in the lives of his patients. But society has changed too much now, he says. ``In today's litigious society, you just can't do that.''
He picked surgery. Then he picked trauma, and he has never looked back. He doesn't have the time.
Ware's life is given over to the trauma center and to teaching medical students. At 45, he is still unmarried. He has never taken the time to buy a house. He lives in an apartment near the hospital. He is dating, but his most steady companion is Pecos, a Jack Russell terrier who goes with him to the hospital and is known by most of the staff.
Pecos is spending a few days at the vet's right now. At all of 15 pounds soaking wet, Pecos apparently lives on adrenaline, too. He's on the mend from a recent fight with a Doberman. Pecos lost.
Living in Houston was an adjustment after Fort Worth, Ware says. His North Texas lifestyle was slow and easy; then he hit Houston and found himself ``running 70 miles an hour, four abreast, down I-10.''
The Texas Medical Center, where he works, is imposing in its size, as well. More than 40 institutions are part of the enormous complex near downtown. The center has 100 buildings on 700 acres. There are 12 miles of roads running through it.
White lab coats, running shoes and loose-fitting scrubs are the uniform of the day.
And at the hub, the very epicenter, is the trauma center. There is one at Ben Taub General, the county hospital, and one at Hermann. They are claustrophobic places with too much equipment jammed into too little space.
Doctors, nurses, technicians all step over one another. The patient is lost deep in the crowd.
``Trauma is the leading cause of death in people under the age of 44,'' Ware says, and his countenance tightens. ``For every person killed in trauma, three are permanently disabled. It is one of those things that happens to everybody else, not you. But when it happens to you, you want the best care you can get.
``Trauma centers are overwhelmed by sheer numbers.''
That's why Ware, and his colleagues at Memorial Hermann Hospital, were willing to submit themselves to the TV cameras that followed them constantly for the ABC series. They wanted the series to educate viewers to the needs of the patients and the hospital.
``We wanted to show people who the real heroes are in our society,'' Ware said. ``We wanted to show them firemen, and police, paramedics and nurses. People who are out there every day doing the best they can.''
They are people who subscribe to Ware's philosophy: ``Look for good fights to fight and try to made a difference.''
By ART CHAPMAN
7-23-02
HOUSTON, TX (Fort Worth Star-Telegram) -- Dr. Drue ``Neel'' Ware is an adrenaline junkie. He thrives on it, depends on it.
At Memorial Hermann Hospital at the heart of Houston's gigantic Texas Medical Center, Ware rushes among the maze of hallways that connect the emergency rooms with the intensive care units, then to the rooftop heliport and back again.
He is a swirl of white, his lab coat lapping against his green scrubs, his long legs and arms in never-ending motion.
Ware is a Fort Worth native, the son of a doctor, a charter student at an exclusive private school. And Tuesday night at 9 CDT, he will be one of the doctors featured on the ABC reality summer series ``Houston Medical.''
Ware is on the staff of the University of Texas Medical School in Houston and a trauma surgeon at Memorial Hermann. It is a difficult, stressful job that holds enormous responsibility and boundless gratification.
It feeds his need for speed.
``He's been that way for his whole life,'' said longtime friend Buck Neil, a veterinarian. ``We grew up together, hunting and fishing. He will work harder fishing than most people work in their daily jobs. And when it comes to hunting birds, he'll have two knocked down before you get your safety off.''
Neil and Ware were from rival schools in Fort Worth - Ware was at Country Day while Neil attended another private school, Trinity Valley - but they were inseparable when the school day was done and it was time to grab a rod and reel or pick up a shotgun.
``I remember his dad bought him an old Jeep and told him not to drive it over 50 miles an hour or he'd take it away,'' Neil said. ``We never went over 50, but we drove that Jeep miles and miles to find the good hunting and fishing.''
Ware and his father were extremely close. And even now, several years after his father's death, Ware is emotional when speaking of Dr. Drue O.D. Ware.
``He was great,'' Ware said. ``I think I wanted to be a doctor the day I was born. He took me on rounds with him at Harris Hospital and I would stand on a stool while a nurse held me and watch him stitch some guy up.''
Ware said his father always wore a mustache and, ``when I was born, the doctor used a mascara pencil to paint a mustache on me and then he carried me around the hospital asking whose baby I was.''
The elder Ware was a general practitioner in the truest sense, his son says. He delivered babies, sometimes several generations within the same family, and he did his own surgery. He was everything to his patients.
Neil recollected Ware's father: ``He was with the Marine Raider divisions in the Pacific during World War II, and he took care of the wounded with only a .45 pistol on his hip and his medic kit.
``He came back here and went into practice. He took care of the obstetrics, general surgery, everything. He never slept. His patients would come to the house, and when they couldn't get him at the front door, they went around and got him at the back. Drue saw that and was impressed by it.''
Ware thought briefly about being a veterinarian, like his friend, but gave in to his lifelong urge to be a doctor.
Watching over him during his medical training was an old associate of his father's, Dr. James Henry ``Red'' Duke, chief of trauma at Hermann Hospital.
Duke is legendary in Texas medical circles. He helped elevate Hermann's trauma care to the highest level - Level 1 - and established the first helicopter ambulance service in the state.
He is also Ware's godfather.
``I'm the only Episcopalian doctor I know of who has an ordained Baptist preacher for a godfather,'' Ware said. Duke received a divinity degree from Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in 1955.
The two men are so inextricably linked at the hospital, employees there call Ware ``Pink.''
``They call me that because I'm not old enough to be `Red,' '' he said with a grimace. Duke is in his 70s, Ware is 45.
Ware wanted a practice like his father's, a general practice in which the doctor does everything and becomes involved in the lives of his patients. But society has changed too much now, he says. ``In today's litigious society, you just can't do that.''
He picked surgery. Then he picked trauma, and he has never looked back. He doesn't have the time.
Ware's life is given over to the trauma center and to teaching medical students. At 45, he is still unmarried. He has never taken the time to buy a house. He lives in an apartment near the hospital. He is dating, but his most steady companion is Pecos, a Jack Russell terrier who goes with him to the hospital and is known by most of the staff.
Pecos is spending a few days at the vet's right now. At all of 15 pounds soaking wet, Pecos apparently lives on adrenaline, too. He's on the mend from a recent fight with a Doberman. Pecos lost.
Living in Houston was an adjustment after Fort Worth, Ware says. His North Texas lifestyle was slow and easy; then he hit Houston and found himself ``running 70 miles an hour, four abreast, down I-10.''
The Texas Medical Center, where he works, is imposing in its size, as well. More than 40 institutions are part of the enormous complex near downtown. The center has 100 buildings on 700 acres. There are 12 miles of roads running through it.
White lab coats, running shoes and loose-fitting scrubs are the uniform of the day.
And at the hub, the very epicenter, is the trauma center. There is one at Ben Taub General, the county hospital, and one at Hermann. They are claustrophobic places with too much equipment jammed into too little space.
Doctors, nurses, technicians all step over one another. The patient is lost deep in the crowd.
``Trauma is the leading cause of death in people under the age of 44,'' Ware says, and his countenance tightens. ``For every person killed in trauma, three are permanently disabled. It is one of those things that happens to everybody else, not you. But when it happens to you, you want the best care you can get.
``Trauma centers are overwhelmed by sheer numbers.''
That's why Ware, and his colleagues at Memorial Hermann Hospital, were willing to submit themselves to the TV cameras that followed them constantly for the ABC series. They wanted the series to educate viewers to the needs of the patients and the hospital.
``We wanted to show people who the real heroes are in our society,'' Ware said. ``We wanted to show them firemen, and police, paramedics and nurses. People who are out there every day doing the best they can.''
They are people who subscribe to Ware's philosophy: ``Look for good fights to fight and try to made a difference.''