To Feel:
Seen
Look what I can do
This is how I can contribute
See me achieve
Heard
Hear my concerns
Take me into account
Understood
Validate me
Normalize my feelings
Say you can relate
Accepted
Tell me I belong
Loved
Participate in the Messy with me
Commit to sticking with me through the hard shit
Let me be my whole self with you
Be your whole self with me
Children by parents
Patients by doctors
Students by teachers
Workers by managers
The led by their leaders
Spouses
Friends
What if?
What do you sacrifice in pursuit of your dreams?
What does your calling cost you?
What are the returns on your investments?
* * * * *
Last week I mentioned Dierks Bentley’s, “Woman, Amen”, a song I love. After listening to it for many days on repeat this past week, I decided to tour his nine albums this weekend. His songs vary in topic and form, and at the same time he has a consistent style and vibe. I like it. Yesterday I heard his song, “Damn These Dreams”:
Now honey I know you miss me, I feel it when you kiss me
Trust me when I say every goodbye hurts
Well damn these dreams
Playin’ my heart just like a guitar string
Pullin’ me away from you and everything I really need
Well damn these dreams
Chasing that same old whiskey melody
All up and down these Nashville streets
It’s hard to look true love in the eye and leave
Damn these dreams
Instantly I remembered two other songs with similar themes:
“Goodbye Again”, by John Denver:
Other voices beckon me, and for a little while
It’s goodbye again, I’m sorry to be leaving you
Goodbye again, as if you didn’t know
It’s goodbye again
Have to go and see some friends of mine
Some that I don’t know
Some who aren’t familiar with my name
It’s something that’s inside of me
Not hard to understand
It’s anyone who’ll listen to me sing
…Lying by your side’s the greatest peace I’ve ever known
But it’s goodbye again…
And “I Play the Road”, by Zach Brown Band:
…She says daddy where to you go
When you leave me all these nights
With a suitcase and guitar in your hand
Kissing me and mom goodbye with a tear and a smile
Where do you go?
Daddy where do you go?
I play the road
And the highway is our song
And every city’s like the same three chords
Been helping us along when the story’s told
And the crowd is done and gone
Shaking off the miles and trying to make it home
…Mile after mile…
Baby, I’m comin’ home
Years ago, I think it was either Dana Carvey or Martin Short who said something like one can only tolerate the life of a comedian because s/he simply cannot do anything else—they must do comedy. If anyone can find the reference, please share!
* * * * *
As it is in music and comedy, so it is in medicine. For many of us, we simply must do it; we have no existential choice. These songs describe well our pain and conflict when we take call or have to work on weekends, or miss the kids’ school and sports events, and spend hours at home on the medical record or answering pages.
I recently read an article, “A Good Doctor or a Good Mom, Never Both”. Early in this physician mom writer’s career, an elder colleague told her, “’You can be a good doctor, and you can be a good mother, but you can never be both at the same time.’” The author disagrees, saying it’s either/or, never both, ever. At once hearing Bentley’s song, I felt a moment of panic, mortified that I’m destroying my family for my job. Am I totally selfish for choosing this career, and are my priorities so distorted that I so often put work before my family? Have I chosen to be a good doctor and a horrible mom?
Thank goodness for Simon Sinek who, in his 2014 book, Leaders Eat Last, referenced a 2011 study that showed “a child’s sense of well-being is affected less by the long hours their parents put in at work and more by the mood their parents are in when they come home. Children are better off having a parent who works into the night in a job they love than a parent who works shorter hours but comes home unhappy.” This idea has saved me from countless episodes of self-flagellation and guilt. It was so instantly redeeming that I recall the exact moment I heard it—I was at the airport, traveling solo, likely for a work related conference. I can’t say I’m ecstatic every evening coming home, but I generally feel satisfied by a fulfilling day doing something I love. I can confidently report that my husband feels the same.
I’ve attended one swim meet in two years. I miss any school event that occurs during the workday. I still get lost walking the maze that is the kids’ school, though we (they) have been there over a decade. But I get to choir and orchestra concerts, and dinner potlucks. I know my kids’ friends and am friends with their parents. The kids’ teachers think they feel loved by us. I think I do okay.
My kids hear me on the phone with patients and colleagues. They know it takes time and understanding to take good care of people. I’m confident they see and feel how meaningful this work and these relationships are to me. And the science is pretty cool, too. I would never pressure my kids to go into medicine, but I would not be surprised if they did. I would absolutely encourage it, if it gives them the joy it gives me.
“You can be a good doctor, and you can be a good mother, but you can never be both at the same time.” I respectfully agree and disagree. You can absolutely be both, often at the same time.
What happens for men when women speak Feminism?
I intend to ask this question to more men in my life from now on. What do you hear as Feminism? Where do you think it comes from? What do you think women are trying to accomplish by talking about equity and representation? What moves a man to ally with women in this movement? What keeps him from doing so? What are the risks, costs, and benefits for us all when he does and does not?
Women in Sports
The US Women have just won their fourth World Cup Soccer title, kicking balls and ass, I like to say. What an accomplishment, and how far they’ve come since winning the first ever Women’s World Cup in 1991, the year I graduated high school. I don’t follow soccer, but as an American woman, this victory carries meaning for me. At halftime this morning I read about Brandi Chastain, the 1999 US World Cup champion midfielder who famously, spontaneously, took off her jersey in unadulterated celebration after firing the winning penalty kick in double overtime against China to win it all. The New York Times featured her story yesterday, commenting on the evolution of our perceptions and treatment of female athletes over these 20 years:
In that pivotal moment of arrival for women’s team sports in the United States and around the world, viewers saw Chastain removing her jersey and twirling it like a lariat, spinning around and falling to her knees, pumping her arms in exultant triumph. What resulted was perhaps the most iconic photograph ever taken of a female athlete, a depiction of pure spontaneous joy.
It was a moment of freedom and liberation, Marlene Bjornsrud, a longtime women’s coach and an influential sports executive, once told me. She called it a “casting off the burden of everything that kept us down and said, ‘You can’t do that because you are a woman.’ It was a moment that screamed, ‘Yes, I can.’”
Title IX was signed into law by President Nixon in 1972, one year before I was born. So I took it for granted that girls could play sports just like boys in school—not every sport, but most. I also took for granted the inherent assumptions about women in athletics—that we cannot be as fast, as strong, or as competitive as men. I have so much more appreciation now for icons like Billy Jean King, Martina Navratilova, and Pat Summitt. I think about the WNBA, and women coaching in the NBA, NHL, and NFL, and I marvel at how far we have come. Take a look at this timeline of women’s sports in the US to get a fuller perspective. I know many will say we have a long way yet to go. But today, let us joyfully celebrate all that we have accomplished already. Wahoo!! [fist bump and dancing woman emojis]
Journal of Bone and Joint Surgery, January 2012
Women at Work
I’m thinking about the culture of orthopaedic surgery. In the twenty years since I graduated from medical school, I see more and more women in this field (as well as other surgical specialties), which makes me proud. While women comprise only 5% of practicing orthopaedic surgeons, 15% of American orthopaedic residents are now women, which is roughly double the percentage in 1999. But what’s it like to be a woman in orthopaedics? How do these women present, perhaps differently, at work compared to in their personal lives? Is it truly safe for them to be themselves as surgeons? The American Orthopaedic Association held their annual meeting recently. My orthopod friend returned from the conference and commented that the rare women leaders in his field seem ‘fierce’ and ‘tough’—but in a good way? It struck him to wonder if they are just like that in general, or do they have to be that way to navigate their male-dominated specialty. He wondered how they would be seen if they displayed sensitivity and emotion, “because a man can be seen as sensitive and kind” and not only does it cost him nothing, his social status is likely to be elevated because of it. My friend was not sure this is the case for his female colleagues, and he seemed both empathetic and powerless at the idea. Looks like gender parity may take a bit longer in medicine than in sports.
At work in general, women’s status varies considerably. But research points to common issues such a 22% pay gap and too few women in leadership (5% of US corporate CEOs), though these are improving. One need not look far for abundant evidence that having more women on the corporate team improves earnings and morale. Much is also written on strategies for improving gender equity at work. Two of my favorites are exit interviews and work-life balance initiatives for all employees, not just women. But as I wrote last week, it’s not just about including women as participants in the workforce. It’s about truly appreciating the diversity of experience, biology, and contribution that women bring to any group they serve.
Women and Men
There is no way I can do justice to this topic in the remainder of this post. So let me just share some ideas and resources I will continue to explore in the months and years to come.
I asked at the beginning what happens for men when women speak Feminism. A corollary question is what happens for all of us when we hear the words ‘toxic masculinity’? My guess is men get defensive and women get aggressive. Personally I love the phrase because it’s so incisively descriptive. But it can also be a flashpoint phrase, one that immediately incites conflict and emotional hijack. Let me be clear: toxic masculinity does not imply that men and manhood are toxic by nature. Quite the contrary, the phrase refers to a culture of expectations of men that is just as toxic for men as it is for women. Male surgeons may well benefit from being sensitive and kind, but not too much so, lest they be seen as weak. This is a vast oversimplification, by the way; the history and complexity of toxic masculinity are explored articulately here.
Readers of this blog know how much I love Brené Brown. Her explanations of how shame (where toxic masculinity is born) manifests and organizes around gender—and why it is toxic for both men and women–are the most poignant and real. Read her first hand comments to Ms. magazine here, and a stay-at-home dad writer’s interpretation of them here. If you seek a nonjudgmental, objective, and real-life exploration of the complex dynamics between men and women, read The Gifts of Imperfection and Daring Greatly. Sister (she’s not old enough to be Aunt) Brené’s books are the most accessible form of evidence-based, all-around relationship advice I have ever read, and I’m so grateful for her. From the Ms. Interview:
What role do you think vulnerability played in the #MeToo movement?
Know what I love about the #MeToo movement?—and, me too—I thought until I was 25 or 30, that sexual harassment was just the price of entry. The greatest casualty of trauma is the ability to be vulnerable. So this #MeToo movement is re-defining and re-claiming vulnerability, and putting vulnerability in the context it belongs in, which is power and courage.
What gives you hope?
The thing that scares me about the world today is the same thing that gives me hope. I believe we’re witnessing white male power over. It’s making its last stand right now. And it’s scary because last stands are dangerous, and people get very backed into a corner. I think this is the last stand, and that we’re going to see a shift, mercifully, from white male power to inclusive power with it too. And I think from that paradigm, we can do anything, change anything, and be anything.
And it’s not just women who can claim agency against misogyny and sexism. Men who identify as feminists serve as allies for gender equity and respect. But men can also help themselves and each other break free from the restraints of machismo and chauvinism. Movements like The Good Men Project and Evryman give men a forum for honest, vulnerable emotional expression and connection. Just like women surgeons and corporate executives, all men need inclusive spaces where they can feel true belonging, where they are free to be all of themselves—hard emotions and all—for all our sakes.
Men I admire in this space include Nate Green, Ozan Varol, and David Brooks.
* * * * *
To lift my spirits here at the end of this long post, I’m listening to a song on repeat: Woman, Amen by Dierks Bentley. It’s such a shining anthem of a man’s unabashed love and appreciation for his partner. I can also imagine modifying the lyrics and hearing Faith Hill singing about her man Tim McGraw.
Thanks for reading to the end, friends.
Our relationships kill us or save us, and we really need to be better at taking care of each other, locally and globally. We, men and women alike, are all in this together, inextricably, in sickness and in health, forever.
Only Love can save us. Let’s get on it.
What do diversity and inclusion mean to you these days?
Honestly for me, they mean different things depending on the context in which I think about them. Cathy the Cynic thinks diversity initiatives too often feel trendy and superficial, like a knee-jerk response to the social pressure to check a box. Cathy the Optimist believes that those who direct such initiatives honestly see the communal value in a truly diverse and inclusive work environment.
A wise friend recently pointed out to me that inclusion can be a challenge even in a homogeneous group. “You could have 25 white men in a room and everybody may not feel included.” So, he said, perhaps we should work on inclusion first, and diversity will come more naturally as a result. Brilliant! If we make it safe for everybody to be themselves, no matter who they are, then they feel free to bring their best, authentic selves—it’s a win-win for each individual and the organization. An inclusive work culture supports and values each person for their unique contributions. In such an environment, diversity is achieved because people value their differences as much as their similarities. They live in curiosity and awe, always in a learning stance. Inclusive cultures seek more perspectives, experiences, expertise, and backgrounds—they cultivate depth and breadth in the humanity of their workforce. People from divergent walks of life seek to join such cultures, drawn to vibrant cohesion, synergy, and creativity.
This idea marinated in my mind for some weeks until an article from the Wharton School of Business crossed one of my online feeds last Thursday. It says diversity and inclusion are not enough; we need to cultivate a sense of belonging in our workplaces. The article quotes Sam Lalanne, a senior vice president of Global Diversity and Talent Management at Citigroup: “…whereas diversity often gets linked to numbers and percentages, belonging ‘is about how you feel’ when you’re at work. ‘Do you feel valued? Do you feel like you should be there? Do you feel that your insights, commentary and perspectives matter?’”
“Rebekah Bastian, a vice president of culture and community at Zillow Group, said that the superior business outcomes often associated with having diverse teams can’t be achieved without a sense of belonging. It’s not enough to simply include people at the table, she said, but to ‘amplify everyone’s voices, clear barriers … and appreciate each other for our unique backgrounds.’ Both she and Lalanne said that a sense of belonging means that people can bring their full selves to work, and not feel like they’re a different person there than at home.”
A different person. So what I described above as inclusion is really what these leaders define as belonging. We want each person to feel they belong in the work tribe, that their presence and contributions are valuable and worthy, as themselves. When we include, from our hearts, each person in their wholeness, only then will they truly belong. And that is the sweet spot where teams thrive.
So what do we do? How do we create such loving cultures of true belonging? According to panelists quoted in the Wharton article (and we all know this), it comes from the top: “Lalanne also commented on the importance of ‘tone at the top’ toward fostering a sense of belonging. ‘Our CEO, Mike Corbat, has really pushed us on our diversity, inclusion and belonging agendas. And it really comes from, what does he preach, what comes out of his mouth, how does he execute against the things that we see around us.’” Simon Sinek calls us to live our values with clarity, consistency, and discipline. So if you’re a leader who talks about diversity and inclusion, about belonging, then we workers have to see you, to feel you, living these values out loud and in front of us.
Belonging is more about how we are toward each other than how we act or what we do, which is inclusion. This is the key to successful ‘diversity and inclusion’ initiatives—they must be sincere. Humans are intuitively social animals. We smell insincerity and reject it, because it is unsafe. We cannot trust it.
A garden of belonging must be grown organically. There are no shortcuts. It takes time, and the gardener must tend it regularly. Young seedlings require protection from weather and predators. She must bring in pollinators and other helpers—one person cannot do it all. So we can all pick up a trowel and participate. We look to our leaders to set the path, and when we see the shining hope of our collective destination we follow willingly, eagerly, and together.
My friends, it’s been an intense couple of weeks! So much so that I have fully neglected the news headlines—this must be why I’m still in a reasonably good mood. Another is that I have rediscovered Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen, the wise and benevolent matron of medicine whose gentle and gracious example I aspire to follow.
I first read her books, Kitchen Table Wisdom and My Grandfather’s Blessings, at least ten years ago by now. They felt like my favorite plush blanket, draped over my shoulders with that welcome, comforting weight, and tucked under my feet, warming me with stories of love and belonging. Life was just as hectic then as today, but in a different way. The kids were little, and I had few if any responsibilities at work outside of patient care. Aunt Rachel’s stories calmed me and gave me peace in that young chaos. I had meant to reread them, but, well, life.
I perused the shelves and stacks of my personal library recently, searching for a book that my friend might like. Both avid readers, we share and discuss titles on leadership, philosophy, and personal development. The search this day felt different from browsing Amazon or my local book store. A deeper part of me knew exactly what I sought for my friend, even as my conscious mind had only a vague idea. I wanted to share something different with him, something less cerebral. As soon as I saw it, I settled on My Grandfather’s Blessings, no question. But after a day or two, as often happens with instantaneous intuitive decisions, I did question. So I sat down with Aunt Rachel and her grandfather one evening, as if meeting old friends in the squishy armchairs of a cozy, familiar café. After some years of listening to books rather than reading them, I find quiet sitting with a paper book so comforting now. I am called to slow down, to be still, more than I have been (have allowed?), for a very long time.
By page two of the introduction, my doubts vaporized. This is it, I thought. Stories of humanity, history, culture, medicine, healing, perspective, and how we humans are intertwined with one another and nature in the most beautiful and cosmic, inescapable and daunting ways. As I reread her grandfather’s wise sayings, his subtle yet unmistakable messages of reassurance and unconditional love, that familiar warmth enveloped me again. I could almost feel my blood pressure drop and my oxytocin level rise.
So much love and connection—the book is really all about relationships, which my friend and I both hold as the key to a meaningful life. As I continue to read this week, it occurs to me that perhaps I was not actually looking for a book for my friend, but rather for myself. For many years I have hunted ravenously for books to teach me, to elevate my performance in parenting, doctoring, leading. But Aunt Rachel’s books simply soothe me. They acknowledge and give credence to that still small voice that advocates and validates the need for deep personal connection, in a world that values it less and less.
I wonder if reading Aunt Rachel’s books so early in my career helped me more than I knew. Looking back on the past decade, I feel proud to have resisted the pressure of 15 minute clinic visits, to have made the effort to relate as personally as I could with every patient, even if my bids were rejected. Aunt Rachel’s books honor that heart center in me that holds true to what I value the most, which is connection with people. Perhaps I have her to thank for watering the strongest, deepest roots of my doctor soul before they could dry up and later require excavation to revive?
I still think my friend will enjoy Aunt Rachel’s book. Her stories resonate with the humanity in all of us, not just doctors and patients. I look forward to hearing his feedback, and finding more books to share. And I must remember to bless our friendship.
May we all acknowledge and share the blessings in our lives, every chance we get.
Today I sat stewing a long while over what to write. Too many ideas, all intertwined, tangled, and amorphous. It’s been an intense week of learning and introspection, and I’m happy to have some quiet down time. Hubs and son went to Colorado for a quick weekend getaway, and I got to FaceTime with them briefly while they drove with my dad to the mall before heading to the airport for the flight back. These, the three most important men in my life, all in one place—suddenly I felt moved to say thanks to the dads—Happy Father’s Day, of course!
When we think of dads and their special place in our lives, can we not help but realize the gravity of their job? Let’s not kid ourselves, no dad is perfect. But if we assume each does the best he can, we should really start to appreciate how they shape our lives. At their best, they protect us, model our core values and how to be in the world, and prepare us to launch successfully into that world with conviction. They seem also to possess inherent knowledge on how cars, garage doors, and water heaters work—what is up with that?
Much is written on why boys need strong male role models. But we girls need them, too—dads are key to all kids’ success. My dad immigrated to the US as an engineering graduate student in 1970. He taught me how to be assertive, honest, direct, articulate, and confident–all the things he had to be. Because of him I can stand tall (all 5’2” of me) in a room full of men and know without question that I can hold my own. I can meet my senior corporate executive male patients not just with my MD and expertise, but with the self-assurance that a lifetime of verbal sparring with a powerful mental coach has provided. Because of Ba I am precise, intentional, and sure with my words. [I got my diplomacy from my mom, but that’s another post.] I would not be the person I am today without my dad. It’s not at all that Hallmark commercial mush and goo (we are Chinese, are you kidding?), and we have certainly had our differences. But I do not question his absolute, unconditional, and infinite love, and I know he felt it from my grandfather before him. Hou-Ping Cheng of the Greatest Generation was, by the way, a Renaissance man. He traveled to the United States as a young adult in the early 20th Century, learned English, returned only to flee communist China after World War II, then rose to teach at university and lead infrastructure projects in my parents’ hometown in Taiwan. I think his father was a surgeon (will have to check with Ba on that one). I come from a long line of strong male role models, so voilà, how could I not be a successful, 21st Century, Chinese-American mama doc?
Healthy relationships evolve and mature with time, and parent-child relationships are no exception. Kids appreciate when parents can admit their flaws and own their mistakes. Parents appreciate when kids acknowledge that we really are here doing our best. Apologies and forgiveness heal wounds great and small. I don’t do everything the way my parents did it, and I expect my kids will do things differently still. But what I really hope never changes through the generations, is that every kid in our family, no matter how old, feels loved through and through.
Ba, you have succeeded. Congratulations and thank you!
It was July 1997.
Maria C. and I had just started our third year of medical school, rotating on general surgery. We stood on evening rounds–it was already dark outside on this balmy summer night. The hospital hallway was quiet and half the lights were off. We visited a little old lady who had had surgery in the prior days. She looked frail, but also like she had been spry once. Her lips protruded the way my grandmother’s did when she took her dentures out at night. She wore a round fuchsia sleeping bonnet, a little askew atop her head. She looked half asleep, barely aware of our presence, and had slid down in the bed such that the pillow and blankets had effectively swallowed her.
We were tired, Maria and I. It was not a fun rotation for me. I had witnessed our attending throw a bloody sponge across the OR that month. He was not particularly interested in us, I don’t recall any direct teaching (but there could have been), and the sleep deprivation was killing me. But I had Maria. She always had a smile, always an encouraging word, and she loved surgery. Her energy held me up. We stood dutifully, trying our best to pay attention and learn something.
As we listened to the discussion of the nice lady’s plan of care, suddenly I heard a loud, resonant, and prolonged PPPPPPPTHTHTHTHAAAAAARRRRRRRRTTTT. Our somnolent charge had just passed the longest breath of colon gas I had ever heard, before or since. And it didn’t phase anybody. The team continued to discuss her plan of care as if nothing had happened. I don’t know, maybe they were encouraged, as flatulence is the first step to oral feeds and eventual discharge after abdominal surgery. They forged on without acknowledgement. I wondered if I had imagined it. But when I caught Maria’s eye, within seconds we could both barely contain ourselves. Maybe we were just slap happy from too little sleep, or we just needed something to break the tension. But it was too much, we had to step out. Back out in the dim hallway we laughed out loud as quietly as we could, to the point of gasping for breath, hanging onto the wall and each other to keep from falling down. Even today, 22 years later, I cannot help but smile at that moment. Either we went back inside after composing ourselves, or the team emerged eventually, I don’t remember. Rounds continued and I tucked away this little memory as one of the best bonding experiences of all my years in training.
*****
The Class of 1999 returned to The University of Chicago this past weekend to celebrate 20 years since graduation. I had only signed up for a couple events, in my usual non-committal way. I arrived at the breakfast venue, a building that did not exist when we were students. I glanced over at the tables and saw only people much older than me, and my heart sank a little. Where were my peeps? Then at a back table an old friend stood up and waved, and my spirits lifted instantly. We ate and laughed, and shared photos and anecdotes of surly teenagers at home. As I had made no other plans that day, I met people again for lunch and we walked through campus, which I had not done in years. The peonies in the quad burst with color and fullness, welcoming us all back.
I’m so proud of our class. We are general internists and pediatricians, hospitalists, cardiologists, allergists, emergency medicine doctors, and orthopaedic surgeons. We do neurologic interventional radiology, microvascular plastic surgery, and private equity. We are medical directors, section chiefs, and NIH researchers; we teach medical students, residents, fellows and colleagues. We advocate for immigrant health and lead international research teams to win the war on disease. We are parents of toddlers and college students, single, married, and divorced. But mostly we are just older versions of our younger selves, in love with the science of medicine and driven by something deeper within to care for our fellow humans, relieve suffering, and make the world better for our having lived. This weekend gave us the opportunity to reconnect deeply on that level, to recall and relive those bonding memories tucked away all these years. I had a chance to catch up with classmates whom I had always wanted to know better in school. What a blessing.
Our specialties are widely diverse, as are our life experiences, before and since medical school. But we also share so much in common. Many of us have had painful experiences as patients or family of patients, and that has impacted our attitudes as physicians. We collectively recall the stages and transitions of training as both trial and reward. And everybody has something to say about the current, broken state of American healthcare. But the overarching feeling of the weekend was camaraderie and love. Emails poured in from classmates across the country and around the world who could not make it back; I count almost 60/100 of us included in our communications thus far. We were just waiting for the chance to find one another again.
*****
In our current geopolitical climate of division, competition, and polarization, reunion is the antidote. In this vital ritual of humanity, we reconnect with those who knew us in a more innocent phase of life, when we bonded through shared struggle, with whom our diversity and shared experience are paradoxically complementary in the best ways. Our souls are fed by one another, in person, surrounded by food, back at our first professional home. Relationships long dormant stand revived, and we are lifted.
It occurs to me, in this lovefest of reconnection: How can we leverage this energy? What if we could sustain these bonds, reforged and hot in this moment? If we connected like this more often or regularly, across specialties, geography, and practice structure, how much better could we all be at what we do every day? How much more empathy could we have for those who don’t do what we do, whom we see as competing for resources or otherwise trying to undermine us? How would our patients feel in our presence? Our support staff? Our hospital leaders? Gatherings like this prove that we have the capacity to just be together, appreciate one another, and support each other with generosity and grace. So much potential for positive synergy among this group.
We have big plans for our 25th reunion, but I have a feeling our renewed relationships will find powerful expression long before then. So stay tuned, my friends. We are Pritzker Class of 1999, and we’ got work to do.
