On Training

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NaBloPoMo 2016, Letters to Patients, Day 1

To The Patients Who Trained Me:

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, and God bless you, every one.

To the elderly lady with heart failure, who donated your body to science so that I may learn anatomy:  You were the greatest gift.  Your heart was literally as big as your head, and at the time I just thought it was peculiar.  Now I understand the extraordinary adaptive capability of the human body, and I marvel at it every day.

To the inpatients who endured hours of repetitive interviewing and clumsy physical exams by us medical students, all in the name of teaching:  Your engagement in the midst of your own suffering testifies to the infinite potential generosity of humanity.  Your contribution to medical education cannot be overestimated.

To the kindhearted artist in my resident clinic, the first patient to page me for advice:  You showed me that I knew what I was doing, even in training.  You had classic of sinusitis, and I called in the appropriate prescription.  In a moment of sudden panic I wondered if I should have called my preceptor first.  No, I can do this, I realized.  I’m meant to do this.

To the articulate, confident housewife whose retired husband drove you to me in acute agitation:  I learned from you that life phases never cease to evolve.  Our relationships, however longstanding, hold infinite complexities that manifest in jarring and also predictable ways throughout life.  You taught me that stability is overrated, and also underappreciated.

To the wonderfully kind man, one of my first patients in practice, who came in with the nasal balloon:  Your patience and trust will humble me forever.  The emergency room doctor had placed the balloon for a prolonged nosebleed.  He instructed you have me take it out.  I had never seen such a device before, much less deflated and removed one.  You let me examine it, think it through, and finally just cut the tubing with scissors.  We bonded over that and you continued to teach me about collaboration and sharing between patient and physician all the while I knew you.

To all whom I encountered in those early years:  There are too many of you to name, too many to acknowledge fully.  But every one of you helped make me the physician I am today.  With each new meeting now, each applied principle and physical exam technique, I thank you and honor you, my esteemed teachers.

NaBloPoMo, Here We Come!

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The Cubs have won game 5 of the World Series.  Halloween is tomorrow.  In two days I will commit to publishing a post a day for 30 days.  Woo hoooooooo, bring it!!  It’s been a year since I tried this the first time, and I almost made it—26, I believe, and a few may have been reblogs of others’ work…  I felt embarrassed about the ‘failure.’  But then I got through the A to Z Challenge by the skin of my teeth this past April (last post at 11:30pm on April 30th), and that was much more fun.  So I’m trying again, yaaay!

I launched this blog 18 months ago to address physician-patient relationship.  I aimed to discuss communication, self-awareness, and emotional intelligence, as tools to rekindle that trusting, continuous bond that so many of us miss in medicine today.  Since then I have come around to the original theme occasionally, but not nearly as often as I had intended.  So I take this annual blogging event as an opportunity to refocus and try something new.

For Na Bo Po Mo 2016, I intend to write 30 letters to patients.  Some will echo routine conversations; others may reflect my musings on this vocation.  I may examine observations on the state of medicine today.  Or other things, who knows?  I will at least attempt to convey my deep love for the work and the people.  Maybe I can help fellow physicians and patients connect, or perhaps lend some perspective and awareness.

There is a lightness to trial and error.  When you try something new, you make a commitment, set an endpoint, and decide how you will measure the outcome.  But you don’t have to attach yourself to a particular outcome, just the process.  I commit to try my best and have fun, and see what comes out, in fewer than 500 words per post.  I wonder where this will lead?  Maybe it will turn into a monthly newsletter for my own patients?  A book?  A column somewhere?  Anything is possible!  I’ll never know until I try, and I like the openness of the adventure.

I hope you will visit often, and leave your thoughtful comments.

Let the journey begin!

 

The Fabulous Fizzle of a NaMo

November Gratitude Shorts, Days 25-30

Hello Friends, I have missed you!  I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend.

I find it funny that I stopped posting on Gratitude the day before Thanksgiving—how ironic!  Believe me, it was not from lack of thankfulness or desire.  I had to make some decisions about how to spend my time and energy this past week, and I chose to forgo posting each day.  It doesn’t feel too bad—I did make it 24 days, after all!  It helps that I set out on this NaBloPoMo challenge with high hopes and low expectations.  Looking back, some of the posts this month make me pretty proud; others I’m happy to forget.  As Ben Zander would say, “How fascinating!”

I felt validated this weekend by Elizabeth Gilbert’s Facebook post on quitting versus surrendering.   Quitting, she writes, is when you just plain give up.  Surrender, on the other hand, happens when you come to the end of your power.  I kept up my daily posts, for the most part, and it cost me time and energy, both finite resources.  Over the month, I finally had to admit that I was overextended.  I started to worry about neglecting my family—that was a sign.  This holiday weekend was a great chance for us to spend all kinds of quality time together, and I think I made the right choices.  Yes, I committed to post daily gratitude.  It didn’t work out.  Meh.

What were the underlying goals and drivers of this challenge?  It was an exercise to practice intentional gratitude, and articulate it.  It was a chance to confront my perfectionist tendencies, the ones that keep me from trying new things because I fear doing them, well, imperfectly.  I now have a clearer view of my abilities, limitations, and priorities.  I came to the end of my power for posting in this format and frequency, and realized that it’s more than I thought I had in me, yay!  I did not quit my posts.  I surrendered to the realities of life and learned important lessons about myself.  Gilbert writes, “There is always grace in surrender. There is always truth in surrender. There is always a great deal of human dignity in surrender.”  I agree.

On this final day of November, as we move well into the holiday season, I feel truly grateful for so many things.  Our holiday weekend was both relaxing and productive.  We slept in, saw family, ate too much, and purged our closets.  We spent time together all four of us, and the hubs and I managed to get in a date night, too—thank you, sister-in-law, for babysitting!  I wanted to write about all of it, but sometimes you just have to live in it first.

With all the hostility exploding around the world, some of it in my own backyard, I am reminded that every day is a gift.  Each day that does not visit tragedy on my front door is a day to be truly appreciated.  And while I cannot myself affect positive change on a global scale, I can do my part in each of my human interactions.  When someone cuts me off in traffic or behaves rudely at the store, I can choose to tell a story of compassion and patience, rather than personal affront.  The outcome of all this gratitude should be better behavior on my part—more love and light directed outward, indiscriminately, driven by an internal flame, fueled by the realization that I have everything I need and more.  My NaMo may have fizzled this last week, but it was an awesome fizzle indeed, and I am proud to own it.