Our 5 Fundamental Needs

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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?

 

 

Good Doctor and Good Mom

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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.

 

Theory and Practice

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Does anyone become a great skier or volleyball player by just reading books and watching videos of other people doing it?  Of course, not.  And even if you have the best coach, with the most knowledge and expertise, you still have to get out on the trail or the court and do it yourself, find your own groove, create your own style and habits that work for you and your team.

I realized this over the past week, as once again I found myself calling forth everything I have learned about leadership from books and observations of other leaders.  Leading people is hard, and I often feel at the same time that I do it well and that I totally suck at it.  I worry that because it feels mentally and emotionally exhausting, I must be doing it wrong—like if I really knew what I was doing it would just be easy.  But that is perfectionism and fixed mindset talking, I’m pretty sure.

Knowing theory is key, no question.  If you don’t understand in advance what it will be like to stand up on skis (they don’t stop themselves and if the tips are pointed downhill that is exactly where you will slide), you will fall and risk injury to self and others a lot more than if you are prepared with a few pointers in advance.  It’s the same with leadership.  Remembering how it feels to be led well, versus poorly, allows me to have empathy for those I lead.  Mastery of, or at least proficiency in, some key communication tools such as reflective listening, nonjudgmental questioning, and objective feedback, makes the skills easier to access under stress and pressure.  Holding core values and principles in front, and exemplifying them, rather than just professing them, earns trust and credibility.

I wrote to a mentor recently, “I find myself repeating language from the books, inventing analogies and using examples from the team’s lived experience to show how the theories apply.  Words like empathy, curiosity, generosity, non-judgment, deep breathing, and ‘How fascinating!’ exit my mouth a lot, as well as, ‘It’s all about relationships!’ People must see me as a broken record…”  He reminded me that we need these mantras to keep ourselves focused and also to repeat out loud and invite accountability in our actions.  I wholeheartedly agree.  Maybe I will take a misstep here or there (no maybe—it will happen!).  It won’t be because I’m not trying or I don’t care—it will be because I’m human and we all make mistakes.  It’s because I’m out there practicing.

When I think back to high school volleyball practice, residency, personal training, and the early days of parenting (hell, every day of parenting), it’s not the easy days that stand out in memory.  It’s the hard days, the days when I really struggled, but came out having grown, even in a little, in my learning.  It’s the days when I can say, hey, I know better now, and I will do better next time—bring it.

So yes, leading well is hard.  It’s exhausting.  It costs inordinate amounts of energy, self-awareness, -monitoring, and -control.  It makes me hypervigilant of my words, posture, and actions.  Theory and practice go hand in hand; they are the twin pillars of learning, application, and success in all realms.  I will keep reading for theory (I highly recommend Legacy by James Kerr and Big Potential by Shawn Achor).  I will keep showing up every day ready to do my best in practice.  I feel confident in the trust and credibility I have already earned, and that people can see that I’m honestly doing my best, for all of us.

 

Ode to My Dawn Simulator

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NaBloPoMo 2017: Field Notes from a Life in Medicine

Did you notice the photo on my post Gratitude Again?  That was the view out my office window around 5:30pm last week.  These days I appreciate the winter dusk a lot more than years past, mostly because the physically hardest years of training and my kids’ lives (for me) are over.  My intern year I rotated in the medical intensive care unit (MICU, or MICK-you, or just ‘the unit’ for short) in November.  Usual days started by 6am, and finished whenever my patients were stable enough for me to leave, usually past 7pm.  I really never saw the sun that whole month—not from outside, anyway.  Every third night on call, my resident and I covered the whole place.  The longest I ever spent in the hospital was 5am until 10pm the following night—41 hours straight, only to be back again the next morning at 6.  And that was nothing compared to the generation of doctors who trained before me.  Thinking back on it now, I can still feel the saturating fatigue, the utter hopelessness of ever seeing the call room, let alone lying down on a bed.  Thank GOD those days are over.  They weren’t all bad, though.  Residency was one of the hardest things I’ve done, and it was also intensely rewarding.  The friendships I made those years, the unique shared experiences—I carry these with me also.  They made me strong and gave me confidence.

But if I thought getting up in the dark during intern year was hard, somehow doing it as an attending with two little kids was even harder—go figure.  The sleep deprivation of working motherhood is a completely different animal from that of residency, its toll multiplied on family.  The blaring alarm clock, the utter blackness of the bedroom, the contrast of cozy warmth under the blankets with the cold still air above.  They all conspired to make me peevish, sullen, and supremely unpleasant to be around every morning—an additional cost to my soul every time I lashed out at the kiddos out of my own exhaustion.  To borrow a phrase from Vee over at Cute Kids, I might well have died of a bad mood or something worse if that situation continued.

So Husband staged an intervention: He bought me a dawn simulator for Christmas.  It’s an ingeniously simple device: An alarm clock with a built-in light dimmer that comes with its own full-spectrum light bulb.  All you have to do is connect it to a bedside lamp.  Then you set sunrise time, as well as duration of rise (I set mine to 6:45, 15 minutes).  Every morning for the past 7 years I wake up naturally from a steadily brightening, gentle and warm glow from one corner of the room.  It’s infinitely more pleasing; no blaring involved.  Of course now I have my iPhone ‘by the seaside’ alarm as back up, especially for this month as I stay up too late writing blog posts.  And I’m not a morning person in general, so no Mary Poppins songs bursting forth with domesticated mechanical birds on my windowsill.  But life is infinitely more tolerable between Halloween and Easter each year now—for all of us.

Thanks, Husband.  Ya done good.

Mom Love

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Somehow tonight I got to thinking about all my patients who are moms.  I am filled with love and admiration, and compassion for all of them.  Maybe it was because today that is what I did most—momming.  Chauffer, meal planner, shopper, meal preparer, science project thingy seeker, organizer of the week to come (meal planner, babysitter/transport arranger, meal planner, shopping planner, piano lesson re-scheduler)…

I feel so grateful that I can work part-time.  I accomplish most of these life tasks on days when I’m ‘not working,’ as I used to say.  Now I call them days on which I ‘don’t see patients.’  All moms work; it’s a full time job with intangible and transcendent benefits, as well as hellish hours, often disproportionately low appreciation, and obviously no financial compensation.  Some of you may have seen a popular article this year on the mental workload of moms.  I highly recommend the short read.  Here’s a slightly older article that also includes references to research on the ‘work-home gender gap.’  And I absolutely love this eloquent, hilarious, and heartfelt to tribute to moms from last year, which is basically encapsulated in the first sentence: “I am the person who notices we are running out of toilet paper, and I rock…”

What tugs at my heart the most sometimes are the moms who have chosen to stay at home, giving up, at least temporarily, a fulfilling and meaningful professional career.  So many of them feel conflicted over making this choice, and then shame over feeling conflicted.  Countless times I have heard some version of, “Please don’t think I don’t love my kids, because I LOVE my kids!  …But (sheepishly) being with them 24/7 is so tiring, and I really miss using those other parts of my brain, having conversations with adults, and solving problems that employ my education and training.  But I love my kids, really I do, and I love being with them and I chose this and I know I should feel so grateful that we can afford for me to stay home, I just feel so guilty for ever wanting to be away from them, what good mom wants that??  But I’m so tired, and sometimes (pause) I wonder if I should have kept my job, worked it out somehow?  I never thought I would feel so torn.”  In these encounters I do my best to validate my patients’ choices, to reassure them that in no way do I question their love for their children just because they long for the company of peers and colleagues, and to address the consequences of their inner conflicts on their health and relationships—with self and with others.  I feel sad and angry that anyone would shame a mom for wanting to have a meaningful life outside of momming.

There’s the guilt of the working mom, also—which springs from the same pathological thinking that no good mom would want to be away from her kids.  But somehow these women seem easier to console, in my experience.  They often derive significant meaning from their work, and even if that is not the case, they take pride in providing for their families.  They also often report seeing themselves as role models for their daughters.  Regardless, I hate that these women have to deal with the same social gremlins as their stay-at-home counterparts—that somehow being a mom and having a career are necessarily divergent ideals.  This is an example of a false dichotomy that serves no useful purpose, and causes many of us to suffer unnecessarily.  Thankfully, others have written extensively on solutions; I really like this article on 8 ways to overcome mom guilt, regardless of your W2 status.

In looking up the articles for this post, I also came across this one, addressing the invisible mental workload of men.  I’m so glad I read it, because it reminds me of another fallaciously dichotomous rabbit hole: when we start exploring and addressing women’s challenges, the discussion too easily devolves into man-hating.  I claim my own susceptibility to this mindset, and thankfully this article helps me rein it in.  The same antiquated social pressures that tell women they ‘should’ always want to stay at home also tell men that they ‘should’ always want to be at work, and GAAAGH, it just kills all of our souls, a little at a time.  The author, Josh Levs, writes:

“All women who notice and keep track of their families’ many needs deserve big props and respect for it. So do the men who do this work. It’s crucial, detail-oriented, and never-ending. It makes a home a home.

“For 2017, let’s resolve to put aside misguided gender assumptions and work together to achieve a better balance and healthy work-life integration—for the sake of women and men.”

I wholeheartedly agree.  Let us stop with the guilt trips and shaming, and give all moms, and dads too, all our love for the ‘momming’ we all do!

 

You Can’t Pee!

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NaBloPoMo 2017: Field Notes from a Life in Medicine

When my son was little we lived in an apartment where the kitchen was a separate room, with only a small window through which I could see what he was doing in the living room while I cooked.  Once when he was about five months old, I looked out and he was lying on the mat in the middle of the floor, playing happily with the toys dangling from arches overhead.  I swear I only turned around for a minute, and when I looked back he was gone.  Empty mat, toys still dangling, no kid, no sounds.  I can’t remember what I was doing, but it felt like a slow motion eternity getting out of that damn kitchen to find him.  Something heavy must have fallen on him or he was otherwise suffocating or dying, for sure.  …He had just learned to roll over, and he had rolled and rolled and rolled himself into the space under the air conditioning unit near the window.  He was turning over a dried jasmine leaf he’d found on the floor.  Not long after that I decided I had to buy food preparation gloves.  Just in case my kid needed me anytime I was handling raw meat, this would save me the infinitude of time it would take to wash my hands—I could just pull the gloves off and bolt!  Because you know, 30 seconds could mean life or death for a toddler in his own living room.

Please laugh—I did today when I told the story to a friend.  It came up as we explored the phenomenon of moms putting everything for their kids before themselves.  We compared notes on how long we had ever held our urine.  What mom has not done this?  You can’t pee!  Because you never know which minute you’re not with your children will be the one during which your neglect will kill them.  Thankfully children grow and become more independent, and we can free our bladders again eventually.

It’s not just moms, though.  One of my teachers in the hospital gave herself a urinary tract infection as a resident.  She had so much to do every day, so many patients who needed her that she felt guilty taking time to pee.  I did the same thing in clinic for many years.  I could not justify making patients wait another minute when I was already 15 (usually more) minutes late seeing them. I don’t do this anymore.  In a fit of efficiency last week, I stepped into the restroom after I set my lunch to microwave for 2:00.  It literally takes only a minute to pee.  I don’t usually run late these days, but even if do, now take care of my needs first.  It’s better for me, and better for my patients, whose doctor is not distracted by preventable physical discomfort and dying to end the interview or exam to get some relief.

Our culture still expects moms, doctors, nurses, teachers, and many others to sacrifice selflessly in service of our charges.  UTIs are the least important consequence.  Over 50% of physicians in the US report at least one symptom of burnout, and 400 doctors kill themselves annually.  That is the equivalent of my entire medical school, dead, every year.  It’s not all because of the job, but the obligatory selfless-giver mentality in medicine definitely contributes.

So whatever helping profession you are in, please take time to take care of yourself.  We need you whole and healthy to take care of the rest of us and our children.

Go pee.  I will wait.

#AtoZChallenge: VAGINA! No Fear of Words, Please.

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Sexuality can be hard to talk about.  I think this is true for adults far more than for children.  Children are naturally curious and nonjudgmental.  They just want to know, what is that, what’s it for, why are yours different from mine, and why does he have one of those and I don’t?  It’s we adults who squirm and dodge, deflect and bolt.  From a very early age, children learn that it’s not okay to talk about certain things because it makes the grown-ups uncomfortable.  I want to change that.

My kids have known formal names of body parts forever—breast, vagina, penis, femur.  They also know what the parts do, how they ‘go together,’ etc.  Anytime they ask a question, I try to answer as honestly as possible, in an age-appropriate way.  For instance, I have had to clarify that babies do not come out of a woman’s ‘butt.’  First I had to clarify the general use and meaning of ‘butt.’  Then I explained that men have two holes down there, and women have three, and the baby comes out of the middle one, between where pee and poop come out.  Maybe it’s because my husband and I are both doctors and science nerds—we say these words all day long and never think twice.  I think also it’s because I’m a terrible liar, and everybody can tell.  It’s just not worth telling one story now, only to recant and revise later.  Moreover, even if they don’t challenge the fib I’m telling today, their intuition that I’m not being fully forthright undermines my trustworthiness.

There are important parallels here for physicians and patients, too.  In medical school we learned how to take a sexual history.  I think most of us handled it fine, but there was some blushing and gnashing of teeth at times.  Again the key is repetition and getting comfortable with saying the words without embarrassment or judgment.  “Are you sexually active?  With men, women, or both?  How many partners do you have now?  How many in your whole life?  Ever have anal sex?  Receptive, insertive, or both?  Do you use condoms?  Every time?”  It also applies to other aspects of the social history.  “Do you or have you ever used recreational drugs, such as marijuana, cocaine, heroin?  Acid, mushrooms, PCP, MDMA?  Anything else?”  The underlying implication is, ‘tell me anything, I really want to know, and I will only judge the risks to your health, not you as a person.’  Once I get to the end of these lists, patients can see and feel that I am comfortable talking about anything related to sex, drugs, and whatever else, and I make no assumptions.  They are much more likely, then, to tell me honestly about their behaviors and experiences.  I can then make a more accurate assessment of their health risks, and give more relevant advice.  As a bonus, we often establish a deeper connection, because that sense of safety now likely extends to other things they may want to disclose.  This is often when stories about sexual assault and relationship abuse surface.

I want my children and my patients ask me about sex, drugs, cancer, death, Alzheimer’s, depression, anxiety, and all kinds of other things.  All of these topics can render us deaf, dumb, and blind so often, just by virtue of the acute discomfort they induce.  But if we as parents and physicians cannot tolerate them, despite our responsibility in these relationships, how can we expect our children and patients to navigate them successfully?  Yes, there is a plethora of information on the internet.  Much of it is actually accurate and helpful, and I Google as much as anyone.  But when it comes to such personal and emotional topics as these, people need more context and interaction than a screen can provide.  Google does not know your unique situation.  It cannot help you sort through your emotions, your family dynamics, or the implications of your decisions today on your future and the future of your loved ones.  We all need a human connection to do that—a safe, trusting, and loving connection.

When parents and physicians share freely our knowledge and expertise, in words that children and patients can understand and apply to their own experiences, we empower them to make decisions in accordance with their core values and highest goals.  We partner with them in service of their own self-determination.  Our role is supportive, guiding, ancillary.  We help demystify the process.

My goal is to help my children and patients be responsible, autonomous individuals who exercise good judgment for their own health and that of those they love.  Since words are my primary mode of communication, I cannot afford to be afraid to use any of them.

 

Of note:  My family and I recently discovered the book, It’s Perfectly Normal, by Robie H. Harris and Michael Emberley, and I (sing-song voice) loooove it!!  We own the 20th anniversary edition, updated to include information on sexuality for this digital, online, social media age.  This book appeals to me because it totally demystifies the body and sexuality, and does so with objectivity, openness, inclusion, and good humor.  We highly recommend it!