Tag Archives: sports

See, Do, Teach

Posted on by
Reply

IMG_4409

NaBloPoMo 2018:  What I’m Learning

When did you first notice you were led well?  Who was it, what was the circumstance?

See

I was in 7th grade math class.  The teacher was Joe Alt.  I met him 33 years ago, when I was 12, and I still consider him one of my greatest and most important mentors.  He could teach anything and make it interesting, and we learned not only math and science, but how to be good people.  In a class that included both uber-nerd me and ultra-headbanger dude, he helped us both to see each other as people and get along so we could all learn.

Later I would find leadership role models in my athletic coaches, professors, program directors, committee colleagues, and hospital administrators.  At their best, these people were/are:

  • Attuned
  • Empathic
  • Reflective
  • Articulate
  • Intrinsically Motivated
  • Actively Engaged
  • Personal
  • Approachable
  • Genuine

I have also studied on my own, seeking guidance from sources like Benjamin and Rosamund Stone Zander, Simon Sinek, Brené Brown, Daniel Goleman, Chip and Dan Heath,  Rachel Naomi Remen, The Harvard Business Review, most recently Anthony Suchman, and, soon again, Marcus Aurelius.  I’m always looking for the next new or old related idea, the next dot to connect in order to draw my leadership map with more depth and detail.

Do

Recently I asked a new mentor what books he likes to read about leadership, organizations, etc.  He said he reads some, but prefers to simply do, always learning, adapting, applying, and evolving along the way.  I have had small leadership roles at school and work, in my professional society, as well as in my community, over the years.  They have all given me tremendous opportunities to practice what I read.  More and more, I see the value in getting my nose out of the books, looking up, and stepping forward.

Teach?

I spoke with a high school freshman athlete recently.  She plays two sports, both teams comprised of both upper and lower class(wo)men.  She contrasted the coaches’ personalities and styles, and how she learns about the respective sports as well as teamwork, integrity, etc.  We noted how much better it feels when the coach knows you personally, and pays attention to your state of mind as well as your performance.  The team with the less attuned coach will soon choose a captain for next year.  It’s usually a senior, perhaps regardless of leadership skill or potential.  She described the various candidates to me, and why she thought they would be good captains (or not).

I asked her whether the team feels like a true team, or more like just a group of individuals.  She said right now, it’s the latter.  I asked how she would show up if one of the less desirable candidates were named captain.  She had not really thought about it other than to continue working on her own sports skills.  I then found myself offering copious unsolicited advice:

You have a few choices, I told her.  First, you could remain an individual, holding your own goals as primary.  You may or may not improve, your team may or may not do well, and your personal contribution to the success of the whole will be proportional to your own individual performance.  Second, as you progress in your skills and newer kids join the team, you can help teach and mentor them.  You could observe the new captain, identify her weaknesses. If possible, and if you’re so inclined, you can fill in the gaps for the team—lead from within the pack.  You could help build morale, create a true team from its inside, cultivate relationships that will make the whole greater than the sum of its parts.  You could set your sights higher than your own personal achievement and really help the team succeed.  Third, you could take it to the next level by cultivating an advisory relationship with the captain herself.  If you have her trust, and exercise tact, you could help her see and maximize her strengths, navigate around her weaknesses—you can ‘coach up.’

The latter choices are, obviously, harder and more labor intensive.  I would also argue that they would make membership on the team exponentially more meaningful for everybody.  By serving as a connector among teammates (with boundaries, realistic expectations, and self-care, of course), this young athlete could make connectors of her teammates, too.  And a few years from now, if she herself is tapped to lead, she will have already earned her peers’ respect.  They’ll follow out of course; it will feel only natural.  And, they may then already be the cohesive team that she really wants to serve as leader.

IMG_4564

These ideas poured forth in a torrent of consciousness, forming sentences before I could actually think them.  As happens so often, I found myself saying words, advising someone else, that I myself needed to hear at exactly that moment.  Most of the time it’s about eating, sleep, or exercise.  This was an A-ha! moment on my personal leadership journey.

Now I see the true meaning behind the phrase, “See one, do one, teach one.”  It’s not about becoming a teacher.  It’s about always remaining a student, because the best way to truly understand anything is to try teaching it.

See, do, teach.  It’s not linear.  It is, no question, completely cyclic.

Brain-Fried Noodle

Posted on by
11

Redwood Park

It’s post-op day 8, woo hoooo!  To all my patients who have had surgery, now I know what it’s like—a little bit.  What a fascinating experience, and I’m so grateful now that I can relate!

Some of you may know that I tore my ACL in November playing volleyball.  It only took me a few weeks to decide I wanted to have it repaired (reconstructed, actually), because I don’t ever want to wonder whether my knee is stable enough to do the things I want to do.  I have now officially embarked upon that journey of rehab, and so far so good. This post is my story so far.  Just wanted to share.

Pre-Op Eval

The 10 days prior to surgery were some of the busiest in recent memory, starting with a whirlwind weekend with the kids in San Francisco ending with us on a redeye back to Chicago and cabbing it straight to the office where I borrowed my colleague’s clothes for the day.  Then back to back meetings, clinic days full of patients, a team-building seminar, a Grand Rounds presentation, Chinese New Year, a teaching session with my awesome medical students, a movie play date, a confirmation retreat, and laundry.  I barely got enough sleep, and the eating was not great.  But at least I wasn’t sick/infected.

I got all kinds of useful advice from friends and colleagues:

–Use the meds!  Opioids are great for post-op pain. Expect maximum pain and swelling at 48-72 hours.  Well the block lasted at least 48 hours so no pain then.  And since then it’s actually not that bad—like a giant toothache at the knee, with radiating soreness up the thigh and down the leg.  Tylenol alternating with Advil pretty much takes care of it.

–ICE ICE ICE!! Oh, how I love my electric ice machine.  It’s a pad that wraps around my knee and circulates ice water drawn through tubing from a cooler.  Brilliant!

–Take time off, at least 2 weeks!  Like a silly person, I’m going back to work tomorrow.  I was even sillier initially to think I could have surgery on a Thursday and go back to work Monday!  Lesson learned, but hopefully I will never need to apply this learning?

The Jitters

The night before surgery, I wrote in my journal an “In case I die” entry.  I told my sister where I left the book, so she would know where to look for the message to my kids in case something bad happened.  It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I imagine I’m not the only mom who has ever felt this way.  It was pretty irrational, but hey, it was my first major surgery—anything could happen!  Sitting in the cart in pre-op, I got tearful (and still do now), thinking of how much I’d miss the kids, what they would have to go through, how everything would change, if I died.  But when the anesthesiologist asked, all I could articulate was, “I keep thinking about all the things I should have done for them this morning—packed their lunches…”  He had the perfect words: “It’s never enough.”  And with that I felt strangely reassured and absolved.

The MEDS!!

So here’s the most dissociating part of the experience.  In pre-op I was handed a little cup with five pills: two 500mg acetaminophen, one 75mg diclofenac, and two 300mg gabapentin.  That’s standard pre-emptive pain management, apparently.  Then for the femoral and sciatic nerve blocks, the anesthesiologists used bupivicaine and triamcinalone.  Once in the OR, they started clindamycin to prevent infection, and then midazolam, fentanyl, and propofol for the sleeping cocktail.  Of these nine medications, I had taken exactly three of them ever before.  It was a little alarming, even though I knew the indication and rationale for each drug.  I found my inner voices exclaiming at once, “Wow, this is totally routine, we have really got it all figured out,” and “HOLY SHIT ARE YOU KIDDING ME NINE MEDICATIONS SIX OF WHICH I HAVE NEVER HAD BEFORE AND YOU’RE JUST GIVING THEM ALL TO ME LIKE IT’S NO BIG DEAL I COULD TOTALLY DIE FROM THIS WHY ISN’T ANYBODY THE LEAST BIT BOTHERED!?!?”  And I did just fine, like everybody expected.  Fascinating.

new tongue out emoji

Source: http://www.iemoji.com/view/emoji/2488/smileys-people/crazy-face

And whoa, the meds…  Apparently it’s a known side effect of propofol to shiver when waking up from it.  That was uncomfortable, but even more so was the inability to pee for about 40 minutes, despite having a bladder that felt like it could burst at any minute (I know that could not happen, but literally, you could have bounced a coin off of my lower abdomen it was so full).  Thank God for the experienced nurse who offered me hot tea—what a relief!  And finally the nerve blocks—amazing.  I could flex my hip normally, so I lifted my braced left leg into the car while standing on the right; but lower than that I had neither sensation nor motor control for a full 24 hours.  It.  Was.  Dead.  The foot/ankle came back first, with that creepy, stinging, tingly sensation.  Then slowly, begrudgingly, the thigh returned.  The muscle twitches throughout came mostly at night, as if waking from anesthesia is, of course, a nocturnal activity.

I felt pretty clear-headed after about an hour in recovery, fully coherent and articulate.  But man, I could not really focus or hold attention for long at all.  I had all kinds of articles saved to read those first two days lying in the recliner, but it was just not happening.  My mood was great and I had long periods of alertness.  And then I just wanted to sleep–deeply.  My body was not only unresponsive in the left lower extremity; it felt limp and weak kind of everywhere, my mind included.  Hence the title: Brain-Fried Noodle.

The Pain

Those first two days were fantastic in terms of pain—none whatsoever (thank you, bupivicaine)!  And I was on the ice machine 24/7.  Since then two pain patterns have emerged.  First, the deep ache from having the joint capsule invaded and a tunnel drilled through bone.  That’s the giant toothache, almost like a deep itch that wants to get scratched from the inside.  The second is a hypersensitivity of the skin where all the bruising is.  It’s swollen, tender, and oh-so colorful!  And it zings every time I pull on my compression sock, from the ankle to halfway up the thigh.  That’s what makes me stop and breathe deeply for several seconds.  I figured out today that I’m probably not drinking enough water, which likely contributes to my pain.  It’s so ironic, as my primary advice to patients for almost any ailment is to hydrate first.  Well, this is me trying to walk the talk.  I’m so happy not to have needed opioids (so far), and everything should continue to improve as the tissues heal.  HYDRATE!

IMG_2332

The Rehab

I swear, I think I have lost 50% of my quad on the left.  My physical therapist thinks I’m progressing well, and I’m happy with where I am.  This will be a long road and I must monitor my expectations.  First, prevent further atrophy while tissues recover initially.  Then weight bearing, stability.  Then strength, coordination, and eventually back to sport.  Patience, diligence, persistence.  I’m told PT should make me cry, it’s so painful.  Well, it’s definitely making me sweat!

The LOVE

*sigh*  We really can’t do anything well alone in life, huh?  All the advice, all the well wishes, all the texts and messages right before and right after surgery—every single one held me up a little higher.  And my mom, who insisted on coming despite my denying the need—now I get it.   And thank God for her.  Thank you, Ma!  Last week would have been quite hellish for us all if not for you!  The hubs and kids have been pretty great, too, accommodating my crutches, ice machine, and constant occupation of the chaise side of the sofa.  Every day they come home and ask how I am and how they can help.  I’ve tried to do what I can—sort laundry, rinse/cut vegetables, instruct our amazing sitter on recipes, pay bills, make sure our DVD machine doesn’t die from under-use…  But there is no substitute for a wide and strong support network, and mine is as dense as they get.  Thank you, all my friends and family, for all of it.

* * *

Huh…  I thought I could accomplish so much more in 8 days off!  I fantasized about all kinds of blog posts, reading, correspondence, de-cluttering.  Hey, I said fantasy, didn’t I?  Oh well, time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana.  Things don’t usually turn out the way you plan.  Maybe it will be good to slow down for a while, reorganize, reprioritize, focus… For now I gotta get that second set of exercises in tonight and get to bed on time—and hydrate—work tomorrow!

Onward, friends, hope you are all well!

Bring It

Posted on by
5

DSC_0524

NaBloPoMo 2017: Field Notes from a Life in Medicine

Had my knee MRI yesterday.  I had been looking forward to it for over a week, trying to predict what it would show.  I was thinking a serious meniscal tear, since I have had crackling in my knee for so long and I surely must have arthritis by now, from all the falling on it I did in my youth.  I lay perfectly still and started to get sore where I expected to feel medial meniscus pain.  I could not wait to know the results.  I just wanted to know what I’m dealing with, so I can figure out next steps, get moving.

Since it’s a weekend, I won’t know the radiologist’s report until tomorrow.  Suddenly part of me doesn’t really want to know.  What if it’s really bad and the only option to regain function is surgery?  What if it looks like I’ll be permanently disabled in some way, never able to get back to my previous level of activity?  What if that prognosis totally throws me off and I let myself go, become a sedentary lump, weigh over 300 pounds, and die in five years from heart disease and depression?  Truly, this could end my life, some poisonous voice hisses in the recesses of my mind.

But hubs is the ordering physician and he looked at the images with me tonight.  Lots of fluid/swelling.  Bruises on both bone ends of the joint.  Good news, the menisci are intact and look normal!  Woo hooooo!!  Posterior cruciate ligament also looks normal—thick, uniformly black (swelling and inflammation are light on this image), well-positioned.  Can’t find the ACL.  Huh.  He says 10% of people don’t have one.  That’d be cool, because if I never had one then it couldn’t be torn.  But the bone bruises alone are not enough to explain the swelling and pain.  So either it’s so inflamed that the fluid obliterates it on the MRI, or I have completely ruptured it and the little stumps have retracted out of view.

I had wondered which I would rather have, a serious meniscal or ACL injury.  I had leaned toward the latter, because the ACL can be fixed.  Meniscal tears really don’t heal; the body smooths them over somewhat with time, but the end result is just less cartilage, faster wear, and more tear.  The problem with an ACL injury, however, is that it increases the risk of future meniscal tears.  So either way, the knee will never be the same and now I have to deal with it.

We will wait for the official report, and I may see the sports orthopod.  Here’s what I don’t want from that appointment: For him to tell me, “Cathy, you should stop playing volleyball or anything that requires jumping, sudden movements, or the like.  You’re too old and your knee will just be hurt again.”  I will be polite, but in my mind I will think, “You can’t tell me what to do, I’ll play f*ing volleyball if I want to, and I will do it with or without your help.”  What I would love for him to say is this:

“Cathy, here is what’s going on in your knee.  It’s likely that these factors contributed to the injury (lists possible risk factors that he knows from my history), and also it was a freak accident that can happen to anyone, especially jumping female athletes (which is true).  It’s a good thing you’re pretty healthy to start with, and that you had gotten fit these last few years.  What do you want to do now?”

I’ll tell him that I really want to get back on the court and play.  I’ll tell him I want to keep doing all the training I’ve been doing: elliptical, Kangoo running, TRX, pistols, golf, and Betty Rocker workouts.  I want to take up new things like Orange Theory, kickboxing, martial arts maybe, and who knows what else?  I want to be the most active person I can be, and I want to JUMP.  I’ll tell him that I want to be responsible about it; I’m not going to ignore the risks and be stupid.  I want to know the risks, the evidence as it applies to me as specifically as possible, the 44 year-old mom with lax ligaments and super-flat feet.

Then I hope he tells me, “Okay then here’s the plan.  We gotta rehab the knee really well.  Ya gotta be patient.  Keep up with your trainer, strengthen all the muscles around your knees, continue working on core, posture, and form.  When you start jumping again make sure you know better how to land, train that muscle memory and get it down, own it.  Take your time, and take it easy when you start again.  There are braces you can use when you play that will help keep the knee stable.  And you still might hurt yourself again, there’s no way to predict what will happen. But if that’s what you want to do, I’ll do my best to help you get there.”

Because here’s the deal, my friends:  I own my decisions, but I need help to make them in the most responsible and informed way possible.  I don’t need someone paternalistically telling me what to do, how to live my life.  I need the doctor to explain to me the risks, benefits, and costs of what I may want to try.  Then I need to him to trust that I will make the best decision for myself, based on my own core values and goals.  I understand that nobody can predict the future.  But I also have a clear vision of the future I want.  I want to live a very active life, able to try new things and connect mind with body with spirit, and with other people.  I want to look back in 10, 20, and 30 years and say, “I did what I wanted to do, I made my decisions with the best information I had at the time.”  I may hurt myself again.  I may end up with a knee replacement before age 60, and never run or play volleyball again after that.  But if I get there having thoroughly assessed the risks of my actions, having taken all reasonable steps to proceed safely, and having continued to have fun and enjoy my mobility as long as I could, then hopefully I will regret very little.  I would much rather live this scenario, than get to that age wondering, “What more could I have done?  Did I sell myself short?”

This is how I discuss decision making with my patients, particularly when it comes to screening.  Their decisions must originate from their personal values and health goals, not mine or anyone else’s.  How do they understand the risks, and which worst case scenario of screening or not screening, treating or not treating, will they regret less?  A very athletic yet osteoporotic 65 year-old woman really does not want to take medication.  So we review her daily dietary calcium, vitamin D, protein, and vitamin K intake.  We make sure she continues weight bearing exercise every day.  We pay attention to balance, flexibility, strength, vision, and fall risks.  We reassess her risks and goals every year to make sure that we are still on the path she chooses for herself.  I present her with as much evidence as I can, for efficacy of medication, her personal fracture risk, and potential consequences of fracture.  In the end the decision is hers and hers alone; I serve as consultant and guide.

Meanwhile, knowing what’s likely happening in my knee gives me peace and confidence.  Now I can make a plan.  I’m convinced this is why my knee feels better tonight than it has in days, although the ibuprofen I took this afternoon probably also helps.  I have a new compression sleeve that fits under my dress pants.  I can get back to my workouts, and maybe add on a little every week.  My motivation to eat healthy just got a fierce boost (Betty Rocker really helps with this—I have no financial interests in her business, I just really like what she does and how she does it).  I’ll start physical therapy soon.  No volleyball for likely 6 months.  But I got this.  Bring it.