Thread by @TheRealDoctorT

On a blank sheet of paper, a single red dot is perfectly centered.

Surrounding the red dot are dots of different colors. Most of them are fading.

The red dot moves, slowly, making its way from the center of the sheet to the periphery.

It brightens each dot it touches. 1/

Sally walks through the hospital hallways.

She is a hospitalist. Petite and soft-spoken, she is often mistaken to be a trainee, or assumed to be anything other than an attending physician.

All that despite the large “ATTENDING” badge she wears prominently. 2/

Sally is a skilled physician. She thinks clearly. She reads charts. She communicates with consultants.

She takes the time to get to know her patients.

Her rounding notes are filled with scribbled in asides.

“Getting married in May.”
“Loves swimming.”
“Dog: Joey.” 3/

To do her job as well she does, Sally invariably gets home late.

Her children miss her.

Some nights they are asleep before she gets home.

Her heart is full, and aches at the same time, as she sits at their bedsides for a few precious moments.

Time she can’t get back. 4/

Every now and then an administrator meets with Sally.

She loathes these meetings. They’re to review her “benchmark metrics.” Numbers that everyone is supposed to be looking at.

She exhales deeply as he sits across from her.

He wears a finely tailored suit. Impeccable. 5/

As he starts talking, Sally finds her mind drifting.

Last night a patient of hers was unstable. She stayed to manage their care. To sit at the bedside with their loved ones and just... be there.

Sally didn’t get home until well after midnight. The house was silent. 6/

“So, ah, you’re gonna have to work on your discharge paperwork timings. Getting sloppy. Need to get those patients out to open up the beds.”

She stares blankly at the administrator. “Ok. I’ll work on that.”

He smiles, “of course, of course. Now, your order sets...” 7/

Sally has admitted more patients than any other doctor in her group. Not only has she had more admissions, her patients tend to be sicker.

She has never complained.

Not once.

“So... ahh... you’re going to want to work on your order set usage.” He smiles again.

She nods. 8/

As he continues to point out her deficiencies in one category or another, Sally lowers her gaze to her lap.

Quietly, she takes a piece of scrap paper from her pocket, and starts doodling.

In the center of the paper, she draws a red dot.

Into this red dot, she focuses... 9/

“And your satisfaction scores dipped slightly for the month, doc. Make sure you talk to the patients, ask them to fill out their surveys, they’ll give high scores.”

“Were there any complaints?”

“No.”

“Any adverse outcomes? Did I harm anyone?”

“Well no, but... look...” 10/

He sighs. “You’re a good doc. You just have to make sure your metrics are just as good. Because they’re all that matter. Connect the dots, doc.”

She raises a brow. “Connecting the dots is all I do... every day. I connect the dots.”

He smiles. “Then this’ll be easy.” 11/

After he leaves her office, she sits alone in silence for a few moments, clenching her fists.

She looks down at the piece of paper on her lap.

As he was speaking to her, she had jabbed a whole series of faded dots onto the sheet, surrounding the red dot in the middle. 12/

She leaves her office, locking the door behind her.

Her slender shoulders are slumped inward. Her posture droops.

To be told that the metrics have passed judgment on her, and found her wanting...

She walks down the hallway, lost in her thoughts. 13/

When she was a little girl, she looked up at the stars one night, with her father.

“You see Orion’s Belt, Sally? Three stars, connect the dots.”

“I can see it!” She laughed excitedly.

But tonight, she can’t see the constellations, nor the stars.

Dots drift.

Disconnected.