Him: "Them shoes you wearing. They some a your favorite shoes?"
Me: *looking down* "My shoes?"
Him: "Yeah. Your shoes. They your favorites?"
Me: *squinting eyes and thinking* "Ummm. . . I guess I like them. They're good work shoes for the most part."
2/ Him: "You mean they're good work shoe for YOU."
Me: *puzzled* "Huh?"
*silence*
Him: "Look here. If them ain't your favorite shoes--hell, your ONLY shoes, then you need to go on and retire 'em."
Me: *looking down at my shoes again* "Sir?"
His lip twitched with amusement.
3/ Him: "Dr. Manning you woke me up 2 different times this week with that damn squeaky shoe! And today you got both of 'em squawking? Unh UH!!"
*laughter*
Him: *pointing* "Them shoes gots to GO. Or you gon' need to kick 'em off for you get on 10A so folk can get some rest."
4/ *collective laughter*
Nurse: "Tell her how you really feel."
Me: *staring at my shoes* "Dang. I did notice the squeak. Guess I was in denial."
Him: "Well you need to get on out of denial. Or out my room in that shoe."
He laughed. Even though I knew he wasn't joking.
5/ He was right. I did love the shoes. And I know exactly when they started squeaking. It was the day after I got caught in the rain the week before. I guess I just hoped it wasn't as bad as I knew it was.
That night, I told my 14yo son. He asked me to put them on for a demo.
6/ Son: "Mom. Wow."
Me: *pacing the room* "What?"
He shook his head. Hard.
Son: "Mom. That's low-key inconsiderate of you. You seriously wore those in the hospital? Wow."
Me: 😬
Son: "I expected more of you, young lady."
He laughed. Even though I knew he wasn't joking.
7/ That got me thinking about all of the things that we totally notice but that we act like others don't.
Like the soiled white coat that you try to stretch one more day. Or a really squeaky (but comfy) pair of shoes.
If you noticed? Oh, someone else noticed.
Totally.
8/ And just because I was in denial (read: too selfish to fix or acknowledge the issue) doesn’t mean it wouldn't or shouldn't get called out on rounds.
Ha.
Because--to quote my son--it was "low-key inconsiderate."*
*And by "low-key," I think he meant "high-key."
9/ And this? This is just one more reason to work at building connections with patients. Because honest feedback happens best in the right climate.
Which reminds me.
That same patient got super comfortable. He gave me a little extra feedback before he got discharged.
Ha.
10/ Him: 🤔 "Dr. Manning? You with child?"
Me: 😳 "ME? Oh my goodness! NO, sir!"
*laughter*
Him: "Oh Lord. I'm sorry. But listen--try not to fasten all the buttons up your doctor coat, hear? It make it look like you--"
Me: "Noted."
Me: "How're you feeling today?"
Him: "Well. I been better. That medicine y'all gave me made me run off!"
My team looked puzzled.
I did not.
Me: "Oh no! You talking 'bout the medicine we gave you for your gout flare up?"
Him: "Yeah! That one!"
2/ Him: "Shit, you coulda warned a brother."
Me: "Dang. I really should have. I'm sorry."
Him: "Yeah, if it wasn't for that bedside commode it woulda been a clean up on aisle 1!"
He laughed.
I was glad he was making light of it.
Me: "I apologize, sir. Colchicine can do that."
3/ Him: "It's cool. My knee is feeling a little bit better so that's good."
Me: "I'm glad. And again, I'm sorry for not giving the heads up."
Him: "I'm okay, doc."
I turned to my team.
Me: "'Running off' is diarrhea."
Them: "Ohhh."
Him: "Oh my bad, y'all."
1/ Her: "Why haven't you left for L.A. yet?"
Me: "Huh? Oh. Yeah. I'm pretty much almost done. It's okay."
*silence*
Her: "But, like is it?"
Me: *sighs* "Me rushing there won't change anything."
Her: "Depends on who you ask."
And after that, we both went back to charting.
2/ I was on the hospital service last April when I got the news. Dad had this sudden onset of disabling vertigo. We'd learn it was a cerebellar stroke. My sister was there in LA. At the bedside and wringing her hands as next-of-kin.
So she kept me posted.
And I kept rounding.
3/ On that first day, I walked right in and told my team.
Me: "My dad has been admitted to the hospital. It seems that he's had a cerebellar stroke."
And I said it in that "but I'm fine" voice. Because at that time that's what I was telling myself.
1/ Me: “I’m glad to see you.”
You: “You know what? I’m glad to see you, too.”
*silence*
Me: “You know how you’re loved, don’t you?”
You: *smiling gently* “I do. I think that’s what makes this so hard, you know? Can’t feel a loss like that without feeling a love like that.”
2/ We both let out big exhalations. After a few beats, you swung your head in my direction.
You: “How are you?”
Me: “Me?”
You: “Yeah. You.”
Me: “I’m fine. I just wish... um… you didn’t have to feel what you’re feeling.”
You reached out for my forearm. And then sighed again.
3/ You: “Yeah. But I’ll be okay. We were soul-connected. That will comfort me.”
I nodded. Then we sat in silence.
You: “But for real—how are you? Like with all this cool stuff you’ve been doing.”
Me: *puzzled look*
You: “It has to make you miss your dad and your sister.”
1/ I just finished this beautiful, courageous, and searing memoir “I Can’t Save You” by @CQ__MD. It was . . . in a word. . . sublime.
Whew.
And full disclosure—as his former med school advisor & friend—I love Dr. CQ.
But.
I also love books and honesty.
And he knows that.
2/ @CQ__MD will be the first to tell you that I won’t endorse anything—even a book my my beloved little bro CQ—unless I’d read it myself and believed others should, too.
And now I have.
And wholeheartedly I do.
But before you jump in—and you should—let me say this. . .
3/ There are some parts that explore depression, thoughts of suicide, and self-harm. No, not recklessly. But yes, with raw honesty. So you need to know that up front.
He does NOT play it safe around his lived experiences as a Black man in the ivory tower.
1/ I had imagined what this day would be like. Played it out in my head and saw various iterations of me exploding in celebration.
In some versions, I was doing the running man or, quite literally, running in triumphant circles, #MatchDay envelope in hand.
"Wooo hooo!"
2/ I also saw these visions of me quietly weeping, one hand extended to the heavens in gratitude. My lips quietly murmuring prayers of thanksgiving.
See, I was my ancestors' wildest dreams. And not even just my enslaved ancestors but the Jim Crow survivors who raised me, too.
3/ So, yeah. This was about to be big.
I was even on the #MatchDay party committee. And since we were broke, that meant soliciting donations from faculty & parents & anybody who felt proud enough of us to shell out a few coins.