Her: "You okay?"
Me: "Ma'am?"
Her: "Look like you was having a rough time when y'all were in here earlier."
Me: "Oh. That."
She was referring to post call rounds when I was presenting her case to my attending.
It had not gone well.
2/ Her: "I thought you did just fine when you talked to me."
Me: *sagging shoulders*
Her: "But look like you started to come all unraveled when he started with all them questions."
Me: *sigh* "Yeah. It's a lot I don't know."
Her: *smiling* "It's a lot you do know, too."
3/ Me: "I'm glad you think so."
She smiled at me, her wizened eyes twinkling.
Her: "You don't think so?"
Me: *shrug* "I don't know."
It had been a rough post call day. I hadn't gotten any sleep. But I was prepared. Or so I'd thought.
That is, until we started rounding.
4/ Me: "I read up and felt ready. But I guess I wasn't."
Her: "Some folk just won't let you be ready."
*silence*
Me: "Yeah. I guess."
Her: *nodding*
Me: "Honestly? I think my attending just doesn't really like me. I mean, I got stuff I can work on. But it's more than that."
5/ She threw her head back and let out a throaty laugh. It caught me off guard.
Her: "When you get old as I am? You figure out that people not liking you don't matter. 'Cause somebody somewhere always gon' not like you."
Me: *listening*
Her: "Know what does matter though?"
6/ Me: "What's that?"
Her: "YOU liking you." *narrowing her eyes* "Do YOU like you?"
I had to think about that. In that moment I wasn't fully sure.
Her: "See, the only way you you can really be bothered by somebody not liking you? Is if YOU don't like you first."
7/ Her: "I can't tell you what had that head doctor treating you like that. But I can say I liked the way you attended to me as my doctor."
I was so tired. It took everything in me not to cry right on her lap.
Her: "But as for not liking you? Don't give that no airplay, baby."
8/ Her: "Just make sure you somebody YOU like first. Try your best and do right by folks. Then just go on and focus on what you can do to help the patient in front of you."
Now I was full on crying. Which she met with a soft chuckle.
Her: "Oh. You gon' be just fine."
9/ That happened nearly 24 years ago. And while the fine details may involve some creative license, the lesson has been seared into my brain since 1996.
Yup.
In my hardest times of training, I could always find solace at the bedside with a patient. That has not changed.
10/ I've carried her powerful words with me since that day--and pay them forward as much as I can.
1. Make sure YOU like you. Make YOUR acceptance the one you seek. 2. Focus most on the patient & less on what someone else will think. 3. If you can't do #2, go back to #1.
And.
11/ This last one is mine:
4. Go back to the bedside. And just be.
Because cool findings always await. Always and in all ways.
Yeah. 😊🛏️
P.S. These days? I work hard at liking me. And I'm proud to say that as of 2020, I'm alright with me.
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.