Me: *smiles* "I'm in sorts I promise. Now tell me--you alright?"
Him: "Me? Feeling a little better."
Me: "How's your wind?"
Him: "Waaay better."
Me: "Yay."
2/ I sit him up and carefully untie the back of his gown. On cue, he takes breaths in and out as I listen intently.
Me: "Lungs sound good." *moves around to front of chest* "I'm listening to your heart now. You can just breathe regular now."
Him: "Okay."
3/ After pressing my palm to his chest to feel his heart, I search his chest with stethoscope. Although it's not normal, it hasn't changed. Still he keeps making big gasps, forcing breaths in and out the whole time exaggeratedly.
Me: "Just breath regular, okay?"
4/ Him: "Sometimes you want to breathe regular but you can't."
I felt my face getting hot. It embarrassed me that it was so obvious.
5/ Me: "Just got some bad news is all. About a friend who passed."
*silence*
Him: "I'm sorry."
Me: *tying his gown back* "Yeah. Me, too. Was real good people."
Him: "Kids?"
Me: "Yup."
Him: "Damn."
*silence*
Him: "I knew you was out of sorts when I seent you."
6/ Me: *deep breath and shrug* "Yeah. You were right, friend."
After that we just sat there for a few moments in silence. Then my patient asked me about my friend. I paused--then told him a really funny story about him.
We both laughed out loud.
7/ Me: *shaking my head* "That cat was wild. Kept us all laughing nonstop."
Him: "Sound like a cool MF."
Me: *chuckling* “Yeah. . . that he was. And a good friend, too.” *I stared at the floor for a beat then sighed*
*silence*
8/ He reached out and patted me on my forearm. He stared at me with earnest, brown eyes.
Him: "It's gon' be okay, Doc Manning."
Me: "Yeah. Sometimes you want to breathe regular but you can't. You know?"
Him: *staring at me* "Yeah...I do know."
*silence*
Me: "Thanks, hear?
9/ If you think the only ones doing the healing are us? Think again. Our patients save our lives every single day.
Damn, they do.
Grateful for the bedside, the patients, & the grace and empathy they extend us.
I leaned over the sink with its rust-stained drain and ran cool water over my hands. Patting my fingertips over my face, I stared in the mirror. I’d been awake for >24 hours. It showed.
I tried to give myself a post-call pep talk.
Me: “C'mon, sis.”
2/ I was tired. But not just tired from the lack of sleep. It had been a cognitively hard night with sick-sick patients. While it had gone mostly fine, my brain was still steaming. Not to mention the sustained tachycardia I had every time I took call in the PICU.
It was rough.
3/ This was before duty hours reform. And it’s relevant here is because it explains why I had clinic that afternoon--even though I was post call.
I had just one wish:
To get through rounds in time to finish all my work and avoid having to return to the PICU after clinic.
1/ “Now that it’s raining more than ever, know that we still have each other. You can stand under my umbrella.”
– Rihanna
I entered the elevator alone one evening after a long day. Leaning my head back on the wall, I prepared for a peaceful ride to the ground floor.
Yep.
2/ After passing 6 floors, the lift stopped on the 5th floor. When the door separated, I opened my eyes and saw one of the Grady environmental services employees standing there with two giant rolling trash bins and a bunch of other stuff for cleaning.
He stepped back.
3/ Him: *waving his hand* “I’m cool, doc. I got a lot of stuff. I'll just get the next one.”
Me: *stepping aside* “Nah. It’s cool. Come on.”
And so he did.
Me: *glancing at him* “You good today?”
Him: “Yes ma’am. ‘Bout to drop this stuff off & go to the hizzouse!”
1/ Today is #WorldAIDSDay and I'm reflecting on the time that I got my first voluntary HIV test.
Wait.
I take that back. I am reflecting on the time that I decided to submit a narrative about my experience getting my first voluntary HIV test for publication.
Meta, I know.
2/ So I'd written this narrative back in 2008. And the fast story is that it was about me being a hypocrite about pressing a patient to be tested for HIV when I had never been voluntarily tested myself. Why?
Because I was scared.
Yup.
3/ I put that all on paper. Spoke this truth about being afraid and how my fear was rooted in the growing numbers of Black women impacted by HIV.
I mean. That's what I told myself.
But then I asked my colleague/wondertwin @DMalebranche to read it & give me some peer feedback.
1/ Stepped onto the Grady elevator last week. A Grady elder tipped his cap to me and nodded.
Me: “Good morning.”
Him: “Good morning, doc.”
*silence*
Him: “I like your hairdo.”
Me: *patting head* “Thanks, sir.”
Him: “I see you let them greys come on in, huh?”
*laughter*
2/ Me: “Yeah. Went on and let ‘em do what they wanted even at the risk of looking older.”
Him: *scowls* “Older than who?”
Me: “Older than my age. . . or just older than I want to look.”
He turned his mouth downward and nodded.
Him: “Mind me asking your age?”
3/ Me: *nervous laugh* “I would say guess but I’m scared of what you’ll say.”
Him: *squints* “Hmm. You somewhere ‘tween ‘bout . . .mmm 45, 50 or so.”
Me: “50.”
Him: *nods and shrugs* “Yeah that seem ‘bout right.”
Me: “Wow. That’s cold.”
Me: "Hey there. . . Mr. Jones? I’m Dr. Manning. I’m the new senior doctor on your team."
Him: *arms folded in chair and staring at floor* "Mmm hmm."
Me: “Good to meet you.”
*silence*
I noticed his long, long legs extending across the linoleum.
2/ Me: “Hmm. Let me guess...are you... 6’4? 6’5?"
Him: *eyeroll*
*silence*
Him: "That's a dumb-ass question.”
Me: “My bad, sir. Guess I was just curious and thought I'd ask."
Him: "Go on and get curious 'bout these lungs, hear?"
Yikes.
3/ Mr. Jones took exaggerated breaths as I auscultated his back. Lungs had good air exchange. He wasn't requiring oxygen. And, according to the respiratory therapist, he was tolerating less frequent breathing treatments.