I placed my stethoscope upon a quiet chest recently. Flashed a penlight into eyes where pupils did not respond.
My fingertips rolled over the curve in the neck where a carotid pulse would normally offer up a reassuring thump--but felt nothing.
Nothing.
2/ Just cool, quiet skin.
This patient was severely ill. The family and patient had chosen a "Do Not Resuscitate" order to allow a natural transition. So, once it became imminent, no one fought it.
No code sirens.
No cacophony of ACLS.
Just a peaceful acknowledgment.
3/ The illness was far too mighty and swift to allow a transfer to hospice after leaving the ICU.
The family stood vigil for those first few hours. Then exhaustion set in. When it happened, no family was in the room.
But it was peaceful still. And with dignity.
It was.
4/ The nurse prepared the body for the family. Removed tubes and lines and pieces of tape. Carefully wiped saliva from lips, smoothed hair, & even dutifully cleared the soiled garments.
Damn, it was loving.
She caught me staring. I was relieved when she didn’t seem to mind.
5/ The doctor part is always awkward to me. Pronouncing death feels so robotic, so inhuman. Especially when the family isn't there yet.
I idle in the hallway or at the foot of the bed; I try to be helpful but always get in the way.
Me: “Need anything?”
Nurse: “No. I’m okay.”
6/ The nurse has her part down to a stepwise science, too. But from where I stand it looks far more ritualistic and elegant than mine.
Nurse: “Did you reach the family?”
Me: “Yes, ma’am. They are on the way.”
She nodded in quiet deference and continued tending to her patient.
7/ When she finished, I stepped back in and just stood beside the bed.
Nurse: *to the patient* “Now you can rest.”
Me: *tiny nod*
I moved closer, placed my hand upon the patient’s still chest and closed my eyes. Then, without speaking, their nurse did the same.
8/ Both of us silently touching and agreeing and honoring this life.
Afterward, we looked up at each other and locked eyes. The vibrant colors of the silky hijab framing her caramel face and the softness in her eyes made me want to cry.
I could tell that she felt the same.
9/ Two members of a health care team of different religious faiths, both at the bedside honoring the sacred life of a human being.
Together.
The family streamed in moments later. And we stood in solidarity, promising them that their loved one was not alone.
Love was there.
10/ And best of all was that I could tell they believed us. Which is good because it was true.
It was.
I'm glad I got to share that moment with that nurse. I am.
1/ Mostly I have remained quiet about #twitter verification and (what I like to call) Black physician #verifygate.
Partly because I'd like to believe that verification starts with how we feel about ourselves.
But I'll also admit it's a form of self-protection.
You know?
2/ I also think of how, historically, there are so many examples of successful people who look like me who do or don't get the metaphorical blue check for their work.
So you say the thing we always say:
"You don't verify me. My community verifies me."
Right? Right.
3/ But then, if you have enough time, it creeps into your thoughts. And, even if it doesn't really mean anything, you think about it.
You know?
And listen. Since I'm generally not a person who likes to be upset, I will instead shape this into a case.
Them: "You need to steer clear of Ida."
Me: "Which one is Ida?"
Them: *head gesture* "The one talking to our attending. She's legendary for going off on interns."
Me: *swallows hard*
Them: "Look. She even checks attendings."
I looked.
2/ Ida's hands were animated as she talked. I noticed the way her biceps bulged at the meeting of her scrub sleeve when she moved her arms. Her head was up and eye contact deliberate.
3/ It startled me when they both erupted into laughter. It was warm and respectful. The attending said something else and she said something back. Both gave knowing nods.
And that was it.
Them: "Most of the nurses here are cool. Not her, though."
Me: "I just. . .I think I just think of the worst thing that could always happen, you know? Like. . .someone counting on me and me alone to know everything."
Him: "Where was medical school?"
Me: "Meharry."
Him: "Oh--wait. Where is Ma-Hahry again?"
Me: "Um. Oh. Meharry? It's in Nashville."
Him: "That's right. I knew a guy who went there. He was nice."
Me: *awkward smile*
*names/details changed
2/ My attending looked to the other intern on my team.
Him: "And Mick--you went to Michigan, right?"
Mick: "Go Blue."
Him: "Don't say that too loud in Ohio!"
*laughter*
Him: "I almost went there. But I knew my parents would disown me so I changed my mind."
Mick: *smiles*
3/ Him: "Do you know *names of several people at Michigan*?"
Mick: "Oh yeah! *One of the people* retired this year."
Him: "Really? He's one of my heroes."
Mick: "Totally. And *other person I never heard of* was my attending for my sub-I."
Him: "Lucky you."