Genmedmom here.
Let's talk about sex, sexual orientation, race, religion, and disability, and being judged by those things, in the workplace. Have you encountered assumptions/ prejudice/ racism/ sexism/ intolerance/ harassment/ discrimination at work?
It's definitely an appropriate political climate to be discussing this issues. Even aside from the blistering rhetoric of the past year, let's face it, for many folks, a "real" doctor looks like Marcus Welby, M.D. You know, a white, gray-haired, suited man who exudes experience and wisdom. Not that there's anything WRONG with that...
These negative attitudes can manifest differently, and span a wide range of experiences.
The way I see it, assumptions can be innocent. These can be sort of insulting things said by well-intentioned people. They may be based in inherent bias and unconscious attitudes. Like, for example...
How many times during residency training did I walk into a patient's room, and they assumed I was anyone BUT the doctor? I was asked to clear the cafeteria tray more than once. Even after introducing myself, I was often referred to as [insert non-M.D. staff title here] and asked to fetch things: a glass of water, blankets, a urinal.
Sometimes, those assumptions annoyed me, and I acted annoyed. Other times, I tried to be cheerful and helpful regardless. I have also been guilty of making assumptions about others, and have had to retrieve my Dansko-clad foot from my mouth...
Then, there are more obviously negative/ hurtful/ damaging experiences.
During residency, a senior physician (a Marcus Welby type) whom I respected greatly and had been working with for some time chose a younger, more inexperienced, pretty unreliable male trainee to lead an endeavor that I had been interested in leading. Oh, that hurt. I wondered and fretted, Why didn't he choose me? What secret glee I felt when the young lad never followed through, and the project collapsed! Karma, man. Karma.
A woman I trained with had a miscarriage, and the supervising physicians would not allow her any time off. It was a first trimester loss. "Think of it like a heavy period," they said. "Would you call out for that?"
What I observed throughout all of my medical training was that women received very little understanding, consideration, or flexibility during pregnancy, maternity leave, or breastfeeding. The prevailing attitude was "suck it up, buttercup."
Then, I remember as a fellow, when I was interviewing everywhere for jobs. I was singled out by a senior physician (Yup, Welby again) for being half Latina. I was asked to take on a faculty position in part "because then we'll be closer to meeting the requirements for minority recruits. You can really help the department to look more inclusive. That'll be such a bonus."
That felt weird. I did not take the position.
In that job search almost ten years ago, I sought out a flexible position in a positive environment at a progressive institution, and I am satisfied that I found all of that and then some. The few negative experiences I had prior definitely informed my decision, and helped me to recognize what I didn't want as an attending.
I'm aware that many of you have had much worse and many more negative experiences than I did, and I'm wondering:
What did you encounter?
How did you manage, supercede, overcome?
What did you learn from the experience?
Do you see things getting better, or worse?
Showing posts with label Genmedmom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Genmedmom. Show all posts
Thursday, January 12, 2017
Saturday, December 31, 2016
In the dark quiet of the last day of 2016
Well, I do.
Genmedmom here.
It's 6:30 in the morning on Saturday, December 31st, 2016, and I'm sitting typing in the quiet dark of our house. No one is stirring except for our two big spoiled cats, who relentlessly knocked things off of my nightstand until I got up.
You know how you get really busy, barely any downtime to even answer the texts from old friends, never mind call them, and all the very small spaces in your life are stuffed with overflow tasks, like making shopping lists on your phone on the train, and never going up or down your stairs without having something in your arms that needs to go up or down, like dirty laundry down and folded clean stuff up, empty tea mugs down and toilet paper rolls from the basement up, wrapped gifts down and unwrapped stuff up, so many goddamned toys and factory-new clothes and the boxes, tissue and gift bags that you can't bear to toss that will clutter your home until next year too, and even with your superior physician multitasking skills you realize you're screwing up, like forgetting to RSVP for that thing and being late paying that bill and getting lame last-minute crap for the important staff member you totally spaced out, and then even the doctor stuff starts slipping (which is always last to go, right?) like that you promised to personally get back to your longtime dear patient on a result that wasn't critical but it was important to HER and you totally intended to check that on the holiday weekend and simply send her a quick message through the online portal and you just did not do it.
Then the kids get sick, and you get sick, and any delusion of control you had goes down the toilet with the first bowl of vomit. Your Christmas agenda: poof.
Barf.
But life marches on and there's still things to do and when everyone is (mostly) better you try to keep going, get yourself and the family to rescheduled gatherings and pick up where you left off with the gifts and the cards and the outings for school vacation. Maybe you start losing track of what's really important and what's just life and lose your cool, show your frustration, yell at your kids when the situation just doesn't merit a freakout. No one is running towards a busy street or about to drink drain cleaner, they're just jumping on the couch and throwing pillows and wrestling and, well, not listening to you when you order them to get their shoes on because you're late or pick up that banana peel and take it to the trash or SETTLE DOWN already. And when they react to your red-faced temper with sass and disrespect, maybe you throw the remote control across the living room and when it lands on the hardwood with an unexpected clatter, your kids stare at you with a sad, silent combination of shock and wonder and fear that you hope you never see again.
You know you're out of balance and that this is not right and this is not you.
So in the dark quiet of a holiday weekend morning when, miraculously, there is no event planned nor pressing task nor other thing of perceived great import, you sit and breathe and resolve:
This year, I will live healthier, be a better doctor, be a better mom. I will do this by uncluttering my headspace. I will leave the little breathing spaces empty. For breathing. I will remain thoughtfully committed to my medical practice and remember the high standards I hold for myself. I will love my family, my children, always reflecting on how blessed we are, how much we have and enjoy in this very difficult modern world. I will pray for those who are struggling and suffering, every day, I will not forget them.
Happy New Year and God Bless.
Thursday, November 3, 2016
Childcare Options for Doctor-Moms
Genmedmom here.
Childcare is such a huge issue for working parents. It can be so expensive, and it is so important. With me in outpatient primary care and my husband traveling for his work pretty frequently, we needed to figure it out.
Thankfully, we have my mom who lives close by and provides the bulk of childcare for our little ones. We have also used daycare, as well as nanny services, both to give her a break and to provide socialization for our kids.
Family help is the best, but it can't always work, for many reasons. Daycare has the advantage of providing key socialization, as well as building relationships with other working parents, a bonus that I didn't realize would be until it was. However, if we didn't have my mom to pick up our kids at the end of the day, we'd be pretty miserable. It probably wouldn't work at all.
I found nannies to be the most difficult. It was almost a part-time job to find a decent nanny, even with Care.com. And, they weren't always decent. Plus, that option can be very expensive, prohibitively so. Upwards of twenty dollars an hour in the Boston area, for a nanny with experience.
Other docs have written about au pairs, and that options sounds wonderful, but one has to have a place for the person to sleep, and we just never had that. It's a small house, barely enough room for us and the two kids. Au pair, sadly, was never a possibility for us.
What childcare options have worked best for others?
Childcare is such a huge issue for working parents. It can be so expensive, and it is so important. With me in outpatient primary care and my husband traveling for his work pretty frequently, we needed to figure it out.
Thankfully, we have my mom who lives close by and provides the bulk of childcare for our little ones. We have also used daycare, as well as nanny services, both to give her a break and to provide socialization for our kids.
Family help is the best, but it can't always work, for many reasons. Daycare has the advantage of providing key socialization, as well as building relationships with other working parents, a bonus that I didn't realize would be until it was. However, if we didn't have my mom to pick up our kids at the end of the day, we'd be pretty miserable. It probably wouldn't work at all.
I found nannies to be the most difficult. It was almost a part-time job to find a decent nanny, even with Care.com. And, they weren't always decent. Plus, that option can be very expensive, prohibitively so. Upwards of twenty dollars an hour in the Boston area, for a nanny with experience.
Other docs have written about au pairs, and that options sounds wonderful, but one has to have a place for the person to sleep, and we just never had that. It's a small house, barely enough room for us and the two kids. Au pair, sadly, was never a possibility for us.
What childcare options have worked best for others?
Thursday, October 20, 2016
How Do You Do It All? (i.e. The Art of Being Imperfectly Perfect)
Genmedmom here.
Let’s face it: working moms have alot on their plate. A
patient recently complained to me how guilty she felt because she couldn’t be a
perfect mother, wife, accountant, and friend, all at the same time. If she felt really good and strong in one area, she was slipping in another. “No matter how much I try, I’m
a failure!” she declared.
Okay, look, despite the expectations on us, no one can achieve
perfection 100% of the time. No one is going to excel in all of the areas of
their life always. But we can manage.
We can do our myriad jobs well enough.
And we can be happy.
On a weekly basis, I usually manage: four clinic sessions a week
(approximately twenty hours seeing patients), one morning precepting in the
firstyear medical students’ interviewing and communications course, co-parenting
our two school-aged kids (with lots of family help), regular blogging on three
separate blogs, kids’ dinner/ bathtime/ bedtime virtually every night, about
three good workouts per week, church and big family dinner on Sundays.
Is it all done perfectly? Hell, no. I wish I could get to all the patient phone calls, emails and lab results every week. It would be great if I could do the reading before the medical school course. Our kids are late with homework probably at least once per week. We never seem to know what's going on at school until the last minute. My blog posts often have typos, and could have used a little more editing. My workouts are sometimes really short. We don't get to church or have family dinner every Sunday.
But I can say this: We fit in what we need to fit in. We do what we feel needs to be done. It's not perfect, but, for us, it is. Imperfectly perfect. We, as a family, are happy.
I am often asked “Geez, how do you do it all?”
Well, if what you're aiming for is happiness rather than perfection, then I’ve thought about this. It will be different for
everyone, but generally, I suggest:
Identify your
time-wasters and eliminate them. What time-consuming things in your life do
not help you to achieve your goals, and do not serve a healthy purpose? For me,
that’s television. I do not watch television unless there is a really good
reason. I’ll watch a Disney movie with the kids once in awhile, all snuggled on
the couch. And, of course, once a week our whole family watches my husband’s football
team play. Other than that? No sitcoms, no news, no movies. Social media can
also easily become a time-sucker, so I limit that to my train commute.
Hire cleaners, if you
can. Yes, we all know that we are capable of cleaning. But how much is your
time worth? You are an M.D., and if you were paid by the hour, you would earn $100,
at minimum. Multiply that by a thousand- no, a million- and that’s how much
your hour is worth to your kids. Though we couldn’t afford it when we just
started out, as soon as we could, we hired a cleaning service. They are
worth every penny.
Order anything online
that can be ordered online. We have groceries, pet supplies, clothes,
shoes, furniture, books, et cetera delivered right to our front door.
Stay local. Need
to run an errand? If possible, avoid driving time, and support local businesses to boot.
Schedule carefully.
There are so many options for kids’ activities around us. It would be very easy
to slip into driving-everyone-all-over-the-place-for-this-or-that-thing. We
were forced to hold back quite a bit, as our son with autism doesn’t handle a
busy schedule very well, and doesn’t do drop-off events at all. So, we have a
music teacher who meets them in my mom’s home after school one day. And we
choose family activities like hikes, trips to the farmer’s market, and scouting (Boy Scouts),
rather than kids-only classes like dance and tae kwon do. We’ve realized that this quieter, easier,
more familiar approach results in less hustle and bustle, and doubles as “family
time”.
Identify toxic relationships and avoid them. Okay, I'm wandering into therapeutic territory here, but the truth is, people who make us feel bad are a real drain on our precious time and energy. Conflict and negativity are distracting. We can't be our best selves now if we're re-living an argument or re-thinking that weird conversation from yesterday. If there's a person around who consistently brings conflict and negativity into my day, I avoid them as much as possible. Likewise, if there are good, psychologically solid people who support me and boost my mood, then hey, I want to spend more time with them.
Keep reasonable goals.
I’m not striving for crazy achievements in any area. I’d like to take good care
of my patients, be a solid teacher for my students, raise emotionally well-adjusted
kids, keep on writing until it goes somewhere, stay as healthy as possible, and
be actively engaged in our community. Like I said, it's not perfect, but, for us, it is. Imperfectly perfect. We, as a family, are happy.
What about other mom-docs? How do you "do it all?" What do you do to save time? How do you keep you and your families happy?
Wednesday, October 5, 2016
Would You/ Did You Deliver In Your Own Hospital?
Genmedmom here.
I could not have imagined going anywhere but the OB/GYN office down the hall from mine. My lovely OB was a clinical instructor in the same course as me, and I ran into her at the medical school from time to time, in between my prenatal appointments. She'd seen my cervix and God knows what else was going on down there, and yet we would find ourselves standing around pleasantly chatting about curriculum changes while sipping lukewarm coffee. I didn't care.
Just take good care of us.
Still, with my first, I went a little psycho around delivery. I created an annoying three-page natural-no-epidural birth plan with all sorts of stipulations: no med students, minimal residents, no male anybody.
Ha. When the meconium hit the fan, there I was being wheeled into an O.R. crowded with every level trainee and both genders well-represented, and I didn't care.
Just take good care of us.
Babyboy had to be rapidly and forcefully extracted: hauled from above and pushed from below. But he was born and he was healthy and all was good.
For my second, I had no plan. I was so traumatized by how violently OPPOSITE everything had turned out from what I had envisioned the first time around, I couldn't make any decisions at all. So my lovely O.B. firmly (but nicely) guided me through a successful VBAC.
I've seen her around since and we are very friendly. I've probably also run into multiple nurses, residents, and students who were witness to my howling hysteria in one or the other delivery, but I can't remember who was there from either so who cares.
Personally, I'm glad that I delivered with a physician I know professionally and admire. I could never have managed going to any other hospital but my own anyways, too inconvenient.
But not everyone feels the same way. The question occurred to me: Where do OB/GYNs deliver? Do you guys generally prefer your own or a different hospital?
How about other specialties- OB anesthesia, what about you? Does it vary at all by specialty?
Maybe it just has more to do with individual comfort level with the total, supreme lack of privacy, and knowing you will be definitely be observed if not at your worst, then at least, perhaps, not at your best.
I'm very curious about this, as I am covering this topic for a doctor-mom writing project. Please, share your perspectives! Inquiring minds will want to know.
I could not have imagined going anywhere but the OB/GYN office down the hall from mine. My lovely OB was a clinical instructor in the same course as me, and I ran into her at the medical school from time to time, in between my prenatal appointments. She'd seen my cervix and God knows what else was going on down there, and yet we would find ourselves standing around pleasantly chatting about curriculum changes while sipping lukewarm coffee. I didn't care.
Just take good care of us.
Still, with my first, I went a little psycho around delivery. I created an annoying three-page natural-no-epidural birth plan with all sorts of stipulations: no med students, minimal residents, no male anybody.
Ha. When the meconium hit the fan, there I was being wheeled into an O.R. crowded with every level trainee and both genders well-represented, and I didn't care.
Just take good care of us.
Babyboy had to be rapidly and forcefully extracted: hauled from above and pushed from below. But he was born and he was healthy and all was good.
For my second, I had no plan. I was so traumatized by how violently OPPOSITE everything had turned out from what I had envisioned the first time around, I couldn't make any decisions at all. So my lovely O.B. firmly (but nicely) guided me through a successful VBAC.
I've seen her around since and we are very friendly. I've probably also run into multiple nurses, residents, and students who were witness to my howling hysteria in one or the other delivery, but I can't remember who was there from either so who cares.
Personally, I'm glad that I delivered with a physician I know professionally and admire. I could never have managed going to any other hospital but my own anyways, too inconvenient.
But not everyone feels the same way. The question occurred to me: Where do OB/GYNs deliver? Do you guys generally prefer your own or a different hospital?
How about other specialties- OB anesthesia, what about you? Does it vary at all by specialty?
Maybe it just has more to do with individual comfort level with the total, supreme lack of privacy, and knowing you will be definitely be observed if not at your worst, then at least, perhaps, not at your best.
I'm very curious about this, as I am covering this topic for a doctor-mom writing project. Please, share your perspectives! Inquiring minds will want to know.
Monday, September 12, 2016
Are Mothers in Medicine Messier?
Genmedmom here.
I suspect that I'm like most docs, when I say it takes alot to gross me out.
And I wouldn't say that I'm messy, rather, I'm highly tolerant of messiness.
But this week, I wondered if maybe my threshold for disgusting is a little too high. Like, maybe there are some things so yucky, anybody should freak out and drop everything to clean it up.
Like this, for example. Check out the close-ups of the wall, soap dispenser and faucet handle:
This is our downstairs bathroom. Last weekend, the kids and I baked and frosted sugar cookies. And, they also ate melty chocolate bars.
Both kids dutifully washed their hands in the bathroom sink, which was left grungy with thick purple frosting and chocolate smears that then dried out.
What strikes me is that I used this bathroom every day between then and this past Thursday, and I didn't even notice this nasty crusting. It was right there, on the stupid faucet handle, that I touched, and it didn't even register with me. (Or my husband, for that matter.)
Yes, we are in survival mode most of the work week. Yes, we both have busy careers, and school just started, and our pets are demanding, and no one has a reasonable sleep schedule. But still. Honestly. This is revolting.
Is there anyone else out there who could have this palpable food residue all over their frequently used bathroom and not only not clean it, but also not even notice it for four whole days?
And, to top it off, when I saw this on Thursday, really saw it, I was literally rushing to pee before I had to run out the door to get in the car to pick up my kids from school. It was my day off from clinic, the mess finally registered with me, but I didn't even have time for a rudimentary scrub-down.
Thank goodness our cleaning people come Friday mornings...
I suspect that I'm like most docs, when I say it takes alot to gross me out.
And I wouldn't say that I'm messy, rather, I'm highly tolerant of messiness.
But this week, I wondered if maybe my threshold for disgusting is a little too high. Like, maybe there are some things so yucky, anybody should freak out and drop everything to clean it up.
Like this, for example. Check out the close-ups of the wall, soap dispenser and faucet handle:
This is our downstairs bathroom. Last weekend, the kids and I baked and frosted sugar cookies. And, they also ate melty chocolate bars.
Both kids dutifully washed their hands in the bathroom sink, which was left grungy with thick purple frosting and chocolate smears that then dried out.
What strikes me is that I used this bathroom every day between then and this past Thursday, and I didn't even notice this nasty crusting. It was right there, on the stupid faucet handle, that I touched, and it didn't even register with me. (Or my husband, for that matter.)
Yes, we are in survival mode most of the work week. Yes, we both have busy careers, and school just started, and our pets are demanding, and no one has a reasonable sleep schedule. But still. Honestly. This is revolting.
Is there anyone else out there who could have this palpable food residue all over their frequently used bathroom and not only not clean it, but also not even notice it for four whole days?
And, to top it off, when I saw this on Thursday, really saw it, I was literally rushing to pee before I had to run out the door to get in the car to pick up my kids from school. It was my day off from clinic, the mess finally registered with me, but I didn't even have time for a rudimentary scrub-down.
Thank goodness our cleaning people come Friday mornings...
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Talking Politics and Public Health With Patients- Is It OK?
Genmedmom here.
My Friday morning clinic was slow. There were two last-minute cancellations and a no-show. So when Mrs. Smith* came in for her physical, I wasn't in a rush, and we had some time to chat.
We talked about her recent hip replacement, and how thrilled she was to be finally pain-free and physically mobile, so that she could help care for her grandchildren again. Her face was bright with joy as she spoke of the beach and playground and the zoo and how much she loved experiencing the world with her two young grandchildren.
But she hesitated and frowned as she remarked: "I watch the news, and with everything going on today, I worry about them. We're moving in the wrong direction as a society. I mean, look at this presidential election, isn't it ridiculous, to think that a person so flawed could end up as a candidate? I'm frightened for their future."
Then she asked, "Your children are little, what do you think about all this craziness, do you lose sleep over it too? How can we protect them from it all?"
Up to that point, we had been slowly moving through the physical exam, and I had been wordlessly responding to her lighthearted description of her days as Nana the nanny with laughter, positive nods and smiles… When she admitted her fears, I reflected back grim countenance and shook my head, as if to mime What a shame, what a shame, but I didn't say anything.
I had no idea at this point what her specific views were. Her comments could reflect the opinions of anyone anywhere on the political spectrum. The flawed candidate she was referring to could be either Democrat or Republican. I didn't want to say anything potentially inflammatory, or even mildly awkward.
But she sat there awaiting my opinion.
Her questions hung there, between us, as I shook my head and tried to think of something to say.
Is her idea of crazy the same as my idea of crazy?
Does she want to protect her grandkids from the same things that I want to protect my kids from?
Do I really want to talk about this? And, is it appropriate?
I thought about my morning commute. There's an app on my phone that pulls articles from all the news sources I choose, and I have chosen just about every possible news source, even those representing the far other side of my political leanings. I like to know what's going on, through all the looking glasses. I read it all on the train on the way to work.
For months now, the news has been increasingly disturbing. Mass shootings, terror attacks, senseless violence against minorities and law enforcement alike, war abroad, mass displacement… it's all horrible.
But what's worse in my eyes is that here in the land of equality, in a country founded on sound principles and thoughtful discourse, we are witnessing the ugly rise of a potential dictator. Here is a divisive fascist whose behavior already mirrors that of the worst dictators in history. Historians and scholars continue to make observations and deliver warnings. This kind of a man, this kind of rhetoric, these lies and sick ideas, are what have led to genocide and war in the past. And if that isn't a public health issue, I don't know what is.
So, what do I think about all this craziness? I think about it all the time. It makes me sick to my stomach. But specifically WHAT I think about it may not be appropriate to discuss with patients. I believe that the candidate on the right is a bona fide public health issue, on many levels. But so is gun control, and beyond asking patients if they have a gun in the house and how it is stored as a basic home safety screening question, I don't get into the issue with anyone.
Perhaps we should. Perhaps we, as educated professionals with a sworn oath to promote the health and well-being of our patients- ALL of our patients- should be open about our views on matters that effect patient safety. Maybe that could be a means of educating the public on important issues, like gun control.... and rhetoric that promotes violence.
This all went through my mind...
So, what did I say?
I murmured "I know, it's really scary…", paused and smiled and declared, cheerfully: "Your grandkids are so lucky that they have you. I'm so happy for you that the hip surgery had such a good outcome."
She smiled back, and we went on as if nothing at all was wrong with the world.
*Patient identifiers such as social history and medical issues altered.
My Friday morning clinic was slow. There were two last-minute cancellations and a no-show. So when Mrs. Smith* came in for her physical, I wasn't in a rush, and we had some time to chat.
We talked about her recent hip replacement, and how thrilled she was to be finally pain-free and physically mobile, so that she could help care for her grandchildren again. Her face was bright with joy as she spoke of the beach and playground and the zoo and how much she loved experiencing the world with her two young grandchildren.
But she hesitated and frowned as she remarked: "I watch the news, and with everything going on today, I worry about them. We're moving in the wrong direction as a society. I mean, look at this presidential election, isn't it ridiculous, to think that a person so flawed could end up as a candidate? I'm frightened for their future."
Then she asked, "Your children are little, what do you think about all this craziness, do you lose sleep over it too? How can we protect them from it all?"
Up to that point, we had been slowly moving through the physical exam, and I had been wordlessly responding to her lighthearted description of her days as Nana the nanny with laughter, positive nods and smiles… When she admitted her fears, I reflected back grim countenance and shook my head, as if to mime What a shame, what a shame, but I didn't say anything.
I had no idea at this point what her specific views were. Her comments could reflect the opinions of anyone anywhere on the political spectrum. The flawed candidate she was referring to could be either Democrat or Republican. I didn't want to say anything potentially inflammatory, or even mildly awkward.
But she sat there awaiting my opinion.
Her questions hung there, between us, as I shook my head and tried to think of something to say.
Is her idea of crazy the same as my idea of crazy?
Does she want to protect her grandkids from the same things that I want to protect my kids from?
Do I really want to talk about this? And, is it appropriate?
I thought about my morning commute. There's an app on my phone that pulls articles from all the news sources I choose, and I have chosen just about every possible news source, even those representing the far other side of my political leanings. I like to know what's going on, through all the looking glasses. I read it all on the train on the way to work.
For months now, the news has been increasingly disturbing. Mass shootings, terror attacks, senseless violence against minorities and law enforcement alike, war abroad, mass displacement… it's all horrible.
But what's worse in my eyes is that here in the land of equality, in a country founded on sound principles and thoughtful discourse, we are witnessing the ugly rise of a potential dictator. Here is a divisive fascist whose behavior already mirrors that of the worst dictators in history. Historians and scholars continue to make observations and deliver warnings. This kind of a man, this kind of rhetoric, these lies and sick ideas, are what have led to genocide and war in the past. And if that isn't a public health issue, I don't know what is.
So, what do I think about all this craziness? I think about it all the time. It makes me sick to my stomach. But specifically WHAT I think about it may not be appropriate to discuss with patients. I believe that the candidate on the right is a bona fide public health issue, on many levels. But so is gun control, and beyond asking patients if they have a gun in the house and how it is stored as a basic home safety screening question, I don't get into the issue with anyone.
Perhaps we should. Perhaps we, as educated professionals with a sworn oath to promote the health and well-being of our patients- ALL of our patients- should be open about our views on matters that effect patient safety. Maybe that could be a means of educating the public on important issues, like gun control.... and rhetoric that promotes violence.
This all went through my mind...
So, what did I say?
I murmured "I know, it's really scary…", paused and smiled and declared, cheerfully: "Your grandkids are so lucky that they have you. I'm so happy for you that the hip surgery had such a good outcome."
She smiled back, and we went on as if nothing at all was wrong with the world.
*Patient identifiers such as social history and medical issues altered.
Monday, May 9, 2016
What does it really mean to be a mother in medicine?
As in, in real life, day-to-day, down and dirty?
Genmedmom here.
I'm working on a writing project about being a mother in medicine in practice. This is going to be the everyday stuff: the logistics, the scheduling, the practical aspects, the balancing, the conflict. Funny stories, lessons learned, suggestions, and mistakes.
As I was thinking about this project, I realized that my experience in clinical practice is drastically different from women in other specialties. There's no way I can write this without input from moms in every area of medicine!
Things I was wondering about:
When I was pregnant, it never occurred to me not to tell people. I can't keep a secret to save my life. But I have colleagues who kept their bumps hidden for as long as humanly possible, for many different reasons: worries about discrimination; fears of being passed over for promotion; superstition. What did folks out there do? If you felt like you had to hide your pregnancy, how did you, and for how long? Looking back, what do you think, was it necessary?
What about those specialities where there is risky occupational exposure, I'm thinking radiology, surgical subspecialties… How did you manage that in pregnancy? If you needed to step out of the room, how did your colleagues react?
A lot of doctor-moms don't take a full three months of maternity leave. Some take more. Does this vary a lot by specialty? Did folks feel pressured to take less than three months? Did anyone have to fight for three months?
I never pumped at work. (Long story.) For the moms that did, can you share some of the good and the bad? Were offices and hospitals supportive or not? Were facilities acceptable or not? What were your worst pumping experiences? Would you do it again?
As a general internist with no inpatient duties, my call weekends involve, well, phone calls. What is it like for doctor-moms who have to go in? For the surgeons and anesthesiologists out there, is it better to be on call from the hospital or from home?
My office clinic is low-key enough that if I need to, I can step out and answer a phone call from my kids' teachers or the school nurse. But what about for moms working in the operating room or the ICU or on a busy inpatient floor? If you need to step away to take care of your family, are you supported?
My husband travels, and occasionally, I've had to cancel a clinic day to stay home with the kids: blizzard closed the schools, kids throwing up… Have others needed to cancel their workdays for childcare? Did colleagues make you feel bad, or did they step up? For those who haven't or can't, how do you manage those unforeseen events, the school cancellations and nasty illnesses?
I am eternally grateful that I can work part-time. I know that not all physicians approve of that. For those working full-time, how do you make that work? What supports and systems need to be in place for you?
And of course there are more questions, more scenarios… We can all learn from each other!
All specialties should have representation. I would love to hear what you have to say.
Don't feel comfortable commenting here? Email me: mauroratello2@gmail.com
Genmedmom here.
I'm working on a writing project about being a mother in medicine in practice. This is going to be the everyday stuff: the logistics, the scheduling, the practical aspects, the balancing, the conflict. Funny stories, lessons learned, suggestions, and mistakes.
As I was thinking about this project, I realized that my experience in clinical practice is drastically different from women in other specialties. There's no way I can write this without input from moms in every area of medicine!
Things I was wondering about:
When I was pregnant, it never occurred to me not to tell people. I can't keep a secret to save my life. But I have colleagues who kept their bumps hidden for as long as humanly possible, for many different reasons: worries about discrimination; fears of being passed over for promotion; superstition. What did folks out there do? If you felt like you had to hide your pregnancy, how did you, and for how long? Looking back, what do you think, was it necessary?
What about those specialities where there is risky occupational exposure, I'm thinking radiology, surgical subspecialties… How did you manage that in pregnancy? If you needed to step out of the room, how did your colleagues react?
A lot of doctor-moms don't take a full three months of maternity leave. Some take more. Does this vary a lot by specialty? Did folks feel pressured to take less than three months? Did anyone have to fight for three months?
I never pumped at work. (Long story.) For the moms that did, can you share some of the good and the bad? Were offices and hospitals supportive or not? Were facilities acceptable or not? What were your worst pumping experiences? Would you do it again?
As a general internist with no inpatient duties, my call weekends involve, well, phone calls. What is it like for doctor-moms who have to go in? For the surgeons and anesthesiologists out there, is it better to be on call from the hospital or from home?
My office clinic is low-key enough that if I need to, I can step out and answer a phone call from my kids' teachers or the school nurse. But what about for moms working in the operating room or the ICU or on a busy inpatient floor? If you need to step away to take care of your family, are you supported?
My husband travels, and occasionally, I've had to cancel a clinic day to stay home with the kids: blizzard closed the schools, kids throwing up… Have others needed to cancel their workdays for childcare? Did colleagues make you feel bad, or did they step up? For those who haven't or can't, how do you manage those unforeseen events, the school cancellations and nasty illnesses?
I am eternally grateful that I can work part-time. I know that not all physicians approve of that. For those working full-time, how do you make that work? What supports and systems need to be in place for you?
And of course there are more questions, more scenarios… We can all learn from each other!
All specialties should have representation. I would love to hear what you have to say.
Don't feel comfortable commenting here? Email me: mauroratello2@gmail.com
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
Quality Time: What Is It, and How Can I Create More of It?
Genmedmom here.
Typical morning clinic day: I'm up at 4:50 a.m. and out the door before 6 a.m. to catch the train. The commute is prime time to skim the news/ blogs/ email/ social media, or, order groceries for delivery. I arrive at work early to prep charts. My patients are scheduled from 7:40 a.m. to 12 p.m. (and clinic usually runs over). Then, it's patient calls/ prescription refills/ results/ all kinds of paperwork/ maybe some writing until somewhere between 4 and 6 p.m. Then, I run for the train, ride back, run to my car, pick up kids at my mom's. Wrestle kids out the door, stuff them into the car, and herd them into our house. If Hubby is not working or traveling, we make a good effort to sit down to a nice dinner, usually warmed up leftovers from a weekend pot of soup. We tag-team on the evening stuff: get kids to eat if they haven't eaten, feed the cats, unpack schoolbags and yucky lunch boxes, identify any major school communications or homework, make lunches for the next day, wash dishes. The kids start getting super-silly and disobedient around this time, so I cattle-prod them up the stairs, out of their heinously dirty clothes, and into the bath; attempt to wash their hair (which usually has food in it) and yell at them for splashing water all over the place. Get kids out of tub, then chase after them as they actively evade me, giggling and taunting. Pull pajamas on, force them to brush and floss teeth, read books. Read more books. Read JUST ONE MORE BOOK PLEASE MOMMY?
Sigh. By the time the kids are asleep, I'm exhausted, and I realize with great sadness that I've spent most of our precious few hours together yelling, nagging, scolding, threatening, and counting to three about fifty times.
The few minutes we have snuggling in bed reading quietly (well, truthfully, it usually stretches into thirty minutes reading quietly) is the only real "quality time" we've got.
I know there are doctor-moms out there with busier schedules than mine (I only work four days a week).
Busy doctor-moms, how do you create quality time with your kids? What does it look like? When do you fit it in?
Typical morning clinic day: I'm up at 4:50 a.m. and out the door before 6 a.m. to catch the train. The commute is prime time to skim the news/ blogs/ email/ social media, or, order groceries for delivery. I arrive at work early to prep charts. My patients are scheduled from 7:40 a.m. to 12 p.m. (and clinic usually runs over). Then, it's patient calls/ prescription refills/ results/ all kinds of paperwork/ maybe some writing until somewhere between 4 and 6 p.m. Then, I run for the train, ride back, run to my car, pick up kids at my mom's. Wrestle kids out the door, stuff them into the car, and herd them into our house. If Hubby is not working or traveling, we make a good effort to sit down to a nice dinner, usually warmed up leftovers from a weekend pot of soup. We tag-team on the evening stuff: get kids to eat if they haven't eaten, feed the cats, unpack schoolbags and yucky lunch boxes, identify any major school communications or homework, make lunches for the next day, wash dishes. The kids start getting super-silly and disobedient around this time, so I cattle-prod them up the stairs, out of their heinously dirty clothes, and into the bath; attempt to wash their hair (which usually has food in it) and yell at them for splashing water all over the place. Get kids out of tub, then chase after them as they actively evade me, giggling and taunting. Pull pajamas on, force them to brush and floss teeth, read books. Read more books. Read JUST ONE MORE BOOK PLEASE MOMMY?
Sigh. By the time the kids are asleep, I'm exhausted, and I realize with great sadness that I've spent most of our precious few hours together yelling, nagging, scolding, threatening, and counting to three about fifty times.
The few minutes we have snuggling in bed reading quietly (well, truthfully, it usually stretches into thirty minutes reading quietly) is the only real "quality time" we've got.
I know there are doctor-moms out there with busier schedules than mine (I only work four days a week).
Busy doctor-moms, how do you create quality time with your kids? What does it look like? When do you fit it in?
Thursday, April 7, 2016
When The Doctor Is Sick, Again
Genmedmom here. Coughing, coughing, coughing. This is the third respiratory thing to catch me in as many months. Damn germs, can't get away from them.
I'm apologizing to everyone: my husband, for waking him up all night with my uncontrollable hacking; my kids, for my medicated and exhausted attentions (or lack thereof); my patients, for spewing my droplets about the tiny exam room; my fellow commuters, for daring to get on the train sick.
I'm following all my own advice. I know I've got cough-variant asthma and I'm on top of the Albuterol. I'm taking Dayquil and Nyquil, and snarfing tea with honey and endless Ricola.
But still coughing, coughing, coughing. No fever, non-toxic, I'm eating and drinking and walking and talking and parenting and working and COUGHING.
Not sick enough to call out; miserable enough to want to.
Docs, what do you do?
Never mind, I know the answer. Suck on my inhaler, take Dayquil and Nyquil, snarf tea with honey and endless Ricola, and suck it up.
I'm apologizing to everyone: my husband, for waking him up all night with my uncontrollable hacking; my kids, for my medicated and exhausted attentions (or lack thereof); my patients, for spewing my droplets about the tiny exam room; my fellow commuters, for daring to get on the train sick.
I'm following all my own advice. I know I've got cough-variant asthma and I'm on top of the Albuterol. I'm taking Dayquil and Nyquil, and snarfing tea with honey and endless Ricola.
But still coughing, coughing, coughing. No fever, non-toxic, I'm eating and drinking and walking and talking and parenting and working and COUGHING.
Not sick enough to call out; miserable enough to want to.
Docs, what do you do?
Never mind, I know the answer. Suck on my inhaler, take Dayquil and Nyquil, snarf tea with honey and endless Ricola, and suck it up.
Monday, February 29, 2016
Because I Hated Every Second of Breastfeeding
Genmedmom here.
There have been many times when I have struggled to empathize with the patient. There are certain healthcare issues, and certain patients, that I have found consistently frustrating over the years.
I've written about this, and been pretty well chastised by readers. I don't mind, because I know that 99% of physicians have their kryptonite issues, and just don't talk about it. I'll take the heat for being honest.
My kryptonite issue has been obesity. I admit, that for many a patient encounter, I've sat there and counseled (for the millionth time) on diet, and exercise, and priorities, and wondered to myself: Why can't you do this? Why can't you just lose weight?
I know that sounds terrible. Heck, it IS terrible. My bias is based on my own experience: I gained sixty pounds in my first pregnancy, and fifty in my second. The weight didn't come off postpartum, and I found myself obese. BMI 30. I dedicated what precious little time I had as a working mom to eating healthy and exercising, and I lost it all. It took two years. It was hard. There were ups and downs. I've written endlessly about it here, and here, and here....
Of course I know that it is totally and utterly unfair to think "Well, if I could do it, why can't you?" but truth is, that's a pretty natural way to think, and many of us think like that.
So I've been making a conscientious effort to do better, to let go of the bias, and the frustration, and meet people where they are, no matter what the medical issue is.
But it was only when I was sitting with a lovely young patient of mine who was upset, grieving, actually, that she had been unable to breastfeed her infant, that I had a real breakthrough.
This poor woman had had a complicated pregnancy and delivery. Nothing had gone the way she had planned. But she held on and held it together, because she knew that if her baby survived, she would do everything right. She would take THE BEST care of this baby. She was determined to breastfeed for a full year. It had never occurred to her that that might not happen.
There were problems with the latch, with the milk supply, with pain, with baby's growth. Still, she was determined. She got the hospital lactation consultant and a private lactation consultant and every breastfeeding book on Amazon and drank Fenugreek tea et cetera, et cetera... for weeks.
But one day when she had spent an hour and a half with the industrial-grade pump and got only about a teaspoon of breastmilk, with her nipples raw and bleeding, with her infant screaming, starving, with the pediatrician's concerns about his growth, with her consultants saying "Just push through! Keep trying!" for the gazillionth time but without any other real suggestions, and without any progress, she broke down.
She gave up.
So the baby got formula. And did fine. And grew. And she thought this burden was lifted from her.
Until the judgments came.
She was part of a social circle that especially valued breastfeeding. Friends and family would comment, say, "Don't you know breast milk is best?" or "Well, if you had only tried X, I bet it would have worked" or "If you had only HUNG ON a little bit longer" or "Those doctors pushed you towards formula, those doctors always push the formula, you shouldn't have listened" et cetera, et cetera.
It got to the point that she hid bottles and formula, or avoided socializing altogether. She felt like a freak, a failure. She worried what awful consequences there might be for her baby. She waited for some severe illness to befell her son, and for someone to blame it on her.
Oh, my heart went out to her.
Flashback. I was pregnant with Babyboy (now five and a half years old). I had a three-page birth plan outlining my natural vaginal delivery. I had a doula. I had Ina May's books on childbirth and Nancy Mohrbacher's books on breastfeeding. I had secured a highly-rated lactation consultant and booked a consult with her BEFORE the baby was born. I bought Medela breastmilk bags and a plastic organizer for the freezer. I arranged a breastfeeding room in my office.
But there were complications. The delivery- that's a story for another day. Emergency C-section for deep transverse arrest. Bradycardia. Meconium. Mayhem. I was discharged with a hematocrit of 22.
Babyboy was fine, but I grieved the loss of my dream birth. I was determined to get breastfeeding right: I wanted to breastfeed for a full year.
But. There were problems with the latch, with the milk supply, with pain, with baby's growth. I was still determined. I got the hospital lactation consultant and a private lactation consultant and every breastfeeding book on Amazon and drank Fenugreek tea et cetera, et cetera.
Miraculously, I was able to breastfeed for a full three months.
But, I hated every single second of it.
When it got close to feeding time, I would inwardly cringe. With his latch, I would outwardly gasp, and clench my teeth in pain. The doula and the lactation consultants gave up on me. It was a nurse practitioner at Babyboy's pediatrician's office who suggested APNO (All-purpose-nipple-ointment), and it was an OB/GYN who prescribed it for me. The APNO cream helped a bit, and it got me through the three months, though nothing really helped.
Inevitably, what would come to mind with EVERY feeding were images:
Of glass-shard covered twine being pulled out of my breasts through my nipples.
Of someone pouring acid over my areolae.
Of my baby with little piranha teeth and malevolent intentions.
Oh, I hated it, and I hated myself for hating it. Wasn't breastfeeding supposed to be this wonderful bonding experience? I would rock and cry, literally cry, while stroking my baby's forehead and begging forgiveness, because I could not WAIT for this to be over.
So when it came time to go back to work, I started on a combined oral contraceptive and took Benadryl, and let that milk supply dry right up. Worked like a charm. I was done. It was such a relief.
When I told my colleagues I would not be needing that breastfeeding room, I got some eyebrow raises, but no one questioned. Many of them had made similar decisions for different reasons.
Most of my friends were understanding (very different social circle from my patient-mom) and for that I was very grateful. As a matter of fact, people came out of the woodwork with their own breastfeeding difficulty stories. I was not only NOT the only person who had struggled, I was not the only person who hadn't enjoyed it, and I was not the only person who had guilt about that.
Yes, there were a few "judgy" moments. People I didn't know well, and luckily didn't give a rat's ass about. A lady at book club gathering, a friend of a friend.
But my patient, my poor patient. Her "support network" was annihilating her. I was outraged on her behalf. I wanted to reassure her.
So I shared my own story with her, and we discussed ways to manage the hurtful comments and avoid the negative people.
For doctors, sharing our own stories and feelings about medical issues with patients is a tricky thing. Sometimes it's appropriate, sometimes it's not, and sometimes it's a mixed bag. In this case, the patient expressed relief and gratitude. She had been initially expecting me to judge her, too, she said. She was so glad to have found validation, reassurance and open discussion instead.
That's when I had my breakthrough: The patient had been expecting me to judge her, and had instead found validation and reassurance.
Wow. THAT is what I need to bring to EVERY patient encounter. Validation, reassurance, open discussion. Because that is what I would want for me, as well. It's what I want to be able to provide for everyone, especially my patients.
There have been many times when I have struggled to empathize with the patient. There are certain healthcare issues, and certain patients, that I have found consistently frustrating over the years.
I've written about this, and been pretty well chastised by readers. I don't mind, because I know that 99% of physicians have their kryptonite issues, and just don't talk about it. I'll take the heat for being honest.
My kryptonite issue has been obesity. I admit, that for many a patient encounter, I've sat there and counseled (for the millionth time) on diet, and exercise, and priorities, and wondered to myself: Why can't you do this? Why can't you just lose weight?
I know that sounds terrible. Heck, it IS terrible. My bias is based on my own experience: I gained sixty pounds in my first pregnancy, and fifty in my second. The weight didn't come off postpartum, and I found myself obese. BMI 30. I dedicated what precious little time I had as a working mom to eating healthy and exercising, and I lost it all. It took two years. It was hard. There were ups and downs. I've written endlessly about it here, and here, and here....
Of course I know that it is totally and utterly unfair to think "Well, if I could do it, why can't you?" but truth is, that's a pretty natural way to think, and many of us think like that.
So I've been making a conscientious effort to do better, to let go of the bias, and the frustration, and meet people where they are, no matter what the medical issue is.
But it was only when I was sitting with a lovely young patient of mine who was upset, grieving, actually, that she had been unable to breastfeed her infant, that I had a real breakthrough.
This poor woman had had a complicated pregnancy and delivery. Nothing had gone the way she had planned. But she held on and held it together, because she knew that if her baby survived, she would do everything right. She would take THE BEST care of this baby. She was determined to breastfeed for a full year. It had never occurred to her that that might not happen.
There were problems with the latch, with the milk supply, with pain, with baby's growth. Still, she was determined. She got the hospital lactation consultant and a private lactation consultant and every breastfeeding book on Amazon and drank Fenugreek tea et cetera, et cetera... for weeks.
But one day when she had spent an hour and a half with the industrial-grade pump and got only about a teaspoon of breastmilk, with her nipples raw and bleeding, with her infant screaming, starving, with the pediatrician's concerns about his growth, with her consultants saying "Just push through! Keep trying!" for the gazillionth time but without any other real suggestions, and without any progress, she broke down.
She gave up.
So the baby got formula. And did fine. And grew. And she thought this burden was lifted from her.
Until the judgments came.
She was part of a social circle that especially valued breastfeeding. Friends and family would comment, say, "Don't you know breast milk is best?" or "Well, if you had only tried X, I bet it would have worked" or "If you had only HUNG ON a little bit longer" or "Those doctors pushed you towards formula, those doctors always push the formula, you shouldn't have listened" et cetera, et cetera.
It got to the point that she hid bottles and formula, or avoided socializing altogether. She felt like a freak, a failure. She worried what awful consequences there might be for her baby. She waited for some severe illness to befell her son, and for someone to blame it on her.
Oh, my heart went out to her.
Flashback. I was pregnant with Babyboy (now five and a half years old). I had a three-page birth plan outlining my natural vaginal delivery. I had a doula. I had Ina May's books on childbirth and Nancy Mohrbacher's books on breastfeeding. I had secured a highly-rated lactation consultant and booked a consult with her BEFORE the baby was born. I bought Medela breastmilk bags and a plastic organizer for the freezer. I arranged a breastfeeding room in my office.
But there were complications. The delivery- that's a story for another day. Emergency C-section for deep transverse arrest. Bradycardia. Meconium. Mayhem. I was discharged with a hematocrit of 22.
Babyboy was fine, but I grieved the loss of my dream birth. I was determined to get breastfeeding right: I wanted to breastfeed for a full year.
But. There were problems with the latch, with the milk supply, with pain, with baby's growth. I was still determined. I got the hospital lactation consultant and a private lactation consultant and every breastfeeding book on Amazon and drank Fenugreek tea et cetera, et cetera.
Miraculously, I was able to breastfeed for a full three months.
But, I hated every single second of it.
When it got close to feeding time, I would inwardly cringe. With his latch, I would outwardly gasp, and clench my teeth in pain. The doula and the lactation consultants gave up on me. It was a nurse practitioner at Babyboy's pediatrician's office who suggested APNO (All-purpose-nipple-ointment), and it was an OB/GYN who prescribed it for me. The APNO cream helped a bit, and it got me through the three months, though nothing really helped.
Inevitably, what would come to mind with EVERY feeding were images:
Of glass-shard covered twine being pulled out of my breasts through my nipples.
Of someone pouring acid over my areolae.
Of my baby with little piranha teeth and malevolent intentions.
Oh, I hated it, and I hated myself for hating it. Wasn't breastfeeding supposed to be this wonderful bonding experience? I would rock and cry, literally cry, while stroking my baby's forehead and begging forgiveness, because I could not WAIT for this to be over.
So when it came time to go back to work, I started on a combined oral contraceptive and took Benadryl, and let that milk supply dry right up. Worked like a charm. I was done. It was such a relief.
When I told my colleagues I would not be needing that breastfeeding room, I got some eyebrow raises, but no one questioned. Many of them had made similar decisions for different reasons.
Most of my friends were understanding (very different social circle from my patient-mom) and for that I was very grateful. As a matter of fact, people came out of the woodwork with their own breastfeeding difficulty stories. I was not only NOT the only person who had struggled, I was not the only person who hadn't enjoyed it, and I was not the only person who had guilt about that.
Yes, there were a few "judgy" moments. People I didn't know well, and luckily didn't give a rat's ass about. A lady at book club gathering, a friend of a friend.
But my patient, my poor patient. Her "support network" was annihilating her. I was outraged on her behalf. I wanted to reassure her.
So I shared my own story with her, and we discussed ways to manage the hurtful comments and avoid the negative people.
For doctors, sharing our own stories and feelings about medical issues with patients is a tricky thing. Sometimes it's appropriate, sometimes it's not, and sometimes it's a mixed bag. In this case, the patient expressed relief and gratitude. She had been initially expecting me to judge her, too, she said. She was so glad to have found validation, reassurance and open discussion instead.
That's when I had my breakthrough: The patient had been expecting me to judge her, and had instead found validation and reassurance.
Wow. THAT is what I need to bring to EVERY patient encounter. Validation, reassurance, open discussion. Because that is what I would want for me, as well. It's what I want to be able to provide for everyone, especially my patients.
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Vomit, Poop, Snow, and Chlorine: A Week In Review*
Genmedmom here, venting.
It's just been one of those weeks. There was no one particular event. We're fine, we're (mostly) healthy, we're happy.
But, it was just one of those weeks.
I was on call for our practice last weekend. Now, our weekend calls are not that bad. We do not round on inpatients at our hospital anymore; the hospitalists care for our patients. There were not that many pages.
But, the pages came at odd hours, and in bunches. Sleep was totally disrupted. There were stressful moments. Then, we have a brand-new, very complex electronic medical record to content with. I struggled with ordering prescriptions and documenting… Again, nothing big, just, annoying.
Then, Sunday afternoon, Hubby started having nausea, and chills, and muscle aches. Ruh-roh!
Yup, we were in for it. One by one, we were felled by the GI bug. Hubby had a mild version Sunday. Minimal active GI symptoms, but, down for the count. Overnight Sunday, Babyboy started spewing. I was on bucket duty. God love him, he never missed the bucket.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, all clear. Long days at work: twelve-plus hour days, mostly immersed in this new computer system. But, no one was sick at home. We all breathed a sigh of relief.
Then. Thursday evening, I started feeling a little queasy. I vasovagaled in the kitchen, caught myself. I went to bed early, wracked with nausea, chills, body aches. I considered calling in sick for Friday. But, I wasn't actively spewing, I just felt like crap.
I debated: There was going to be a snow storm. Going to work in a snowstorm is bad enough, but feeling ill, would be even worse. On the other hand, calling in sick meant I would have to contact the few early morning patients myself, to cancel. But, these patients may be canceling anyways, given the snowstorm... I just couldn't decide, couldn't even deal. It was easier to just suck it up.
Friday morning, 5:30 a.m. I shivered into the shower, bundled up in wool, and headed down. I brewed the coffee, but I couldn't stomach it.
It was just starting to snow. The driving wasn't bad. I drive to the train, and take the train into the city. For the first time since pregnancy, I had to sit down on the train.
Now, I hate when healthy, able-bodied, lazy-ass people take up seats that others may legitimately need. I felt ashamed for sitting, but at the same time, I didn't think anyone would want me passing out onto them, either.
At work, I had plain Earl Grey tea to ward off a caffeine- withdrawal headache. The snow came down. Most patients cancelled. My stomach actually settled. I felt better as the day wore on.
Friday night at home: After I picked up the kids from Nana's house, where they had spent their snow day largely outside, they helped me help shovel out our neighbor. It was after dark, and cold, but they couldn't get enough snow. I was just relieved to be off-call and feeling normal. Whew! I'll get some better sleep tonight, for sure! I thought.
Then Babygirl vomited on the couch.
Babygirl vomited multiple times. Despite strategically placed buckets and towels, we had to change her bed out entirely, twice. She stopped vomiting abruptly at about 11 p.m. and declared that she'd like a glass of water, please. She downed it, and another, and was fine the rest of the night.
Saturday morning, this morning, we were supposed to have a behavior therapy group session with a new family. Babyboy is mildly autistic, and needs help interpreting and managing a lot of social situations. We were supposed to bring Babygirl, too.
We debated. She'd been spewing the night before, but had awoken bright and cheerful. She had wanted warm milk. She drank it, and it stayed down. She was playing, she was smiling.
We decided to take her.
Bad call.
Ten minutes into the session (at another family's house, people we had never met before) she vomited. She managed to warn us, and we managed to get her to their bathroom, but it all ended up on the floor. I cleaned it all up, on my hands and knees, apologizing right and left.
Then, right afterwards, Babyboy had a poop accident. He's five and a half years old. We've been working on toilet training for over two years now. We'd just had a week and a half without a poop accident, our longest stretch ever. We thought maybe, just maybe, he's toilet trained!
Nope. Hubby took care of this mess, in the same bathroom. The family was so kind and understanding, but still. We were so embarrassed. You could smell it for the rest of the session: rancid milk vomitus, foul stool reek.
The kids were supposed to have their first swimming lesson today, as well. It was out of the question for Babygirl. I envisioned her vomiting in the YMCA pool… Good God. No way. Hubby took her home to watch endless Peep and the Big Wide World, all wrapped up in her pink blankie on the couch.
I took Babyboy to the Y. It was his first swimming lesson ever. I was nervous. He was nervous.
It didn't start off well. We walked into the locker room labeled "Family Locker Room". It was packed and bustling with half-dressed men and kids of all ages and moms with babies and SO MUCH NOISE in such a small space… There were changing booths with curtains on them, but I could not remotely imagine getting myself undressed and into my bathing suit, separated from the men and young boys by a flimsy curtain.
But Babyboy made the decision first: "Mommy it's too noisy in here, please let's GO…" He had his hands over his ears like they hurt, overstimulated to a painful degree.
So I took him into the women's locker room with me. We had already changed into our bathing suits when the YMCA police (or whoever she was) came in and informed me that children under eighteen years of age aren't allowed into the women's locker room. At all. Ever. And we had to leave. Now.
The lady was very stern, and Babyboy started to cry. He thought he was being scolded.
"Listen", I pleaded. "I just don't feel comfortable in that Family locker room with all those men and boys around, you know?"
The lady relented. "Well, you can use the Girl's locker room, if you like. Technically, it is for girls, but, he's pretty little…."
And so we did. Apparently, there were no girls of an age that would use the Girl's locker room around, because it was completely empty. We relocated, stuffed our winter gear into a too-small locker and entered the pool area.
Whoa! The pool was super-steamy and the chlorine odor was almost overpowering. I wasn't sure if Babyboy would be able to stand it, but he did. Other than the fact that he slipped and fell on the tiles, requiring a helpful lifeguard to get him an ice pack for his head, Babyboy enjoyed his first swim lesson, such as it was. He wouldn't get in the water without me (I had anticipated this) and there were several other special-needs kids, plus, it's the Y, so of course it was a little scattered and chaotic. But, it was fun, and he was more comfortable in the water at the end then he had been at the beginning.
Back at home, we all laid low the rest of the day. We drew, we read, we watched Peep.
Now, we sleep. I hope…
---------------------------------------------------------
*This post was written Saturday evening. Sunday morning, our longtime pet cat passed away unexpectedly. The kids were brokenhearted. We were brokenhearted. Obviously, that event overshadowed all of the crap I've complained about here. I decided to let this post stand, however, because it's how I felt at the time. I wrote about our kitty on my own blog: The Biggest Pain In The Ass Cat You Ever Could Love: We'll Miss You, Raffy
It's just been one of those weeks. There was no one particular event. We're fine, we're (mostly) healthy, we're happy.
But, it was just one of those weeks.
I was on call for our practice last weekend. Now, our weekend calls are not that bad. We do not round on inpatients at our hospital anymore; the hospitalists care for our patients. There were not that many pages.
But, the pages came at odd hours, and in bunches. Sleep was totally disrupted. There were stressful moments. Then, we have a brand-new, very complex electronic medical record to content with. I struggled with ordering prescriptions and documenting… Again, nothing big, just, annoying.
Then, Sunday afternoon, Hubby started having nausea, and chills, and muscle aches. Ruh-roh!
Yup, we were in for it. One by one, we were felled by the GI bug. Hubby had a mild version Sunday. Minimal active GI symptoms, but, down for the count. Overnight Sunday, Babyboy started spewing. I was on bucket duty. God love him, he never missed the bucket.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, all clear. Long days at work: twelve-plus hour days, mostly immersed in this new computer system. But, no one was sick at home. We all breathed a sigh of relief.
Then. Thursday evening, I started feeling a little queasy. I vasovagaled in the kitchen, caught myself. I went to bed early, wracked with nausea, chills, body aches. I considered calling in sick for Friday. But, I wasn't actively spewing, I just felt like crap.
I debated: There was going to be a snow storm. Going to work in a snowstorm is bad enough, but feeling ill, would be even worse. On the other hand, calling in sick meant I would have to contact the few early morning patients myself, to cancel. But, these patients may be canceling anyways, given the snowstorm... I just couldn't decide, couldn't even deal. It was easier to just suck it up.
Friday morning, 5:30 a.m. I shivered into the shower, bundled up in wool, and headed down. I brewed the coffee, but I couldn't stomach it.
It was just starting to snow. The driving wasn't bad. I drive to the train, and take the train into the city. For the first time since pregnancy, I had to sit down on the train.
Now, I hate when healthy, able-bodied, lazy-ass people take up seats that others may legitimately need. I felt ashamed for sitting, but at the same time, I didn't think anyone would want me passing out onto them, either.
At work, I had plain Earl Grey tea to ward off a caffeine- withdrawal headache. The snow came down. Most patients cancelled. My stomach actually settled. I felt better as the day wore on.
Friday night at home: After I picked up the kids from Nana's house, where they had spent their snow day largely outside, they helped me help shovel out our neighbor. It was after dark, and cold, but they couldn't get enough snow. I was just relieved to be off-call and feeling normal. Whew! I'll get some better sleep tonight, for sure! I thought.
Then Babygirl vomited on the couch.
Babygirl vomited multiple times. Despite strategically placed buckets and towels, we had to change her bed out entirely, twice. She stopped vomiting abruptly at about 11 p.m. and declared that she'd like a glass of water, please. She downed it, and another, and was fine the rest of the night.
Saturday morning, this morning, we were supposed to have a behavior therapy group session with a new family. Babyboy is mildly autistic, and needs help interpreting and managing a lot of social situations. We were supposed to bring Babygirl, too.
We debated. She'd been spewing the night before, but had awoken bright and cheerful. She had wanted warm milk. She drank it, and it stayed down. She was playing, she was smiling.
We decided to take her.
Bad call.
Ten minutes into the session (at another family's house, people we had never met before) she vomited. She managed to warn us, and we managed to get her to their bathroom, but it all ended up on the floor. I cleaned it all up, on my hands and knees, apologizing right and left.
Then, right afterwards, Babyboy had a poop accident. He's five and a half years old. We've been working on toilet training for over two years now. We'd just had a week and a half without a poop accident, our longest stretch ever. We thought maybe, just maybe, he's toilet trained!
Nope. Hubby took care of this mess, in the same bathroom. The family was so kind and understanding, but still. We were so embarrassed. You could smell it for the rest of the session: rancid milk vomitus, foul stool reek.
The kids were supposed to have their first swimming lesson today, as well. It was out of the question for Babygirl. I envisioned her vomiting in the YMCA pool… Good God. No way. Hubby took her home to watch endless Peep and the Big Wide World, all wrapped up in her pink blankie on the couch.
I took Babyboy to the Y. It was his first swimming lesson ever. I was nervous. He was nervous.
It didn't start off well. We walked into the locker room labeled "Family Locker Room". It was packed and bustling with half-dressed men and kids of all ages and moms with babies and SO MUCH NOISE in such a small space… There were changing booths with curtains on them, but I could not remotely imagine getting myself undressed and into my bathing suit, separated from the men and young boys by a flimsy curtain.
But Babyboy made the decision first: "Mommy it's too noisy in here, please let's GO…" He had his hands over his ears like they hurt, overstimulated to a painful degree.
So I took him into the women's locker room with me. We had already changed into our bathing suits when the YMCA police (or whoever she was) came in and informed me that children under eighteen years of age aren't allowed into the women's locker room. At all. Ever. And we had to leave. Now.
The lady was very stern, and Babyboy started to cry. He thought he was being scolded.
"Listen", I pleaded. "I just don't feel comfortable in that Family locker room with all those men and boys around, you know?"
The lady relented. "Well, you can use the Girl's locker room, if you like. Technically, it is for girls, but, he's pretty little…."
And so we did. Apparently, there were no girls of an age that would use the Girl's locker room around, because it was completely empty. We relocated, stuffed our winter gear into a too-small locker and entered the pool area.
Whoa! The pool was super-steamy and the chlorine odor was almost overpowering. I wasn't sure if Babyboy would be able to stand it, but he did. Other than the fact that he slipped and fell on the tiles, requiring a helpful lifeguard to get him an ice pack for his head, Babyboy enjoyed his first swim lesson, such as it was. He wouldn't get in the water without me (I had anticipated this) and there were several other special-needs kids, plus, it's the Y, so of course it was a little scattered and chaotic. But, it was fun, and he was more comfortable in the water at the end then he had been at the beginning.
Back at home, we all laid low the rest of the day. We drew, we read, we watched Peep.
Now, we sleep. I hope…
---------------------------------------------------------
*This post was written Saturday evening. Sunday morning, our longtime pet cat passed away unexpectedly. The kids were brokenhearted. We were brokenhearted. Obviously, that event overshadowed all of the crap I've complained about here. I decided to let this post stand, however, because it's how I felt at the time. I wrote about our kitty on my own blog: The Biggest Pain In The Ass Cat You Ever Could Love: We'll Miss You, Raffy
Monday, December 21, 2015
I Screwed Up and I'm Sorry and Damn It, I'm Going To Say It Out Loud
Genmedmom here.
Anyone who practices medicine knows that sooner or later, we all screw up. Mistakes can be big or small, can result in harm or not. Misdiagnosis, missed diagnosis, delayed diagnosis. Unnecessary tests ordered, necessary tests overlooked. Medication errors, communication errors, clerical errors. Handoffs gone bad, poor signout, lack of discharge followup. Procedural disasters, frank bodily injury.
I've seen examples of all of these; I've been involved in some. I could tell you shocking stories from training. I could tell you shocking stories from last month.
People don't go into medicine planning to screw up, but it's inevitable, and we need to think about what we're going to do when it happens.
When I rotated through surgery as a medical student, I was fascinated by the weekly morbidity and mortality conference (M + M's). It was a highly anticipated event, and the goal was a complete and bloody dissection of a bad outcome. Grizzly semi-retired surgeons, department chiefs, educators, and every trainee sat in a full hall and listened to one poor soul deliver an objective case report, which then was scrutinized, interrogated, discussed. In the end, everyone learned something, and the presenter was, in a way, exonerated. It was a ritual similar to a public confession.
In internal medicine training, the culture was largely one of finger-pointing. Other people's mistakes were a source of gossip and ridicule; your own mistakes were glossed over, rationalized. Alot of excuses were made. Yes, there were halfhearted attempts at surgical-style M + M's. Mostly, people stewed in their own guilt and shame. It was toxic.
I work in a much healthier environment now, one in which integrity is valued. Error reporting is encouraged, not for blame and punishment purposes, but rather, for learning purposes. The reporting can be done privately, on a systems wide computer application called something like "Patient Safety Reporting". There are occasional medicine rounds M+Ms, and they're run well, but they're just not that common.
It's taken years for me to figure out my own personal M + M's. Writing up a patient safety report is part of it, but, there's more. When there's been a mistake, I try to analyze it, maybe, discuss it with a colleague or two, and then, most importantly, tell the patient.
I had to do this recently... Of course it was a lovely, salt-of-the-earth patient I have known for several years. Someone I've seen many, many times in the office, who I'm very fond of. Such a good person.
When I first realized there had been an error, I started to go in the old, toxic direction. I was just so embarrassed. I imagined the inpatient team on rounds, skewering 'the dumb primary care doc'. I studied the chart to see if there was any possible defensible position, any good excuses I could use.
But that just doesn't feel good. It feels gross. It feels like.. weaselly.
I have a mantra I repeat when I decide to take responsibility, to own the error: I'll take my lumps. It's an old-fashioned saying, but that's how it feels. I'll take my lumps.
After a long and painful chart analysis, I marched myself up to the patient's room in the hospital and explained to her what had been missed by me in the past, that, if caught back then, may have prevented her medical issue now.
"I really prefer to be straightforward about these things," I stood with my hands folded in front of me. "I'd rather you hear it from me first. And if it turns out that [what I missed] was the cause of [her issue], then I am very sorry."
Then, I waited, waited for any one of a hundred possible responses.
She was quiet for awhile, I think, digesting what I'd said. Her face was serious.
Was she going to kick me out? Fire me?
Her face softened into a smile. "Oh, don't beat yourself up, doc," she said. "I know no one's perfect. I know you care. If I thought you didn't care so much, well, that's a different story," she laughed. "No, I prefer to move on, go forward. I don't dwell in the past. What's the point?"
We touched base on this again later, and she said the same thing. I've seen her several times since, and she's not mentioned it again. As it turned out, what I missed didn't pan out as the cause of her illness.
Did I get lucky? Maybe. I am aware that one of these days, my M + M approach may end with me getting sued.
But I'd rather be honest and upfront and be sued, than sit in a toxic stew of guilt and shame. No weaselly excuses.
I'll take my lumps.
Anyone who practices medicine knows that sooner or later, we all screw up. Mistakes can be big or small, can result in harm or not. Misdiagnosis, missed diagnosis, delayed diagnosis. Unnecessary tests ordered, necessary tests overlooked. Medication errors, communication errors, clerical errors. Handoffs gone bad, poor signout, lack of discharge followup. Procedural disasters, frank bodily injury.
I've seen examples of all of these; I've been involved in some. I could tell you shocking stories from training. I could tell you shocking stories from last month.
People don't go into medicine planning to screw up, but it's inevitable, and we need to think about what we're going to do when it happens.
When I rotated through surgery as a medical student, I was fascinated by the weekly morbidity and mortality conference (M + M's). It was a highly anticipated event, and the goal was a complete and bloody dissection of a bad outcome. Grizzly semi-retired surgeons, department chiefs, educators, and every trainee sat in a full hall and listened to one poor soul deliver an objective case report, which then was scrutinized, interrogated, discussed. In the end, everyone learned something, and the presenter was, in a way, exonerated. It was a ritual similar to a public confession.
In internal medicine training, the culture was largely one of finger-pointing. Other people's mistakes were a source of gossip and ridicule; your own mistakes were glossed over, rationalized. Alot of excuses were made. Yes, there were halfhearted attempts at surgical-style M + M's. Mostly, people stewed in their own guilt and shame. It was toxic.
I work in a much healthier environment now, one in which integrity is valued. Error reporting is encouraged, not for blame and punishment purposes, but rather, for learning purposes. The reporting can be done privately, on a systems wide computer application called something like "Patient Safety Reporting". There are occasional medicine rounds M+Ms, and they're run well, but they're just not that common.
It's taken years for me to figure out my own personal M + M's. Writing up a patient safety report is part of it, but, there's more. When there's been a mistake, I try to analyze it, maybe, discuss it with a colleague or two, and then, most importantly, tell the patient.
I had to do this recently... Of course it was a lovely, salt-of-the-earth patient I have known for several years. Someone I've seen many, many times in the office, who I'm very fond of. Such a good person.
When I first realized there had been an error, I started to go in the old, toxic direction. I was just so embarrassed. I imagined the inpatient team on rounds, skewering 'the dumb primary care doc'. I studied the chart to see if there was any possible defensible position, any good excuses I could use.
But that just doesn't feel good. It feels gross. It feels like.. weaselly.
I have a mantra I repeat when I decide to take responsibility, to own the error: I'll take my lumps. It's an old-fashioned saying, but that's how it feels. I'll take my lumps.
After a long and painful chart analysis, I marched myself up to the patient's room in the hospital and explained to her what had been missed by me in the past, that, if caught back then, may have prevented her medical issue now.
"I really prefer to be straightforward about these things," I stood with my hands folded in front of me. "I'd rather you hear it from me first. And if it turns out that [what I missed] was the cause of [her issue], then I am very sorry."
Then, I waited, waited for any one of a hundred possible responses.
She was quiet for awhile, I think, digesting what I'd said. Her face was serious.
Was she going to kick me out? Fire me?
Her face softened into a smile. "Oh, don't beat yourself up, doc," she said. "I know no one's perfect. I know you care. If I thought you didn't care so much, well, that's a different story," she laughed. "No, I prefer to move on, go forward. I don't dwell in the past. What's the point?"
We touched base on this again later, and she said the same thing. I've seen her several times since, and she's not mentioned it again. As it turned out, what I missed didn't pan out as the cause of her illness.
Did I get lucky? Maybe. I am aware that one of these days, my M + M approach may end with me getting sued.
But I'd rather be honest and upfront and be sued, than sit in a toxic stew of guilt and shame. No weaselly excuses.
I'll take my lumps.
Friday, November 20, 2015
How It Could Be, How It Is
Genmedmom here.
I was in the grocery store last week, which is rare because at this point in our crazy two-working-parents-with-two-small-children lives, we have everything that can be delivered, delivered, and this includes groceries. It's seriously saved us about three hours a week, ordering our "big shop" right from a cell phone, and having it all magically appear early Saturday mornings.
But, that week, I'd ordered on the fly and, of course, forgotten a few things, plus an item or two had been out of stock. So, in an unexpected free hour on Tuesday afternoon, I found myself wandering our local Big Food Store.
I'm so out of grocery-shopping mode that I got a little disoriented. In the old days, I'd have my list jotted down, roughly organized by aisle, and I'd zoom through the place in relative ease.
But there I was, bouncing from Snack Foods to Produce and back again because I couldn't find the damn Pea Puffs Babygirl likes. Then, way over to Dairy for the cheddar cheese sticks I absolutely have to have with my apple for lunches, and that you can't order online for some reason, and then back over to Crackers because Hubby texted that we're out of the kids' favorite crackers... et cetera.
Then I was lost, searching for the powdered instant breakfast stuff we shake into the kids' morning cup of milk to make us feel better about their nutritional intake. It wasn't with the Cereals... I saw a couple of young employees standing in an aisle, with bar code reader-things.
Oh good, I thought. People I can ask.
But just as I was rolling near, one of them started griping, loudly:
"Man, I am so ready to get off work. Get me the heck outta here!"
His buddy replied:
"Yeah, work sucks. The whole thing sucks."
I veered away, pretending I hadn't been about to ask them something. I wondered how working in a bright, overstocked first-world grocery could possibly be THAT bad. It was kind of a downer.
I never found the stupid instant breakfast, and I was almost out of free time. I aimed for a checkout line.
The man doing checkout was still scanning items for the person ahead of me, but he looked up, smiled, and acknowledged me, calling out cheerfully:
"Hello! Beautiful shopping day, isn't it?"
He turned back to the shopper and took her coupons.
"Smart lady, you're going to save some money today. You should treat yourself to something special, you deserve it!"
The woman and I exchanged smiles and chuckled. In the space of less than a minute, the atmosphere had gone from Ugh, errands to I can't help but smile!.
Now, I've seen this guy before. He's older, has a thick accent, and he's ALWAYS cheerful. Not in a fake, annoying way. I mean, he's just really genuinely cheerful. He always greets people and says nice things, makes a lighthearted joke or two. He's very efficient at checkout. He also bags items with care. He acts like someone who loves their job.
As I stood in line, I studied him. Given his appearance and accent, I guessed that he was an immigrant. I imagined that he had come from a developing country, and had known oppression, hardship and hunger. Maybe it had been difficult for him to get to the U.S., and then to get a job. He might have a family he desperately needed to support, and so, he's amazingly appreciative of the opportunity to work the checkout counter at the Big Grocery Store, and help bag groceries for harried and distracted moms like me.
Whatever Mr. Positive Attitude's story was, he cheered a couple of people up that day. I truly wish everyone was like him. Imagine that!
And whatever the Griping Employees' story was, their complaining brought me down. It's depressing to think how many people sludge through this life like they do.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately. I find that I'm sensitive to negativity, I want to run away from negativity. This regardless of whether it's expressed by my colleagues at my own job, or by friends. Examples at work might include the judging of another provider's care, complaining about some administrative issue, or griping about the electronic medical record. With friends it may be grousing about our school system, grumbling about a spouse, or sharp self-criticism.
I think some venting with a trusted confidant, in private, is okay, and even necessary sometimes. Even better if it's with a mental health provider. Emotions can be validated, and a response discussed. You know, "talking it out". This is head-housecleaning. It's therapeutic.
But pointless negativity (aka "Work sucks") is just toxic. It's just pollution. It serves no good purpose. It should be banned. And there's alot of it.
People who have known me over the years may be surprised to hear me saying this. I was kind of the Queen of Complaining in residency and fellowship. What happened? Well, to sum up: in 2006, the years of sheer physical and emotional exhaustion, unhealthy coping, poisonous relationships, and social isolation brought me to the lowest point in my life.
The struggle upwards involved hundreds of hours of therapy with an excellent provider, liberal antidepressants, formulating meaningful life goals, clean living, and meeting my husband.
Through our very different journeys, we've been touched by the pain and hardships life can offer, and we've been witnesses to some true horrors. A twist of fate, bad luck, the finger of God... bad things can happen to anyone. When they do, some people are consumed, crushed even, and yet, others transcend.
I'm thinking of my patients with devastating diagnoses who choose to stay positive. I'm thinking of our family members who have lost children, and choose to go on living and loving. I'm thinking of the people I've known in Central and South America who suffer true deprivations, but choose to hope. I'm thinking of all victims of random violence who choose to forgive. I'm thinking of the immigrants around the world who are being shunned, but choose to go on in search of better lives.
For everyone who chooses to say:"I'm going to take it day by day, and be grateful for every sunrise", I'm thinking of you.
We are so lucky, so blessed, and we acknowledge that. In our house, we joke that if we ever won the lottery, we wouldn't change much, because we've already won the lottery. We are passionate about our hard-earned careers. We've been blessed with our beautiful kids. We enjoy a place in a wonderful community.
Is everything perfect? Duh. Of course not. Read my blog.
But our eyes have been opened to what could be, and so, we're thankful for what we have. And we are truly happy.
I was in the grocery store last week, which is rare because at this point in our crazy two-working-parents-with-two-small-children lives, we have everything that can be delivered, delivered, and this includes groceries. It's seriously saved us about three hours a week, ordering our "big shop" right from a cell phone, and having it all magically appear early Saturday mornings.
But, that week, I'd ordered on the fly and, of course, forgotten a few things, plus an item or two had been out of stock. So, in an unexpected free hour on Tuesday afternoon, I found myself wandering our local Big Food Store.
I'm so out of grocery-shopping mode that I got a little disoriented. In the old days, I'd have my list jotted down, roughly organized by aisle, and I'd zoom through the place in relative ease.
But there I was, bouncing from Snack Foods to Produce and back again because I couldn't find the damn Pea Puffs Babygirl likes. Then, way over to Dairy for the cheddar cheese sticks I absolutely have to have with my apple for lunches, and that you can't order online for some reason, and then back over to Crackers because Hubby texted that we're out of the kids' favorite crackers... et cetera.
Then I was lost, searching for the powdered instant breakfast stuff we shake into the kids' morning cup of milk to make us feel better about their nutritional intake. It wasn't with the Cereals... I saw a couple of young employees standing in an aisle, with bar code reader-things.
Oh good, I thought. People I can ask.
But just as I was rolling near, one of them started griping, loudly:
"Man, I am so ready to get off work. Get me the heck outta here!"
His buddy replied:
"Yeah, work sucks. The whole thing sucks."
I veered away, pretending I hadn't been about to ask them something. I wondered how working in a bright, overstocked first-world grocery could possibly be THAT bad. It was kind of a downer.
I never found the stupid instant breakfast, and I was almost out of free time. I aimed for a checkout line.
The man doing checkout was still scanning items for the person ahead of me, but he looked up, smiled, and acknowledged me, calling out cheerfully:
"Hello! Beautiful shopping day, isn't it?"
He turned back to the shopper and took her coupons.
"Smart lady, you're going to save some money today. You should treat yourself to something special, you deserve it!"
The woman and I exchanged smiles and chuckled. In the space of less than a minute, the atmosphere had gone from Ugh, errands to I can't help but smile!.
Now, I've seen this guy before. He's older, has a thick accent, and he's ALWAYS cheerful. Not in a fake, annoying way. I mean, he's just really genuinely cheerful. He always greets people and says nice things, makes a lighthearted joke or two. He's very efficient at checkout. He also bags items with care. He acts like someone who loves their job.
As I stood in line, I studied him. Given his appearance and accent, I guessed that he was an immigrant. I imagined that he had come from a developing country, and had known oppression, hardship and hunger. Maybe it had been difficult for him to get to the U.S., and then to get a job. He might have a family he desperately needed to support, and so, he's amazingly appreciative of the opportunity to work the checkout counter at the Big Grocery Store, and help bag groceries for harried and distracted moms like me.
Whatever Mr. Positive Attitude's story was, he cheered a couple of people up that day. I truly wish everyone was like him. Imagine that!
And whatever the Griping Employees' story was, their complaining brought me down. It's depressing to think how many people sludge through this life like they do.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately. I find that I'm sensitive to negativity, I want to run away from negativity. This regardless of whether it's expressed by my colleagues at my own job, or by friends. Examples at work might include the judging of another provider's care, complaining about some administrative issue, or griping about the electronic medical record. With friends it may be grousing about our school system, grumbling about a spouse, or sharp self-criticism.
I think some venting with a trusted confidant, in private, is okay, and even necessary sometimes. Even better if it's with a mental health provider. Emotions can be validated, and a response discussed. You know, "talking it out". This is head-housecleaning. It's therapeutic.
But pointless negativity (aka "Work sucks") is just toxic. It's just pollution. It serves no good purpose. It should be banned. And there's alot of it.
People who have known me over the years may be surprised to hear me saying this. I was kind of the Queen of Complaining in residency and fellowship. What happened? Well, to sum up: in 2006, the years of sheer physical and emotional exhaustion, unhealthy coping, poisonous relationships, and social isolation brought me to the lowest point in my life.
The struggle upwards involved hundreds of hours of therapy with an excellent provider, liberal antidepressants, formulating meaningful life goals, clean living, and meeting my husband.
Through our very different journeys, we've been touched by the pain and hardships life can offer, and we've been witnesses to some true horrors. A twist of fate, bad luck, the finger of God... bad things can happen to anyone. When they do, some people are consumed, crushed even, and yet, others transcend.
I'm thinking of my patients with devastating diagnoses who choose to stay positive. I'm thinking of our family members who have lost children, and choose to go on living and loving. I'm thinking of the people I've known in Central and South America who suffer true deprivations, but choose to hope. I'm thinking of all victims of random violence who choose to forgive. I'm thinking of the immigrants around the world who are being shunned, but choose to go on in search of better lives.
For everyone who chooses to say:"I'm going to take it day by day, and be grateful for every sunrise", I'm thinking of you.
We are so lucky, so blessed, and we acknowledge that. In our house, we joke that if we ever won the lottery, we wouldn't change much, because we've already won the lottery. We are passionate about our hard-earned careers. We've been blessed with our beautiful kids. We enjoy a place in a wonderful community.
Is everything perfect? Duh. Of course not. Read my blog.
But our eyes have been opened to what could be, and so, we're thankful for what we have. And we are truly happy.
Friday, October 30, 2015
A Doctor-Mom Day Off With The Kids: Halloween Baking Project
Genmedmom here.
I don't know about other doctor-moms, but I have very little "free" time with my kids. Too often, a day off with them gets spent running errands or from scheduled activity to activity. I've found that I treasure unplanned, sort of spontaneous fun stuff, and I think they do, as well.
One recent weekend day, I found myself with both kids and a few free hours. Some groceries and sundries were desperately needed, so we piled into the car and headed to the nearby super-uber-market that sells everything cheap.
Before we entered the store, I laid out our basic ground rules:
No yelling, no fighting, and no running away from me.
If they could do all that, we would do a fun project.
So we did our shop, and I spied some halloween cookie cutters. They were purposefully displayed alongside theme sprinkles, food coloring, and decorator frosting. Hmmm...
I asked the kids what they thought. Two thumbs up! They excitedly helped pick out what they wanted to use.
When we got home, I made the kids wait until all the other stuff was put away, and then, we started. Babyboy only took part until the dough was made, and then he left with the spoon to watch "It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown". Babygirl owned this project.
Want to try this at home? Below, see our recipe, and photos of all the steps. Enjoy!
(And yes, the kitchen will be an ABSOLUTE MESS, there is no way around it. Flour, sprinkles, colored frosting fingerprints... and, it will have been totally worth it.)
Sugar Cookies Basic Recipe
Let the kids do as much as they can/want!
2 sticks unsalted butter
3/4 cup sugar
1 large egg
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 1/4 cups white flour, plus extra for rolling out the dough
1/4 tsp salt
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper, or, even better, those nonstick silicone sheets, they are awesome. Soften the butter, but don't melt. Beat the butter and sugar together with an electric mixer until really smooth. Add the egg and vanilla and beat again. Add the flour and salt and just blend slowly until no patches of flour are visible. Squeeze the dough together as best you can and plop it onto a piece of plastic wrap. Wrap it up and place in the fridge. While it is chilling, make the base frosting.
Frosting:
3 cups powdered sugar, plus more if needed
1 stick butter
up to 1/2 cup milk
food coloring
Soften the butter. Add some of the powdered sugar and beat. Add a bit of milk and beat. Keep alternating until the sugar is gone or mostly gone, and the consistency is creamy and very easy to spread. Leave it out until the cookies are ready to frost.
On a flat clean work surface, sprinkle some flour so the dough doesn't stick. Divide the chilled dough into thirds or fourths, and place on work surface. Flour up a rolling pin, and roll away. When about 1/4 inch thick, cut into shapes using cookie cutters.
When first sheet is full, place in oven and bake for around 6-8 minutes, until golden. These burn really easily. Repeat for the rest of the dough.
Cool completely. We decorated like this: We made several base colors from the creamy frosting, orange, gray and white. I spread the base frosting onto the cookies with a plastic knife, and my daughter then decorated the cookies, for the most part.
(FYI: We also had bought one bottle of liquid black decorator frosting, which we used for the black bats. We tried to use it for drawing and writing, but it was too liquidy. In addition, it tasted funky, and made the kids' poop greenish. Will not use again! I'm sure there are better homemade versions out there.)
I don't know about other doctor-moms, but I have very little "free" time with my kids. Too often, a day off with them gets spent running errands or from scheduled activity to activity. I've found that I treasure unplanned, sort of spontaneous fun stuff, and I think they do, as well.
One recent weekend day, I found myself with both kids and a few free hours. Some groceries and sundries were desperately needed, so we piled into the car and headed to the nearby super-uber-market that sells everything cheap.
Before we entered the store, I laid out our basic ground rules:
No yelling, no fighting, and no running away from me.
If they could do all that, we would do a fun project.
So we did our shop, and I spied some halloween cookie cutters. They were purposefully displayed alongside theme sprinkles, food coloring, and decorator frosting. Hmmm...
I asked the kids what they thought. Two thumbs up! They excitedly helped pick out what they wanted to use.
When we got home, I made the kids wait until all the other stuff was put away, and then, we started. Babyboy only took part until the dough was made, and then he left with the spoon to watch "It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown". Babygirl owned this project.
Want to try this at home? Below, see our recipe, and photos of all the steps. Enjoy!
(And yes, the kitchen will be an ABSOLUTE MESS, there is no way around it. Flour, sprinkles, colored frosting fingerprints... and, it will have been totally worth it.)
Sugar Cookies Basic Recipe
Let the kids do as much as they can/want!
2 sticks unsalted butter
3/4 cup sugar
1 large egg
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 1/4 cups white flour, plus extra for rolling out the dough
1/4 tsp salt
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper, or, even better, those nonstick silicone sheets, they are awesome. Soften the butter, but don't melt. Beat the butter and sugar together with an electric mixer until really smooth. Add the egg and vanilla and beat again. Add the flour and salt and just blend slowly until no patches of flour are visible. Squeeze the dough together as best you can and plop it onto a piece of plastic wrap. Wrap it up and place in the fridge. While it is chilling, make the base frosting.
Frosting:
3 cups powdered sugar, plus more if needed
1 stick butter
up to 1/2 cup milk
food coloring
Soften the butter. Add some of the powdered sugar and beat. Add a bit of milk and beat. Keep alternating until the sugar is gone or mostly gone, and the consistency is creamy and very easy to spread. Leave it out until the cookies are ready to frost.
On a flat clean work surface, sprinkle some flour so the dough doesn't stick. Divide the chilled dough into thirds or fourths, and place on work surface. Flour up a rolling pin, and roll away. When about 1/4 inch thick, cut into shapes using cookie cutters.
When first sheet is full, place in oven and bake for around 6-8 minutes, until golden. These burn really easily. Repeat for the rest of the dough.
Cool completely. We decorated like this: We made several base colors from the creamy frosting, orange, gray and white. I spread the base frosting onto the cookies with a plastic knife, and my daughter then decorated the cookies, for the most part.
(FYI: We also had bought one bottle of liquid black decorator frosting, which we used for the black bats. We tried to use it for drawing and writing, but it was too liquidy. In addition, it tasted funky, and made the kids' poop greenish. Will not use again! I'm sure there are better homemade versions out there.)
 |
| Rolling out the sugar cookie dough and cutting out shapes |
 |
| Yes, our kitchen is a disaster. |
 |
| This girl is FOCUSED |
 |
| I hope this black frosting isn't toxic. |
 |
| Ta-da! (and yes, that is our cat's butt on the counter) |
Sunday, September 20, 2015
Analyzing My Kid
Genmedmom here.
Our pediatrician had noticed something was up with our son at eighteen months. We were in complete denial until he was two years old. At that point, it just got too ridiculous. He couldn't say a word, only scream and bang his head on the floor... We finally made some phone calls.
Once we got connected with Early Intervention, we started to see and understand. Kudos to the very talented staff who gently- but firmly- suggested a possible diagnosis, and recommended a developmental evaluation.
Months later, we knew for sure. (I wrote about this: So Our Son Is Autistic, And It's Going To Be OK.)
Now, he's five, and he's doing great. Yeah, there's issues, but who's kid doesn't have issues? In his case, he's difficult to understand, but we are so very thankful that he's verbal. Toilet training is an ongoing frustration, but we know he'll get there. He's in a co-taught Kindergarten classroom and he loves his special ed teacher; he's got speech and behavioral therapy and OT, he and his little sister are best friends, and he's a happy kid.
We think he's fascinating, because his mind works so differently from ours. Hubby and I, we're both avid readers and writers. Though he's a sports broadcaster and I'm a doctor, we're both required to be advanced communicators: he describes and dissects sports action for the audience, and I translate medical information for my patients.
But our son is like, a little mechanical engineer. Hubby and I, we struggle with Ikea furniture assembly instructions. Hubby couldn't figure out how to install those little plastic cupboard door locks. I've had a car for three years and I can't remember how to open the hood, I have to look it up in the guide every time. Our son is such a different creature from us, in many cool ways.
He's absorbed by maps: He loves the maps app on our phones, and he studies the weather radar maps and draws out the storm patterns. Below, he's studying a map of Boston. We had to stand there for a long time. I can't even explain how many drawings of maps he'd done... Maps and highways, cars on highways. He talks while he's drawing: "Here's a map of Boston, and here's the cars going out of Boston on the highway, this is Route 93..."
He draws alot of complicated pictures, many moving parts. Below there's a picture he drew during a time of some upheaval in his little life: he was about to start at his new school, with a new teacher. The man in the middle is saying "Help" and "What should I do?" and chaos is erupting around him. He draws what he's feeling, what he's imagining.
He draws, I'd guess, probably between twenty and fifty pictures a day. Many of these, he will assemble into "books": he staples them together and then "reads" them to us. He's able to recite the same storylines over and over, even with his books that he made over six months ago. He seems to have a photographic memory.
He loves to take photos, in that he likes to study a subject by taking a gazillion photos and then examining them. Below, our big fat lazy cat; and then, me cooking. Studies of our home life...
I know that every parent is absolutely taken with their child. Of course. We're in love with this kid, like any parent is in love with their kid.
But, we're also trying to figure him out. We're still learning how his mind works, and just now beginning to truly engage with him. It's really accurate, the autism symbol: the puzzle piece. He's our little puzzle.
Our pediatrician had noticed something was up with our son at eighteen months. We were in complete denial until he was two years old. At that point, it just got too ridiculous. He couldn't say a word, only scream and bang his head on the floor... We finally made some phone calls.
Once we got connected with Early Intervention, we started to see and understand. Kudos to the very talented staff who gently- but firmly- suggested a possible diagnosis, and recommended a developmental evaluation.
Months later, we knew for sure. (I wrote about this: So Our Son Is Autistic, And It's Going To Be OK.)
Now, he's five, and he's doing great. Yeah, there's issues, but who's kid doesn't have issues? In his case, he's difficult to understand, but we are so very thankful that he's verbal. Toilet training is an ongoing frustration, but we know he'll get there. He's in a co-taught Kindergarten classroom and he loves his special ed teacher; he's got speech and behavioral therapy and OT, he and his little sister are best friends, and he's a happy kid.
We think he's fascinating, because his mind works so differently from ours. Hubby and I, we're both avid readers and writers. Though he's a sports broadcaster and I'm a doctor, we're both required to be advanced communicators: he describes and dissects sports action for the audience, and I translate medical information for my patients.
But our son is like, a little mechanical engineer. Hubby and I, we struggle with Ikea furniture assembly instructions. Hubby couldn't figure out how to install those little plastic cupboard door locks. I've had a car for three years and I can't remember how to open the hood, I have to look it up in the guide every time. Our son is such a different creature from us, in many cool ways.
He's absorbed by maps: He loves the maps app on our phones, and he studies the weather radar maps and draws out the storm patterns. Below, he's studying a map of Boston. We had to stand there for a long time. I can't even explain how many drawings of maps he'd done... Maps and highways, cars on highways. He talks while he's drawing: "Here's a map of Boston, and here's the cars going out of Boston on the highway, this is Route 93..."
He draws alot of complicated pictures, many moving parts. Below there's a picture he drew during a time of some upheaval in his little life: he was about to start at his new school, with a new teacher. The man in the middle is saying "Help" and "What should I do?" and chaos is erupting around him. He draws what he's feeling, what he's imagining.
He draws, I'd guess, probably between twenty and fifty pictures a day. Many of these, he will assemble into "books": he staples them together and then "reads" them to us. He's able to recite the same storylines over and over, even with his books that he made over six months ago. He seems to have a photographic memory.
He loves to take photos, in that he likes to study a subject by taking a gazillion photos and then examining them. Below, our big fat lazy cat; and then, me cooking. Studies of our home life...
I know that every parent is absolutely taken with their child. Of course. We're in love with this kid, like any parent is in love with their kid.
But, we're also trying to figure him out. We're still learning how his mind works, and just now beginning to truly engage with him. It's really accurate, the autism symbol: the puzzle piece. He's our little puzzle.
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
How I Studied For The Boards...
Genmedmom here.
I saw Mommabee's September 1 post asking for practical advice about how to study for the boards, and I felt compelled to post the link to an article I wrote on this very topic! This was written for the New England Journal of Medicine Knowledge+ blog as a humorous, but essentially accurate personal account: I Studied For The Internal Medicine Boards On The Stairmaster
I saw Mommabee's September 1 post asking for practical advice about how to study for the boards, and I felt compelled to post the link to an article I wrote on this very topic! This was written for the New England Journal of Medicine Knowledge+ blog as a humorous, but essentially accurate personal account: I Studied For The Internal Medicine Boards On The Stairmaster
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
When the Patient Brings Presents… or Punishment
Genmedmom here.
This was an odd week. One patient brought me a beautiful bouquet of flowers as a gesture of thanks… and another totally reamed me out. Both are uncommon occurrences in my practice.
The thing is, I didn't feel like I deserved either.
I told a colleague about it, and we laughed. It's so funny, but so often the case, that we're as surprised by the patient who is grateful as we are by the patient who is angry.
Both cases ended up being professional victories for me:
Usually, when I've received gifts from patients, I have felt some pressure to treat them a bit extra-special, overly gently, with kid gloves. Oh, I won't go there this visit. But in the case of the flowers, I approached a touchy subject anyways, and we were able to address it in a positive way during the visit.
In the case of the reaming, which was really a lengthy declaration of my recent deficiencies as a provider, I was able to hear the patient out. They never raised their voice, used vulgar language, or got personal, so I was able to sit, impassive, and take it. I felt it was therapeutic for this particular patient to get it all out… I apologized for the perceived inadequacies, we reflected together, and then we were able to move on to actual medical issues. Usually, when I get criticized, I get heated up, embarrassed, emotional.
I don't know exactly why, but I was able to stay cucumber-cool. Maintain that professional distance. And, best yet, not bring it home with me.
Of course there have been other cases that have found their way into my head and into my home, intruding on the kids' bedtime routine, making their way into quiet conversation with my husband, delaying desperately-needed dreaming…
In our practice, we have a monthly Balint-style group moderated by a psychologist. We often share cases that get in our heads, and these themes have definitely been explored. Be it gifts or criticism, we have all experienced it. It's been very helpful to hear not only what other providers do in response to these challenging situations, but also to hear what they feel.
We're not made of Teflon, and the water sometimes soaks us. How do other physicians respond in these cases? and, more importantly, how does it make you feel?
I'd love to hear!
This was an odd week. One patient brought me a beautiful bouquet of flowers as a gesture of thanks… and another totally reamed me out. Both are uncommon occurrences in my practice.
The thing is, I didn't feel like I deserved either.
I told a colleague about it, and we laughed. It's so funny, but so often the case, that we're as surprised by the patient who is grateful as we are by the patient who is angry.
Both cases ended up being professional victories for me:
Usually, when I've received gifts from patients, I have felt some pressure to treat them a bit extra-special, overly gently, with kid gloves. Oh, I won't go there this visit. But in the case of the flowers, I approached a touchy subject anyways, and we were able to address it in a positive way during the visit.
In the case of the reaming, which was really a lengthy declaration of my recent deficiencies as a provider, I was able to hear the patient out. They never raised their voice, used vulgar language, or got personal, so I was able to sit, impassive, and take it. I felt it was therapeutic for this particular patient to get it all out… I apologized for the perceived inadequacies, we reflected together, and then we were able to move on to actual medical issues. Usually, when I get criticized, I get heated up, embarrassed, emotional.
I don't know exactly why, but I was able to stay cucumber-cool. Maintain that professional distance. And, best yet, not bring it home with me.
Of course there have been other cases that have found their way into my head and into my home, intruding on the kids' bedtime routine, making their way into quiet conversation with my husband, delaying desperately-needed dreaming…
In our practice, we have a monthly Balint-style group moderated by a psychologist. We often share cases that get in our heads, and these themes have definitely been explored. Be it gifts or criticism, we have all experienced it. It's been very helpful to hear not only what other providers do in response to these challenging situations, but also to hear what they feel.
We're not made of Teflon, and the water sometimes soaks us. How do other physicians respond in these cases? and, more importantly, how does it make you feel?
I'd love to hear!
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