As a resident, it's important for me to put aside time for studying while I'm home, so that when I graduate I'm not just a huge malpractice suit waiting to happen. Having a baby has in some ways made that more challenging, but in other ways has actually helped me (believe it or not).
My typical evening prior to having a baby:
6PM: Arrive home
6:30PM: Leisurely dinner
7:30PM: Watch television, think about studying.
8:30PM: Surf the web, usually while watching television
9:30PM: Consider studying again.
10PM: Bedtime snack
10:30PM: Consider studying again, but figure I'm too tired to absorb anything. I'll study tomorrow.
11:30PM: Bedtime
My typical evening now:
6PM: Arrive home
6-9PM: Baby care
9PM: Get out book and furiously study, write presentations, whatever
10PM: Collapse into bed, totally exhausted
The difference? When you have a kid, you know free time is scarce, so you take your studying when you can get it. You can't afford to postpone work till tomorrow, because god knows what will come up tomorrow.
As a result of all the studying I've been doing lately, I've become one of the most knowledgeable senior residents (in my very modest opinion). Sometimes I forget how it used to be and I wonder why the residents without kids seem to never have time to read like I do. I mean, what do they DO all night?
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Choices
I chose a job where I had control of my schedule.
I chose to have Mondays off.
I chose to work out of 1 hospital only (God bless you crazy OB ’s that work out of multiple hospitals and have people in labor all over town)
I chose a good man.
I chose a low maintenance haircut.
I also try to start most days with a run and some time in prayer.
I finish my charting before I leave the office, but I keep a small stack of paperwork that can be procrastinated. I keep my journals in this stack. Then, I go through them when I’m stuck at the hospital waiting for someone to deliver (My office is down the hall from L&D).
I’m a optimist. I don’t let myself wallow in self pity when I have to work late or don’t get any sleep. I try to focus on what an honor it is that people let me into their lives so intimately. To deliver a baby… even at 3 am …… is still the most amazing experience in the world.
I also drink a massive amount of coffee.
I chose to have Mondays off.
I chose to work out of 1 hospital only (God bless you crazy OB ’s that work out of multiple hospitals and have people in labor all over town)
I chose a good man.
I chose a low maintenance haircut.
I also try to start most days with a run and some time in prayer.
I finish my charting before I leave the office, but I keep a small stack of paperwork that can be procrastinated. I keep my journals in this stack. Then, I go through them when I’m stuck at the hospital waiting for someone to deliver (My office is down the hall from L&D).
I’m a optimist. I don’t let myself wallow in self pity when I have to work late or don’t get any sleep. I try to focus on what an honor it is that people let me into their lives so intimately. To deliver a baby… even at 3 am …… is still the most amazing experience in the world.
I also drink a massive amount of coffee.
Commute time is not more fun than time with the kids
Like the dog year to people year conversion factor (what is it 7 to 1? I'm no vet...), there is something funky about the commute time to kid time equation. Even though I can listen to my favorite radio hosts who catch me up on local, regional, and world events, even though I can unwind after a rough day seeing pregnant teens who didn't know they're pregnant, and even though I can make cell phone calls (hands free) to friends I don't get to see that often anymore, I will unequivocally say that time spent commuting is not more fun than time spent with my kids. A simple fact. The commute is a time-sink. And commuting in traffic is negative time. At least if I were in the car with my kids for the bulk of those travel minutes, then it wouldn't be too bad, as we talk, listen to music (on my rockin' cassette player), discuss what we see on the side of the road, and make stops at farmer's markets (always a winner) and gas stations (fun because Mommy washes both rear passengers' windshields a few times) . But commuting without either rear passenger is painful indeed. I recently obtained a navigational GPS that I thought would help me Get Places Sooner, but I find it actually gives me more choices that I can now fret about... will it be faster or slower to turn onto this side road, and why does it say "no outlet?"
One good option which serves to add precious moments to the standard 24 hour day, when I can swing it, is to skip out of work early on administrative days or light clinical afternoons, avoid traffic altogether, and surprise my children with an early pick up. And, on a typical trafficky commute, what makes up for those negative minutes are the positively huge smiles, cheers, and hugs when we all meet up again at the end of the day. And I don't dare let thoughts of tomorrow morning's commute intrude on our fun-filled evening.
One good option which serves to add precious moments to the standard 24 hour day, when I can swing it, is to skip out of work early on administrative days or light clinical afternoons, avoid traffic altogether, and surprise my children with an early pick up. And, on a typical trafficky commute, what makes up for those negative minutes are the positively huge smiles, cheers, and hugs when we all meet up again at the end of the day. And I don't dare let thoughts of tomorrow morning's commute intrude on our fun-filled evening.
Spring (for) cleaning
I've always felt I should be neater. I mean, inherently neater. Instead, I feel almost betrayed when I am confronted by my strong tendency towards chaos. Take my desk at work, for instance. Chaos reigns. But try as I might, I can't seem to keep it neat. It's like I'm fighting destiny.
Coupled with my husband's tendency to really let things go, our house has serious devolvement potential.
We lived in this precarious balance of hovel vs house for awhile before our first child. As my due date approached, my mother in law, one day, passed a piece of paper to me with the name and number of a woman who cleaned houses. "You'll be too busy."
Yet, I never saw myself as the type that would have someone clean my house. It's not like we lived in a mansion with a miniature train that traversed the living room. It seemed indulgent.
My parents both came to this country as graduate students with very little money. For awhile, their wardrobe was supplied by the Salvation Army for cents. There's a picture of me as a toddler sitting at my make-shift desk, built from 2 x 4's and milk crates.
Later, we were finanically more comfortable but saving was always emphasized. Paying someone to clean the house was out of my comfort zone. I also thought of it like a failure- as in - you should be able to do it all!
Yet, after our daughter was born, we seemed to prefer spending precious time at home eating, sleeping, caring for the baby and doing personal hygiene than scrubbing toilets. Our daughter's nanny (another story for another time) would periodically volunteer to clean ______ (insert any of a variety of areas in desperate need for attention) out of pity.
It wasn't until we moved into our current home, after growing out of our townhome, that I finally agreed that there was no way we could keep up with cleaning this house. Not with our full-time jobs and growing family. I gave in.
It's been over a year, and it has made our lives so much less stressful. I love it when I come home to find the house actually CLEAN; it's almost like a mild euphoria. If you can afford it, it is worth every penny.
Coupled with my husband's tendency to really let things go, our house has serious devolvement potential.
We lived in this precarious balance of hovel vs house for awhile before our first child. As my due date approached, my mother in law, one day, passed a piece of paper to me with the name and number of a woman who cleaned houses. "You'll be too busy."
Yet, I never saw myself as the type that would have someone clean my house. It's not like we lived in a mansion with a miniature train that traversed the living room. It seemed indulgent.
My parents both came to this country as graduate students with very little money. For awhile, their wardrobe was supplied by the Salvation Army for cents. There's a picture of me as a toddler sitting at my make-shift desk, built from 2 x 4's and milk crates.
Later, we were finanically more comfortable but saving was always emphasized. Paying someone to clean the house was out of my comfort zone. I also thought of it like a failure- as in - you should be able to do it all!
Yet, after our daughter was born, we seemed to prefer spending precious time at home eating, sleeping, caring for the baby and doing personal hygiene than scrubbing toilets. Our daughter's nanny (another story for another time) would periodically volunteer to clean ______ (insert any of a variety of areas in desperate need for attention) out of pity.
It wasn't until we moved into our current home, after growing out of our townhome, that I finally agreed that there was no way we could keep up with cleaning this house. Not with our full-time jobs and growing family. I gave in.
It's been over a year, and it has made our lives so much less stressful. I love it when I come home to find the house actually CLEAN; it's almost like a mild euphoria. If you can afford it, it is worth every penny.
Decluttering
For me, the key to productive, contented living is decluttering.
Life seems to default to an excess of possessions, activities and pursuits. It takes intention and effort to organize a distracted state of living into one that is simple and peaceful. Decluttering involves making do with the minimum required to achieve your goals, and systematically winnowing out what isn't earning its keep.
I apply decluttering to every aspect of my life. Working at two clinics had introduced unnecessary complexity to my week, so this summer I resigned at the HIV clinic to exclusively practice refugee medicine. I focus on three hobbies: gardening in summer, knitting in winter and photography year-round. No one looks inside my closet without remarking that it's the most pared down collection of clothes they've ever seen. My kids have a modest selection of thoughtfully chosen, well-loved toys. I thin my patients' charts ruthlessly. My blog has the cleanest layout possible and I haven't added any extra applications to my Facebook page.
Learning to say no is a major part in decluttering the calendar. (I was 30 when I finally learned to do this well.) When I do make commitments, I make them for a defined period of time. I'll join a knitting group for one winter, for example, or keep a blog for one year. When I take on a new position at work, I quietly decide up front for how long I'm willing to commit. At the end of the given time, I reassess. That way every obligation has an expiry date and can be renewed or replaced.
To use my time most efficiently, every weekend I plan the week ahead, including penciling in activities for my downtime. My kids are all in bed by 7:00, and that's three full evening hours for me - if I can escape the call of the Internet, probably the most distracting, time-wasting, mind-cluttering force out there. Some useful tools to make Internet use efficient are feed readers, which eliminate the need to visit blogs to check if they've been updated, and Firefox's pageaddict, which monitors the time you spend at different sites and allows you to set restrictions on your visits to inane, yet compelling sites.
Decluttering is a way of life. This method agrees completely with my personality, and I purge, streamline and consolidate with pleasure. Cutting out the extraneous allows for the clutter I do enjoy: a house overflowing with kids and a slate full of patients.
(For more on productivity, visit blogs zenhabits, unclutterer and 43 folders.)
Big Fat Time Savers!
- Buy pre-cooked food at the grocery store deli. More expensive, but your time is worth it.
- Lay out clothes for self and kid before going to bed. Good theory, and when I do it I'm really happy.
- Tape a "don't forget" note to the door before bed, i.e. "don't forget bagels for a..m. meeting."
- Hire a housekeeper to come in once a week to do floors, dusting, etc. Even if she or he is lousy, it's probably better than you could do some weeks.
- Take Detrol-LA. Save time on those pesky potty breaks.
- Keep your emergency pickup kid people on call. If I know I have a late meeting on Wednesday and Husband is out of town, I call around on Tuesday for someone to be on call just in case. Put these numbers on your speed dial.
- Take your lunch or at least get it to go...sneak into the nurse's breakroom with a stack of charts and eat while charting.
- When people offer to help you, take them up on it.
- Brush your teeth in the shower while conditioning your hair.
- Marry the right mate...a co-parent, co-shopper, partner in all things domestic.
Secret Weapon
I have a secret weapon – not a bat mobile, not a web shot from my inner wrist, not an iron suit – think domestic secret weapon.
It’s my crock-pot and in fifteen minutes of prep time – I can create the illusion of having slaved in the kitchen for the last ten hours. Magically this appliance takes raw meat and vegetables and creates a main dish, a side and gravy. This satisfies my meat and potato men (separate sides of the plate, please) and my casserole (one dish, less clean-up) mentality.
I’ve heard the concerns about crock pot cooking: the appliance doesn’t cook hot enough to be safe. What if it malfunctions (which has happened and we ordered take-out that night)? What if it sets off a fire when I’m not home? I’m willing to take the risks as I do with all the other appliances plugged into my house. Thankfully no one has gotten ill from one of my crock-pot adventures, and I have yet to burn the house down.
I own about fifteen slow cooking cookbooks, and always looking for a new take on my stainless steel wonder. One of my family’s favorites is pork BBQ. It is stupidly simple and can spawn multiple varieties. One pork butt roast with bone intact (don’t know why the bone matters but it does). Put the roast in the slow cooker ten hours in advance of dinnertime. If I remember, I try to put a liner in the cooker to ease my clean-up. Pour one bottle of BBQ sauce over the top and cook on low for 10+ hours. I keep this one very simple with just meat – but I usually add vegetables to my other slow cooker recipes such as pot roast, chicken and dumplings, (bastardized) chicken cacciatore, or beef stew.
At the end of cooking time (and this works well overnight for lunch, too), all the meat falls off the bone into juicy, tangy ribbons of pork which are easily draped over a sandwich roll. I like it by itself with vinegar BBQ sauce. Throw together some salad, fruit or baked beans, and I have a meal. Turkey or chicken can be substituted for less time with good results.
The best part ….the whole house smells like I’ve cooked all day. Heroically I can serve dinner at 6PM sharp with clean-up by 7. Not faster than a speeding bullet but according to 19th century French chef and author Urbain Dubois, "the ambition of every good cook must be to make something very good with the fewest possible ingredients."
It’s my crock-pot and in fifteen minutes of prep time – I can create the illusion of having slaved in the kitchen for the last ten hours. Magically this appliance takes raw meat and vegetables and creates a main dish, a side and gravy. This satisfies my meat and potato men (separate sides of the plate, please) and my casserole (one dish, less clean-up) mentality.
I’ve heard the concerns about crock pot cooking: the appliance doesn’t cook hot enough to be safe. What if it malfunctions (which has happened and we ordered take-out that night)? What if it sets off a fire when I’m not home? I’m willing to take the risks as I do with all the other appliances plugged into my house. Thankfully no one has gotten ill from one of my crock-pot adventures, and I have yet to burn the house down.
I own about fifteen slow cooking cookbooks, and always looking for a new take on my stainless steel wonder. One of my family’s favorites is pork BBQ. It is stupidly simple and can spawn multiple varieties. One pork butt roast with bone intact (don’t know why the bone matters but it does). Put the roast in the slow cooker ten hours in advance of dinnertime. If I remember, I try to put a liner in the cooker to ease my clean-up. Pour one bottle of BBQ sauce over the top and cook on low for 10+ hours. I keep this one very simple with just meat – but I usually add vegetables to my other slow cooker recipes such as pot roast, chicken and dumplings, (bastardized) chicken cacciatore, or beef stew.
At the end of cooking time (and this works well overnight for lunch, too), all the meat falls off the bone into juicy, tangy ribbons of pork which are easily draped over a sandwich roll. I like it by itself with vinegar BBQ sauce. Throw together some salad, fruit or baked beans, and I have a meal. Turkey or chicken can be substituted for less time with good results.
The best part ….the whole house smells like I’ve cooked all day. Heroically I can serve dinner at 6PM sharp with clean-up by 7. Not faster than a speeding bullet but according to 19th century French chef and author Urbain Dubois, "the ambition of every good cook must be to make something very good with the fewest possible ingredients."
time management 101 (minus 98)
There are only 3 things I do for my time management:
I make sure I keep track all the things I HAVE to accomplish that day.
I come in early the next day if I have left anything behind.
I take lunch behind my desk.
That's my imperfect scheme, but those three things get me home in time to have dinner with my kids, and that's what I think is important!
I make sure I keep track all the things I HAVE to accomplish that day.
I come in early the next day if I have left anything behind.
I take lunch behind my desk.
That's my imperfect scheme, but those three things get me home in time to have dinner with my kids, and that's what I think is important!
Monday, September 15, 2008
Gap tears
I started my fall shopping over the last couple weeks. This year’s gap hoodie is size 5T. It dawned on me, that very soon I will be shopping at Gap kids and not baby Gap. This is blowing my mind right now. We attended a private school fair recently. Everytime I answered “Kindergarten” to the question “What grade will your child be in next year?” it got a little harder to hold back the tears.
Time is going by so fast, I just want to treasure every second. I don’t know if this is because he’s my only child that I’m feeling this so strongly, or perhaps because our journey for number #2 has been such a long one. Perhaps, everyone feels this way and I’m just more vocal about it. I’m hoping that perhaps I’m “pre-grieving”. When my grandpa died, about a month before he passed I had a day where I realized the end was near. I mourned for a week, but when the actual funeral came, I was at peace. So hopefully by the time school year rolls around next fall I will be at peace with it… otherwise prepare for multiple teary posts.
Time is going by so fast, I just want to treasure every second. I don’t know if this is because he’s my only child that I’m feeling this so strongly, or perhaps because our journey for number #2 has been such a long one. Perhaps, everyone feels this way and I’m just more vocal about it. I’m hoping that perhaps I’m “pre-grieving”. When my grandpa died, about a month before he passed I had a day where I realized the end was near. I mourned for a week, but when the actual funeral came, I was at peace. So hopefully by the time school year rolls around next fall I will be at peace with it… otherwise prepare for multiple teary posts.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Next Topic Day: Time Management
On Wednesday, September 17, we'll be writing posts that have to do with Time Management. A frequent question that has been posed on this blog by our contributors and readers alike, is: how to juggle it all? Aside from being cloned, how to manage mothering, a demanding profession and doing everything that needs to be done in a day's time, preferably while maintaining our sanity? What has worked for us? What hasn't? What do we still struggle with?
We hope this Topic Day can provide an exchange of ideas that can help us all. Please join us and send in your tips/solutions/stories to mothersinmedicine AT gmail DOT com by Tuesday, September 16 to be included.
If you missed our last Topic Day where we shared our labor and delivery stories, you can see them here.
We hope this Topic Day can provide an exchange of ideas that can help us all. Please join us and send in your tips/solutions/stories to mothersinmedicine AT gmail DOT com by Tuesday, September 16 to be included.
If you missed our last Topic Day where we shared our labor and delivery stories, you can see them here.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
The high price of motherhood
My little daughter takes violin lessons, typically on Saturdays. This Saturday, we had a conflict, so I took the only other spot available, a 3:00 pm Wednesday lesson. I don't get off work that early, of course, so I figure I will quickly take her and then bring her back to work with me.
The workday was packed. I wanted to back out of this cockamamie scheme that I had somehow let myself into. But I just went ahead and did it. I had heartburn and a mild headache by the time I got back. Having my daughter at work with me proved very inefficient, but by 6:00, we were set to go home, with a little residual work left for the following morning (I came in at 6 am this morning to catch up).
I don't think I have any wisdom to share. If there was a simple answer on how to have a medical career and be a mother, we wouldn't have stress or angst. I think that I have two of the most wonderful kids in the whole world, and I absolutely cherish them and thank God for them. I also have a fantastic career that I love. My payment is stress, both physical and mental. It's also the guilt I feel when I can't devote the time to my career that I would otherwise before I had kids. It's the grating knowledge that others may either resent me and/or think less of me when I have to put my kids first. But these are all payments I am willing to make, because my life is full and beautiful. Nothing truly great comes without sacrifice.
Anyway, nothing this week will top my experience yesterday at work when, during an intense conversation with one of the general surgeons about his patient's biopsy results, Sophie gets right in my face and says "MOMMY, I have to POOP! I have to poop REALLY BAD! (I was trying my best to shush her) Really, I'm NOT trickin' ya! I have to POOP REALLY BAD! MOM-MY! I have to POOOOOP!!!"
Don't worry, we made it.
The workday was packed. I wanted to back out of this cockamamie scheme that I had somehow let myself into. But I just went ahead and did it. I had heartburn and a mild headache by the time I got back. Having my daughter at work with me proved very inefficient, but by 6:00, we were set to go home, with a little residual work left for the following morning (I came in at 6 am this morning to catch up).
I don't think I have any wisdom to share. If there was a simple answer on how to have a medical career and be a mother, we wouldn't have stress or angst. I think that I have two of the most wonderful kids in the whole world, and I absolutely cherish them and thank God for them. I also have a fantastic career that I love. My payment is stress, both physical and mental. It's also the guilt I feel when I can't devote the time to my career that I would otherwise before I had kids. It's the grating knowledge that others may either resent me and/or think less of me when I have to put my kids first. But these are all payments I am willing to make, because my life is full and beautiful. Nothing truly great comes without sacrifice.
Anyway, nothing this week will top my experience yesterday at work when, during an intense conversation with one of the general surgeons about his patient's biopsy results, Sophie gets right in my face and says "MOMMY, I have to POOP! I have to poop REALLY BAD! (I was trying my best to shush her) Really, I'm NOT trickin' ya! I have to POOP REALLY BAD! MOM-MY! I have to POOOOOP!!!"
Don't worry, we made it.
Monday, September 8, 2008
This looks like more fun than it is
I remember in the last few weeks of my pregnancy, it took every ounce of my strength to drag myself to work every morning, between being sleep deprived and having pain in every joint that was capable of feeling pain. I hung in there because my maternity leave was finite and I wanted to spend every moment of it with my baby. So that meant coming in to work until the bitter end.
But it turned out I wasn't the most miserable person around. In fact, it never even occurred to me that there might be people out there who were actually jealous of me and my thirty-pound belly.
I discovered the truth one evening, while I was sitting in the office I shared with my swingin' single male co-resident. We were complaining about our workload and suddenly he blurted out:
"I wish I were pregnant."
I had never been so shocked. Immediately, a range of angry replies ran through my head: What part of pregnancy would you like? Would you like to carry 30 extra pounds around with you everywhere you go? Would you like to have to wake up 10 times a night to pee? Or would you just like to go through a painful labor possible ending in a major abdominal surgery? What part of being pregnant appeals to you the most??
I didn't say any of that though. My reply was, "You don't really mean that."
He quickly said, "You're right, I don't."
Of course, what he really meant was that he wanted to have a six week maternity leave. Except what he really meant was that he wanted six weeks in Bermuda.
To many people who have never cared for a newborn before, maternity leave seems like just that: a vacation. And those who cover for you when you're gone get resentful that they have to work harder so that you get a six week vacation, while all they get is a measly 3-4 weeks.
Comments like the above fed into the extreme guilt I had surrounding my maternity leave. When I came back to work, I was afraid to even talk to anyone for months because I assumed all the other residents hated me for getting a "paid vacation".
And even though it's been over a year since I returned from leave, I still haven't completely left those feelings behind.
But it turned out I wasn't the most miserable person around. In fact, it never even occurred to me that there might be people out there who were actually jealous of me and my thirty-pound belly.
I discovered the truth one evening, while I was sitting in the office I shared with my swingin' single male co-resident. We were complaining about our workload and suddenly he blurted out:
"I wish I were pregnant."
I had never been so shocked. Immediately, a range of angry replies ran through my head: What part of pregnancy would you like? Would you like to carry 30 extra pounds around with you everywhere you go? Would you like to have to wake up 10 times a night to pee? Or would you just like to go through a painful labor possible ending in a major abdominal surgery? What part of being pregnant appeals to you the most??
I didn't say any of that though. My reply was, "You don't really mean that."
He quickly said, "You're right, I don't."
Of course, what he really meant was that he wanted to have a six week maternity leave. Except what he really meant was that he wanted six weeks in Bermuda.
To many people who have never cared for a newborn before, maternity leave seems like just that: a vacation. And those who cover for you when you're gone get resentful that they have to work harder so that you get a six week vacation, while all they get is a measly 3-4 weeks.
Comments like the above fed into the extreme guilt I had surrounding my maternity leave. When I came back to work, I was afraid to even talk to anyone for months because I assumed all the other residents hated me for getting a "paid vacation".
And even though it's been over a year since I returned from leave, I still haven't completely left those feelings behind.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
"Doctors Wanted - No Women Need Apply" - NOT!
I could browse this site for hours: the N.I.H./National Library of Medicine website called Changing the Face of Medicine, which celebrates the lives of women physicians in America.
Any time I get a little discouraged or feel a little fatigued about working my two jobs - nine or more hours in the O.R., followed by a commute home directly into the next task, food preparation for the evening meal and after-dinner homework/music/general kid-help - I look up stories of women who had it MUCH HARDER than I do and try to give myself a little wake-up call. I stop whining right away.
Here are just a few of the many amazing stories that have inspired me:
Dr. Susan La Fleche Picotte, born in 1865, was the first Native American woman in the United States to receive a medical degree. She was 24 years old. She was also the first person to receive federal aid for professional education. The M.D. program at the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania was a three-year program; she graduated after two years at the top of her class. She had been inspired as a child to study medicine by the death of a Native American woman after the local white doctor refused to provide care for her. In 1894 she married Henry Picotte; they had two sons. She had a busy general practice serving both white and non-white patients. Two years before her death in 1913 she opened a hospital in the reservation town of Walthill, Nebraska, achieving a lifelong dream.
Dr. Elizabeth D. A. Magnus Cohen was the first woman licensed to practice medicine in Louisiana. The NLM site relates, "While she was still in medical school, a New Orleans Bee editorial on July 3, 1853, had labeled the idea of a female physician treating male patients as incongruous and improper. In 1898, an editorial in the Journal of the American Medical Association blamed women physicians for the declines in salaries and prestige of the medical profession. Eventually, medical schools began refusing to admit women." Dr. Cohen recounts that as a surgeon she was called at least once or twice every single night before dawn during her thirty-year practice from 1857-1887. Other doctors apparently referred to her as a "lucky hand" in tough cases. She was married and had five children, though only one lived to adulthood.
Dr. Sarah Read Adamson Dolley was the first woman to complete a hospital intership, in 1852. Her interest in medicine was sparked by a physiology book given to her by her teacher, Graceanna Lewis, to read at home. She practiced OB/gyn and ran a medical practice with her husband, with whom she had two children, one of whom died in childhood. "Her vivid correspondence documents her success in creating a solo practice after the death of her practice partner—her husband. They also reveal her anguish over how to support her son, pay for his education (he, too, became a physician), and how to overcome the resistance of her male colleagues. But her letters reveal that in her rise to success, nothing was easy, especially without a role model to guide her."
Dr. Halle Tanner Dillon Johnson was the first woman of any ethnicity to be a board-certified physician in the state of Alabama. She was already married and a mother when she began her medical studies and in 1891 earned her medical degree from the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania with honors. While "southern newspapers had scoffed at the idea of a black woman even applying to take the [board] exam," in that same year the New York Times took note of her success in passing the grueling ten-day Alabama State Medical Examination. Alas, her career was brief. She died of childbirth complications on April 26, 1901.
Finally, though I don't think she was a mother as well as a physician, I want to honor Dr. Elizabeth Ann Grier, the first African-American woman licensed to practice medicine in Georgia. She was an emancipated slave who alternated every year of her medical education with a year of picking cotton in order to pay for her training. "When I saw colored women doing all the work in cases of accouchement [childbirth]," she said, "and all the fee going to some white doctor who merely looked on, I asked myself why should I not get the fee myself. For this purpose I have qualified. I went to Philadelphia, studied medicine hard, procured my degree, and have come back to Atlanta, where I have lived all my life, to practice my profession." Sadly, she died in 1902 after practicing for only a few years.
It's stories like these that let help keep me going, putting one foot in front the other and telling myself, "You can do this. You totally can." I think we have to keep passing on stories like these - to our students, our colleagues, our children, ourselves.
Any time I get a little discouraged or feel a little fatigued about working my two jobs - nine or more hours in the O.R., followed by a commute home directly into the next task, food preparation for the evening meal and after-dinner homework/music/general kid-help - I look up stories of women who had it MUCH HARDER than I do and try to give myself a little wake-up call. I stop whining right away.
Here are just a few of the many amazing stories that have inspired me:
Dr. Susan La Fleche Picotte, born in 1865, was the first Native American woman in the United States to receive a medical degree. She was 24 years old. She was also the first person to receive federal aid for professional education. The M.D. program at the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania was a three-year program; she graduated after two years at the top of her class. She had been inspired as a child to study medicine by the death of a Native American woman after the local white doctor refused to provide care for her. In 1894 she married Henry Picotte; they had two sons. She had a busy general practice serving both white and non-white patients. Two years before her death in 1913 she opened a hospital in the reservation town of Walthill, Nebraska, achieving a lifelong dream.
Dr. Elizabeth D. A. Magnus Cohen was the first woman licensed to practice medicine in Louisiana. The NLM site relates, "While she was still in medical school, a New Orleans Bee editorial on July 3, 1853, had labeled the idea of a female physician treating male patients as incongruous and improper. In 1898, an editorial in the Journal of the American Medical Association blamed women physicians for the declines in salaries and prestige of the medical profession. Eventually, medical schools began refusing to admit women." Dr. Cohen recounts that as a surgeon she was called at least once or twice every single night before dawn during her thirty-year practice from 1857-1887. Other doctors apparently referred to her as a "lucky hand" in tough cases. She was married and had five children, though only one lived to adulthood.
Dr. Sarah Read Adamson Dolley was the first woman to complete a hospital intership, in 1852. Her interest in medicine was sparked by a physiology book given to her by her teacher, Graceanna Lewis, to read at home. She practiced OB/gyn and ran a medical practice with her husband, with whom she had two children, one of whom died in childhood. "Her vivid correspondence documents her success in creating a solo practice after the death of her practice partner—her husband. They also reveal her anguish over how to support her son, pay for his education (he, too, became a physician), and how to overcome the resistance of her male colleagues. But her letters reveal that in her rise to success, nothing was easy, especially without a role model to guide her."
Dr. Halle Tanner Dillon Johnson was the first woman of any ethnicity to be a board-certified physician in the state of Alabama. She was already married and a mother when she began her medical studies and in 1891 earned her medical degree from the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania with honors. While "southern newspapers had scoffed at the idea of a black woman even applying to take the [board] exam," in that same year the New York Times took note of her success in passing the grueling ten-day Alabama State Medical Examination. Alas, her career was brief. She died of childbirth complications on April 26, 1901.
Finally, though I don't think she was a mother as well as a physician, I want to honor Dr. Elizabeth Ann Grier, the first African-American woman licensed to practice medicine in Georgia. She was an emancipated slave who alternated every year of her medical education with a year of picking cotton in order to pay for her training. "When I saw colored women doing all the work in cases of accouchement [childbirth]," she said, "and all the fee going to some white doctor who merely looked on, I asked myself why should I not get the fee myself. For this purpose I have qualified. I went to Philadelphia, studied medicine hard, procured my degree, and have come back to Atlanta, where I have lived all my life, to practice my profession." Sadly, she died in 1902 after practicing for only a few years.It's stories like these that let help keep me going, putting one foot in front the other and telling myself, "You can do this. You totally can." I think we have to keep passing on stories like these - to our students, our colleagues, our children, ourselves.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
watching from the sidelines
First swim lessons this weekend for Just Four. As a former lifeguard, current mother and pediatrician, one would think that I could have taught her some swimming basics. But despite our best intentions and her inquisitive nature, my daughter has a hard time learning from her parents. She knows Dr Mommy is the best at putting on band-aids. And that daddy can rock out on the guitar. However, our teacher-centered little girl who is frequently found to be instructing her stuffed animals in all of life's lessons, appears to learn best from Other People. We struggled with which class to choose, one in which we parents could wade in the water too versus one in which we were banished to the sidelines (instructor to parents "Step away from the pool"). Choosing the latter proved to be a wise move, as she made us proud, nervously saying Goodbye and then completing her first lesson, bubbles, floating, gliding with an occasional wave to Dr Mommy, who, behind a glass wall was watching her daughter learn and grow on her own. Needing me but not needing me. Oh, yes, and my needing her.
24/7
Mamapop had a great discussion Thursday about feminism, and how it applies to politics, specifically Sarah Palin. Feminist is not one of the labels I apply to myself (like juliaink). Just don’t consider myself a pioneer in moving the cause of women forward. I also don’t tag myself as a political animal. However, this election has me fired up because I feel that the items the media has picked up and discussed are issues in my back yard.
As women in medicine and specifically mothers in medicine, we have a unique perspective. My occupation is 24/7. I share call with other physicians, now, although I was once a solo practitioner. The ownership part of my practice is still there seven days a week and requires maintenance whether it is employee reviews I need to write, maintenance of the facilities or just a late night security call. Being a physician is a 24/7 job whether I’m on call or not – and I suspect it may be that way for my fellow MIM writers. Have you fielded a phone call from a worried neighbor or family member because you have MD or DO (or RN, PA, NP) after you name?
Mothering, Fathering and Parenting are also 24/7 jobs. Even with my two healthy children, the balance is precarious and dynamic. I can only imagine what adding intense media coverage, decision making for 300+ million citizens, and overlapping passport stamps would do to my stress level. It’s not that the VP (or presidency, for that matter) job isn’t compatible with parenthood. It is. I’m not sure the job that will require 110% focus seven days a week (or at least this is what I expect out of elected leaders ) is balanceable with children that need their parents as much as 2 of the 5 Palin kids will need their parents in the coming months.
As women in medicine and specifically mothers in medicine, we have a unique perspective. My occupation is 24/7. I share call with other physicians, now, although I was once a solo practitioner. The ownership part of my practice is still there seven days a week and requires maintenance whether it is employee reviews I need to write, maintenance of the facilities or just a late night security call. Being a physician is a 24/7 job whether I’m on call or not – and I suspect it may be that way for my fellow MIM writers. Have you fielded a phone call from a worried neighbor or family member because you have MD or DO (or RN, PA, NP) after you name?
Mothering, Fathering and Parenting are also 24/7 jobs. Even with my two healthy children, the balance is precarious and dynamic. I can only imagine what adding intense media coverage, decision making for 300+ million citizens, and overlapping passport stamps would do to my stress level. It’s not that the VP (or presidency, for that matter) job isn’t compatible with parenthood. It is. I’m not sure the job that will require 110% focus seven days a week (or at least this is what I expect out of elected leaders ) is balanceable with children that need their parents as much as 2 of the 5 Palin kids will need their parents in the coming months.
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