(all is not) lost

There was a heartbeat. I saw it on the ultrasound, but I knew immediately something wasn’t quite right. Was it too slow? Yes, the ultrasound tech said she noticed that too and gave me the wise, all knowing look of a Black grandma who can’t quite tell her granddaughter that something is wrong.

And then there was none at the ultrasound 2 weeks later. I asked the next ultrasound tech to angle the screen when I didn’t see movement. Saw the look on the Radiologist's face and then the Fellow. No heartbeat. The tears began to flow. My body began to shake. I held in the sob knowing if it began here with these strangers it wouldn’t end until I was safely tucked away at home.

You were there. I saw you. You were there. And now you’re not. When did you leave me? My heart breaks. I type through my tears.

I am at home. Grieving. Surrounded by loved ones.

I cry now as I type.

“Mama, are you crying? Did you have a nightmare? Are you frightened?” I stifle my tears. Say to Zo through closed door “I’m okay. Mama’s okay.” He calls out for me and O from his room after bedtime. O goes and comforts him and calls me into his room.  I gather myself, wipe my tears, blow my nose. Zo rushes into my arms “Mama, are you okay? I was having a good dream but then I woke up. Why are you crying? Everything will be okay.” As he gently rubs my face with his amazingly soft 5-year-old hands. As he pats my back. As he rubs my belly. As our family holds one another.

All is not lost in spite of this major loss. You were there. I saw you. You were with me. Now you are not there. But my husband is here. And my Zo is here. Their hearts are strong. My heart is strong.

The stories from friends poured in over the last few years. We are all in our 30s. Gut-wrenching stories of second trimester terminations due to fetal diagnoses incompatible with life. The heartbreaking call telling us of a stillborn nephew. Friends with years of infertility. A family member with seven losses. Stories of rainbow babies after loss. Countless miscarriages. Flashbacks from medical school of being present with sobbing women in the antepartum unit when their ultrasounds showed the absence of heartbeats. I didn’t understand then how the loss of something (a baby? A fetus? I didn’t know what to call it then) not yet realized could cause these women to sob uncontrollably. But I do now. From the moment I saw the positive sign I was hooked. Head over heels. Then the heartbeat. My growing belly. Zo’s “mama, is there a baby in there cuz I think there is.”

I was so excited to tell him he was going to be a big brother but I didn’t because I knew things weren’t quite right and it was all too soon, too early, too many things could go wrong - and they did. But he knew. He knew yet we feigned ignorance.Told him I would go to the doctor to find out.

All is not lost. You were there. We were together. Our family is still here and you will always be with us. We will go on. For we are not lost.

The Zuckerberg: Space Does Matter

Hello everybody!  I am one new to the group and just wanted to introduce myself.  I'm originally from Massachusetts, currently a Bay Area Internal Medicine Hospitalist with a 2 year old daughter, siberian husky (mini) and techie hubbie.  Hope to contribute some entertaining stories.  The following is something I wrote last month after we moved into our new hospital. 

            The ‘space’ can make a difference.   I had already spent two years working as a physician/hospitalist at San Francisco General Hospital, and I had become accustomed to the old building and all its challenges.  Fast forward to the end of May 2016 to one my first shift working in the new building … Zuckerberg San Francisco General (ZSFG/The Zuck); change had never felt so good.

            I walked across the bridge connecting our old building to the new ZSFG which consisted of expansive windows and white beams that outlined the hall. It was a sunny day in San Francisco, and I was able to witness it for once.  At the entrance there was a quote etched into the wall  “Be the person who touches the lives and hearts of people. Be a positive light to others as you put a smile on their faces”.  I found myself taking a brief pause and a smile was taking form and there was no stopping it. 

            Onwards I trudged, only to be greeted by a security officer who looked at my badge, and then said ‘Good Morning Doctor’.  As I stepped off the large steel elevator onto the 6^th floor, different routes presented themselves; I was warned about this and the likely confusion that would ensue. Nonetheless, the room numbers were highlighted with San Franscisco themed unit names like “Mission Dolores” and I walked to the zone I needed to get to.  The heavy blue doors which were often manually opened were now beige and badge activated, opened by a mere hand wave.   This might sound trivial given that its 2016, but let me emphasize that it is not.  The design of the building was doing work for me instead of me pushing my way through everything.  

            Now came the real test…how were the actual work floors and units.  What struck me immediately was the lack of noise; it was completely quiet! A brief instance of panic set in and I thought, ‘ Oh my god, I’m on the wrong floor…. Is this the morgue’ but no, I was exactly where I needed to be.  As I walked further around, there was a spacious work station with an lcd screen showing patient room information and nursing assignments with call numbers. 

            The time had come to finally enter my patients’ rooms.  I knocked and then with ease opened the door only to find my patient sitting in bed comfortably with the most spectacular backdrop of the city I had ever seen. The room had ceiling to floor windows that beautifully displayed San Francisco at its finest, and the sunlight poured in.  I sat down at his bedside, and began to go through my assessment and learn about his concerns.  Usually at this point I would be raising my voice to overcome my patient’s neighbor who was either watching television, or talking to others in the old building.  The rooms had no natural light, so lights always had to be turned on, which was of course bothersome for many as some patients were sleeping, and others were not.  The rooms were also filled with walkers, trays, and other medical equipment that were strewn about as there was minimal space, and it became an obstacle course for staff, patients, and family whenever anyone moved about in the room.    Now with this all gone, feng shui was in full effect.  I reviewed the plan with the patient, and calmly exited the room.  As I entered the next patient’s room, similar exchanges and observations happened.  With my mind unburdened by the environment, I just focused on the subject at hand.  My patients too were not being set off by surrounding stimuli; they now had peace and quiet.

            I finally ended that morning with some downtime in one of the new provider rooms to start the lovely exercise of completing my documentation, and again I was struck by the silence.  It was like a library where I actually had the space and time to think about what I was doing.

            Noise and chaos was often the defining feature of our intense environment, and as faculty and staff, we perfected our ability to deliver high quality care to our troubled and sick patients despite our surroundings.  Now with ZSFG, San Franciscans along with our many generous donors have contributed to a building that has shifted the mileu of our work environment.   My patients now have a space that truly honors them in tough times and gives them the space within which to heal.  As a provider, I now have the space to work more seamlessly and to think and reflect on my work.  Of course our space is not perfect, but you have to start somewhere right? So let the healing begin…