2007

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17:25.

12/14/2007 in Lamenting | No comments

It was the longest minute of silence I have ever had to endure. T was dying. I was there to listen to her tiny heartbeat and declare time of death.

I’ve been caught up in a whirlwind of do-everything and save-all, and here, very appropriately, her parents were ready to let her be. So we did.

We talk a lot about “informed consent”. Helping parents make decisions based on all available information. I’m not sure if there truly is a thing. Even on this side of the fence, where I hold all the cards. I’m still not sure how they all add up in some cases, I guess.

But some decisions are best made from the heart.

14 hours.

12/3/2007 in Happenings | 1 comment

It’s amazing what can change in a couple days.

I started this month afraid. I was back in the NICU–the neonatal intensive care unit. I was trying to remember all about ventilation settings and venous nutrition and, and, and it was like trying to climb back on that bike that I don’t remember riding all too well before as it was.

We had 4 babies today. A small one, a really small one, a really really small one, and one with a mass of some sort. Sure enough, my hands found the endotracheal tubes and umbilical catheters familiar, and it was like a little dance. I looked at chest x-rays and more chest x-rays and blood gases and somehow this time, everything made sense.

I don’t want to admit it, but I kinda liked today in the NICU. It was scary. It was busy. I think forgot to go pee. But oh, those proud parents and those beautiful babies with their teeny tiny cries. I did what I needed to do and at the end of the day, S thought I did great. It’s not so bad.

In 10 hours, I’ll do it all over again.

The good and the bad.

11/29/2007 in Introversion | 3 comments

I made a woman cry today. It wasn’t on purpose. Oh, who am I kidding, it was sorta on purpose. Very on purpose.

She was the mother of one of my patients, first-time parent and all. But by the end of the visit, she thanked me. I want to say that it was genuine. But I had to say what I thought she needed to hear. And I think she heard me.

Here I am, telling people how to raise their children when I can’t even get my dog to stop playing with her poop.

I realized as she left that most people don’t really know what a good doctor means. I watched House a couple of times. The twist of the show, if you’ve never seen it by some miracle of God, is that Dr. House is a phenomenal doctor in terms of his medical expertise (“The best diagnostician we’ve got!”) with horrible bedside manners. Does that make him a bad doctor? Or a good one? I bet he made more then a few women cry. I’ve only seen two episodes.

I suppose it’s a lot like any other relationship. Sometimes, you’ve got to be nice. Other times, they push a little, and I push a lot. Then there are days that you will do anything to get them out of the office.

I saw another woman today that told me she was glad I was her child’s doctor. It took me by surprise–I didn’t really remember her before, and I honestly didn’t think that our current encounter had been very pleasant. It was a rough day, and the kid did vomit on me.

Good. Bad. I’m only doing my job. But how many people get thanked for doing their job? And how many go home at night and cry about it? It is hard for me to wake in the morning. Sometimes, it’s harder to leave.

By the way, there’s no such thing as a diagnostician.

And I’d make a horrible patient.

On the bus.

10/10/2007 in Introversion | 5 comments

The man was crazy.

He sat at the very back of the bus, talking to no one in particular. Every now and then, some student would make the mistake of pretending to care. Make eye contact. A smile. Perhaps a argumentative remark. The man would find his mark and be merciless, beating down on them his pressured one-sided conversation about the government conspiracy, the walruses, and secret messages on the radio.

I pretended to be fascinated by my Palm Pilot. But I was really fascinated by him.

He was probably schizoaffective. And I envied him a little. He would just talk, whatever came to mind. And with every word, it seemed to free him, like some poison he need to bring out. I could never speak that freely. I would meet people, and most times, I could never say a thing. This here, this is just writing. Speaking, that’s another thing. Shy doesn’t begin to describe me.

But I was thinking. I’m posing here. I put my best dress on and do a little dance in front of a computer screen. I make up this person who can talk as she pleases, walks where she likes, loves, hates, and flirts. To no one in particular.

But hoping someone will listen.

A piece of the pie.

10/4/2007 in Rant and Rave | No comments

I have a rant about SCHIP that I can’t even begin at the moment, I’m so ticked. So perhaps tomorrow. In the meanwhile, call your representatives. We only need 15 votes.

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