Showing posts with label George Mathew MD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label George Mathew MD. Show all posts

Monday, November 24, 2014

The King's English.



I was thinking about my colleague George yesterday and something popped into my head. This remote memory of a piece of writing that George had sent me a few years ago. When I saw him the day before he sent it, I recall him saying,"I decided I'd channel my inner Kim Manning and write down my reflections." That last part was laced with sarcasm.  Full emphasis on the word reflections. Ha. I could tell from his crooked smile and the twinkle in his eyes when he said it that he was poking fun at me. But I could also tell he was serious, too. "It's just a few thoughts I've been having," he went on. "Like you, I love working at Grady. So I knew you'd appreciate it."

He was right.

Now. The big joke with me and many of my colleagues is that I'm such a tremendous electronic hoarder. I save emails upon emails and constantly appall people by the number of items in my inbox. (Greater than one thousand on any given day--gasp.)  I replayed that exchange with George and, being the electronic hoarder that I am, subsequently began hunting through my giant email hoard piles for that original message--fully believing I would find it.

Mmmm hmmmm.

Did I mention that it was sent roughly four to five years ago? In like 2009 or 2010? Um yeah. Well. Believe it or not, it wasn't out of the question for me to think I'd have it. (Don't judge me, please.) 

Man. Imagine how sad I was to find that, probably in one of my massive vow-to-do-better in-basket sweeps, (usually prompted by someone judging my in-basket number) I must have deleted it.

Booo.

That said, being the multi-level electronic hoarder that I am, I had one other Hail Mary idea still in my back pocket. Yes people. My electronic hoarding exceeds the confines of Emory Outlook.

Mmmm hmmmm.

And so. My Hail Mary plan was to search for the piece in my random hard drive files, fingers crossed that it had been sent as a separate Word attachment.

And guess what? It was sent as a separate Word document. And guess what? That document was in the hoard pile. (Next to a residency recommendation letter for a medical student who is probably a full professor by now.)

Ha.

Imagine the gift it was to me to read these words. Ah! Words my colleague had shared with me way back when. Words that now serve as a haunting opus. . .so defining of his commitment to Grady Hospital, to our underserved patients, to our learners and to the purpose-driven life George tried to live. It gave me chills to read them again.

As I did, I could hear his silky accent saying each line. Using, as we used to joke in clinic, "The King's English." All of this--these words, this melodic use of our language--represented his international background built by living everywhere from India to Kenya to Indiana to Atlanta.

"In Africa," he used to say, "when you learn English, you learn it in its purest form, Kim. It is the King's English. Full strength. Like heavy cream, not this skim milk you hear elsewhere, Kim." When he said that, his eyes were probably twinkling with that same serious-sarcasm and he was likely crookedly smiling once again.

Ha. That makes me chuckle because I can see it. And those who knew him, I'm sure, can too.

Ha.

The original Grady. George would like this photo and would likely know some random fact about it. Ha.


The version I found had minor edits that I'd made out of habit more than anything else. I think George had written this "just because" and don't recall him saying he intended to submit it to a journal for publication. After finding it, I considered sending it off to one, but didn't want to be forced to edit his words too much. I do recall him complimenting this blog several times so have taken license to share his words here.

My honest guess is that George would have been honored to have others read his reflections. I'm proud that he trusted me with them and that he'd taken a moment to "channel his inner Kim Manning."

Ha.

Perhaps after reading this, you will be as compelled as I was to channel more of your inner George Mathew. To find your sense of purpose and then walk into it boldly. Just like he did.

George in his element, with colleagues and learners caring for patients at Grady.

(And if all that sounds too heavy for you, just try using the King's English. He'd like that.)


Enjoy. And thank you for sharing, George. This and yourself.

Your colleague,

Kimberly

_______________________________________________

A Sense of Purpose


I saw him at the hospital curb waiting to cross the road on his way to clinic. He waved at me and after exchanging a few pleasantries, went on his way to the clinic. Watching him stride away, I saw in his steps a sense of purpose.

Pushing through the doors of the hospital, I ran into another of my colleagues. She chattered about the weather, the weekend and while walking with her to the clinic, I could sense she was looking forward to spending the day with her colleagues, residents and taking care of indigent patients, that she called  “a wonderful population."

Combined they had spent over 25 years at the county hospital and had no plans to leave. Every day, every year they had a renewed sense of purpose that only got stronger. A sense of purpose that they were going to be there for the care of society’s most vulnerable.

I count it fortunate to have worked in the county hospital environment. For the academic clinical internist, a county hospital is a satisfying mix of patient care, education and research. Bereft of a strong subspecialty presence, internists tend to thrive in that particular microcosm, whose environment tends to nourish the physician’s soul. Where one physician may see frustration and despair, the county hospital internist sees opportunities for improvement and hope.

Certain specialties have their own favored clinical setting .For the cardiologist and the cardiac surgeon there is the Heart Hospital, for the Orthopedic Surgeon an orthopedic hospital but for the academic clinical internist it is the teaching hospital--often a county hospital. A natural fit.

One of my favorite professors had such a strong sense of purpose, that after serving many years in a county hospital, he went to Africa to create one of Africa’s largest HIV networks. Some of his fellow colleagues followed him there, knowing that a common sense of purpose would unite them as they tackled one of mankind’s deadliest scourges.

Which brings me back to the topic -- "a sense of purpose." For the physician it is the sixth sense, a sense that guides and defines us as we try to take care of our fellow human beings. If ones sense of purpose is followed and not ignored, it can lead the physician down a path where the reward is not monetary or power but one of accomplishment and contentment.

Sadly, in today’s world, many physicians tend to lose this sense of purpose due to a variety of reasons. Most of the time it is the environment in which they choose to practice.  An environment that does not nurture one's sense of purpose will only dull it over time.

But when that sense of purpose is incubated in the right environment, the result is uplifting. A renewal of youth occurs on a periodic basis and the physician continues to enjoy medicine as much as he or she did when they started their first year of medical school. And when others with a similar sense of purpose work together in that same environment, spontaneous chemistry develops. It is highly contagious and results in a deeper and richer environment that most people and professions aspire to but few will ever attain. It is in the county hospital that the academic clinical internist can best hope to create that magic.

~ George Mathew, MD




Written by George Mathew, MD  (1971 - 2014)
Emory University School of Medicine
Grady Memorial Hospital
(Shared in 2010 with Dr. K. Manning and posted with very minor grammatical edits)

***
Happy Monday. Again. And shout out to all the electronic hoarders.  #validation

With Kelly A., one of George's small group students. We promise to take good care of them, George.


What gives YOU a sense of purpose? 
Are you doing it? If not, why?

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Stay Gold, George.

Isaiah helped me edit this picture. He said, "Add a happy face because I can tell he made people smile."



Seize upon that moment long ago
One breath away and there you will be
So young and carefree
Again you will see
That place in time. . . .so gold

Steal away into that way back when
You thought that all would last forever
But like the weather
Nothing can ever. . . and be in time
Stay gold

But can it be?
When we can see
So vividly
A memory
And yes you say
So must the day
Too, fade away
And leave a ray of sun
So gold

Life is but a twinkling of an eye
Yet filled with sorrow and compassion
Though not imagined
All things that happen
Will age to old
Though gold

~ Stevie Wonder

_____________________________

I listened to this song tonight and quietly wept. Especially the stanza that says:

Life is but a twinkling of an eye
Yet filled with sorrow and compassion
Though not imagined
All things that happen
Will age to old
Though gold


Life truly is just that. But a twinkling of an eye. Today I sat on a hard pew in a church. Along with throngs of colleagues, medical students, residents and others, we paid respect to a dear colleague--a golden colleague--who, unfortunately, left us long before his golden years.

Yep.

A team on call couldn't get their attending on the phone. An attending physician who took great pride in caring for his patients at Grady Hospital and who would never leave them high and dry without some good explanation.

When Deanna didn't pick up our kids from after school care on November 15, 2012, I remember uttering aloud to Harry over the phone: "Over her dead body would she leave those kids without calling us." Well. Unfortunately, this was a nearly identical situation. Over his dead body would he leave those patients at Grady.

Sigh.

He was young. Presumably healthy. Cherished by many. And now, in the twinkling of an eye, he has made his transition. Some kind of natural cause, although the timing seems horrifically unnatural. This wasn't supposed to be what I was doing today. No, it was not.

Last week I sat in a meeting with him. Last Thursday evening to be exact. We were about to start a project together with a group of others. The meeting was going over and I whispered to him that I needed to get my kids. He calmly said, "Don't stress it, Kim. You should go to your children. I'll fill you in on the details later."

And you know what? He did.

I guess you'd think that something like this--a young colleague in his 40's having some kind of sudden death after what seemed like an ordinary day--would take me to a dark place. Or at least rip the scab off of my own wound. Particularly since the last time most of my colleagues saw him in the hospital was on November 15--coincidentally the day we said good bye to Deanna. But you know what? It didn't. It broke my heart, yes. But somehow I felt my heels digging down into the ground of my life and the people in it. Reminded, yet again, of that truth Stevie Wonder sings of so hauntingly:

Life is but a twinkling of an eye.

My colleague, George? He lived life like it was golden. He did things with zeal, marched to his own drum, and didn't waste a lot of time worrying about what everyone else thought. He was a dedicated teacher, mentor and friend. A Grady doctor through and through and also a small group advisor who will be survived by four doting small groups of former and current medical students--all broken hearted and reeling from this tragic loss.

But.

Life is but a twinkling of an eye. And somehow George must have known that, too. He left it all on the field. And man. You should have heard the words spoken about him today. I heard someone wise once say, "The value of a man's life is measured in how much of it he gives away." Listening to his family, students and colleagues talking about him today was a clear affirmation of how rich of a life he lived.

I hated seeing his small group students crying. I just hated that part. It also hurt to hear the restrained pain that kept eking out between the words his young niece spoke on behalf of their family. That part felt like deja vu.

Anyways.

Here is yet another charge to us all to live life like it's golden. To love like you mean it. To try the things that seem out of your reach. And to be as intentional as possible. And to not bog yourself down in what other people might think. My friend George did all of these things.

This evening I was running in silence (and actually darkness.) I love stillness like that because in it I can hear and see things that normally I'd miss. This time, I could hear George with his silky accent saying something wise about all that transpired today. Shrugging and saying in his relaxed way,"You know, Kim? Here's the thing: Death brings life. Like, a seed is planted and grows. But only after it has fallen from the tree. You know?" And I smiled and even laughed while I was running because this is the kind of thing that he'd totally say. Something deep, cryptic and Yoda-ish like that-- and words that would make you think for a moment and then say, "Aaaaaaah" -- like 45 minutes later. Ha.

That was George.

He wasn't a father or a husband and his parents preceded him in death. That said, he was a true family man. A doting uncle and so open and giving to all of us. He understood the importance of family and I know that first hand. He always, always helped me out when I asked for a colleague to cover me or when I needed to get out early to get to my children. "That's important, Kim," he'd say. "Go ahead. Get to Isaiah and Zachary." He'd call them by name, too. Funny how the little things become the big things, right?

Sigh.

Again. . .life is but a twinkling of an eye. Tonight I'm reflecting on those words and the life of my colleague and friend, George Mathew. And feeling glad that I had the chance to know him.


And yes you say
So must the day
Too,  fade away
And leave a ray of sun
So gold


***
Stay gold, Georgie.

Now playing on mental iPod. . .and on my real one tonight. . . Stevie singing "Stay Gold." When I see a ray of sun, I will think of you, George.