Big B, Big F.

Whenever I'm down, I call on you my friend 

A helping hand you lend, in my time of need so I 

I'm calling you now, just to make it through 

What else can I do? Won't you hear my plea?

Friends may come and friends may go--

But you should know that 

I've got your back, it's automatic 

So never hesitate to call 

'cause I'm your sister and always for ya 

and I don't know. . . 

I don't know what I'd ever do without you 

From the beginning to the end 

You've always been here right beside me 

So I'll call you my best friend 

Through the good times and the bad ones 

Whether I lose or If I win 

I know one thing that never changes and 

That's you as my best friend

~ Brandy, "My Best Friend"

____________________________________________

I remember my third day of medical school well. Well, not the full day of it but one part in particular. I'd just parked in the lot next to our academic building and had slung my backpack over one shoulder. Since it was the start of the year, I wanted to hustle inside and get a comfortable seat in the lecture hall before it got too crowded.

Yep.

Like always, I was walking fast. But this time, since it was that point at a new place where I was just making my mark, I wanted to be early. With blinders on, I picked up my pace. It surprised me when, despite how quickly I was trucking, someone would decide to sidle up next to me, match my pace and make small talk.

"Hey there! I'm Lisa," the person panted.

Mid-stride, I swung my head to the side and noticed this woman walking lock step with me. I hadn't seen her on the first day of orientation but something about the way she introduced herself made me immediately know that she was just as new to our medical school as me.

"Oh, hey. I'm Kimberly," I replied. I pulled my strap over onto my shoulder and then reached for her hand, legs still moving the entire time. "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to make sure I get a decent seat."

"Oh, no problem. I'm a fast walker, too." Her voice was hi-pitched and her tone was familiar. I noticed that immediately. That and the fact that, like me, she had a smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. She was smiling at me in this warm and easy way. Like an auntie or a neighbor welcoming you into her home for a slice of homemade pie.

"Nice to meet you, Lisa," I finally replied.

Swiftly, she spoke again. "I went to Hampton. Where'd you go to school?"

"Tuskegee." I took a few more steps and then looked back at her. "Hey, Tuskegee and Hampton! We've got the Booker T. Washington connection, right?" I chuckled and offered her a high five. Lisa obliged me, quickly affirming that she knew the association between her fellow Hampton alumnus, Booker T. Washington , who would go on to later found my alma mater in 1881.

She was wearing her sorority jacket. This isn't such an unusual thing for folks who graduated from historically black colleges. The most striking thing perhaps was that it was the first obvious thing we didn't have in common. Lisa was an AKA unlike myself, a recent initiate of Delta Sigma Theta. "AKA, huh?" I feigned a look of disapproval as we continued up the path.

"And proud of it!" she giggled. "Delta?"

"You know it!"

"Mmm. Some of my closest friends have that problem." We both shared a collective laugh as we took the last few steps into the Basic Sciences Building. We diligently found our seats in the freshman lecture hall and started what would be the first of many days just like this.

And the rest, they say, is history. That was the day that Lisa Walker became my best friend. And I guess I say that because every memory after that gets blurry and runs all together for me. That walk from the parking lot has always stood out because it really is impossible for me to get my mind around the time at Meharry or beyond where she wasn't just that--my best friend. It's a title she holds to this very day.

Yep.

Now. As far as close woman-friends go, I am deeply blessed in that area. Without question, my collection of "Ruths" (as I call them) sustains me. And you've heard me speak of that very idea of women being there for women and how important that is. Regardless of marital status, age, sexual orientation or socioeconomic position, women need women. And me? I've been fortunate to have them surrounding me.

Yes, I have.

But a best friend is different. You grow up together and grow through things together. You become uniquely vulnerable to one another. The spinning merry-go-round of joy, pain, sunshine and rain is one that you try your best to cling onto together without getting thrown off. And with best friends you do cling on. Or you get right back on the second you're flung into the sandbox. You mature and learn that love and acceptance are found there like nowhere else. That being you is just fine. Especially with her. Your best friend.

Do I have some other super-duper tight-girl besties? Of course I do. And so does Lisa. But it's weird. There's this unspoken thing between those who enter this kind of friendship that is its own kind of special. Separate from what I share with my blood sisters or my mom. Just. . .I don't know. . . .different. And I guess any woman who knows of this kind of friendship is nodding her head and understanding. Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, having this kind of best friend doesn't undercut or minimize other friendships. In fact, quite the contrary. That kind of friendship makes you a better friend. It keeps you in check and teaches you loyalty.

At least that's what I think.

And you know? Not every woman will know of this. That is, a real, true, bona fide best friend. A Big B, Big F best friend, as my sister Deanna used to call it. Some have "good girl friends" and that's it. Or they're best friends with their spouse--which is fine--but again, different. So no. Not every woman can say she has a ride-or-die, undeniable, go-to BFF. But what I'm saying is that I do. And I'm so, so glad.

Damn, I am.

Anyways. Stay with me. I'm going somewhere.

Okay. So last month, I heard some awful news. A college friend and sorority sister had a sudden death in her home. A massive pulmonary embolism which the doctor in me recognizes as a very ruthless thing to have. What's even worse is that her own mother found her and tried to do CPR. She had two daughters, countless friends and was simply an amazing human being. She truly was.

Sassy and quick-witted. Fiercely loyal and ready to have your back. Thoughtful and attentive.  Her name was Jackie and I'm so glad to have known her. I really am.

Man.

JoLai was the one who told me. She abruptly cut into what had been a lively phone chat and blurted out that she'd just heard it via text message. With emotion in her voice, she quickly hung up and left me to wrestle with that bombshell.

Shit.

Of course, I felt all the things any person feels when hearing of the untimely passing of a peer. But now, my feelings always have this new complexity since Deanna's death. I cried immediately upon hearing the news. Jackie and I didn't talk much so I admit that I wept for her mother first. Then for her daughters. I knew that for her mother, a resilient and strong woman, this unnatural order of events would introduce her to a level of pain unlike any other. I'd seen it up close and personal in my own parents. And that? That broke my heart. And breaks my heart. Because no mother should have to attend her child's funeral.

Nope.

And so. I looked on social media at the beautiful words and photos posted in her memory. Friend after friend reminisced on special moments and priceless memories shared with her in school and beyond. I loved it all, particularly because Jackie was not only my friend but Deanna's close friend. The pictures of Jackie that started popping up often included her friend, my sweet sissy, too. All of it warmed my heart.

It sure did.

But then, as I clicked through post after post, something grabbed me by the neck and squeezed the air out of me. A simple, yet sorrowful post that read:

"I have to say this is the worst day of my life. I feel like someone just ripped my heart out." 

And that was it. No photos. No hashtags. No nothing. But those words, coupled with the knowledge of who wrote them, invoked a sympathy so deep that I had to close my computer and drop my head into my hands.

Those were the words of her best friend.

Shit.

No. Not her close friend. And no, not her very, very, dear friend. This was her Lisa. Her 3am phone call. Her bridesmaid that didn't even need to be asked or assigned since it was a given. The peanut butter to her jelly. The hip to her hop. Any who knew Jackie, knew that she and Joye, her best friend, went back like car seats. Not only had they attended Tuskegee together--they both came there after transferring from Syracuse where they'd met as freshmen. Years, miles, husbands, children, health issues and anything else that could potentially tease them apart never had a chance. These two were like peas in a pod, sisters from another mister. And you know? It was just one of those things that everyone knew. Jackie and Joye were best friends. Big B, Big F friends. And like Lisa and me, I doubt that either of them could ever remember a time that they weren't.

Nope.

And so. After reading Joye's words, it dawned on me what she, too, had lost. I imagined the terrible, raw and gaping hole that had to be throbbing in Joye's chest--or the chest of any person who has just lost THAT kind of friend. Their Big B, Big F Best Friend. Especially one with a personality as big and alive as Jackie's.

Damn.

Of course, my thoughts constantly went to her mother and her two girls. But closely tethered to that would be this relentless, gnawing sympathy for her Big B, Big F best friend.

Yeah.

On and off, I also had these fleeting thoughts of what it would feel like to hear such news about Lisa. The thought made me so immediately nauseous and tearful that I'd do my best to think of something else. Once I even told Lisa all about Jackie and Joye and my morbid thoughts. I could tell that she, too, had never even thought of what that must be like.

Sigh.

When Deanna passed away, I was so consumed with the grief of my family that this thought never crossed my mind either. That is, this specific idea of what Deborah, Deanna's very best friend must have been feeling back then. Or what she feels to this very day.

Hmmm.

So I guess that's what I'm reflecting on this evening. The blessing of living into your adulthood with a Big B, Big F best friend--one with whom you become so close that the whole world knows it, especially the two of you. You know? I wish a Lisa or a Jackie or a Deanna or a Deborah for every woman. Because even when you are surrounded by throngs of amazing friends, having that Big B, Big F one is like climbing into bed with freshly laundered Egyptian cotton sheets.

Comfort on a whole 'nother level.

So yeah, despite how painful the thought is, I have let myself think about what it means for someone to lose that person to death. I try to get my head around it but honestly can't. Instead I've just decided to let it remind me of how blessed I am to have my Lisa. I appreciate how much better we make each other and how much we've grown together through the years. I love that we give one another space for other close friendships. Sometimes they overlap, sometimes they don't. And with your Big B, Big F friend? It's all good.

Yup.

The older I get, the more I see. And I'm okay with expanding my view to include the suffering of others. Today, it includes that of a best friend who is trying to navigate a world that suddenly doesn't include hers.

So to Joye and Deborah and any other Big B, Big F friends who know this unusual grief, I'm so, so sorry. No, I don't know what it feels like to lose a best friend. But I do know what if feels like to have one. That I know for sure.

Yeah.

***

Now playing on my mental Vine.



And my mental iPod. . .

Ain't it good to know that you've got a friend?

"Ain't it good to know 

that you've got a friend?

People can be so cold

They'll hurt you 

and desert you

They'll take your soul if you let them. . . 

.  . . but don't you let them."

~ Carole King

____________________________________

I am so fortunate to have a cohort of very, very good sister-friends. The kind that get so close to you that sometimes you don't know where you end and they begin. Because so much of who you are is intertwined. Overlapping life experiences may have brought you together, but that's not what keeps you together. You know. . .shared things like pledging sorority or going to medical school or doing a residency or working at a place like Grady Hospital. Yes, those things start you off as peers or constituents but what happens next requires two percent choice and ninety-eight percent magic.

Yeah.

I've experienced that magic and am so, so glad that I have. Man, I am. Because when the magic is there, the choice part is easy-peasy. And it doesn't require much effort. Okay, I mean, sometimes it does, but mostly it doesn't. And that's something I'm very grateful for.

Very.

Over the past weekend, three of those magical sister-friends and I aligned our schedules to jump into a car and drive more than seven hours to see another of our sister-friends. A special weekend for five special sister-friends.

Five women who originally overlapped when pledging sorority together at the same college more than twenty years ago and with super busy, grown-woman lives plus or minus children (pleural), husbands (singular), demanding careers, and day-to-day operations that get so crazy at times that even answering a phone call seems like a tall order. But like I said before, when that magic is present, the choice part is easy.

Yeah, it is.

Boy, did we have fun. . . . 

We talked and talked and talked and talked. And laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. And you know? We cried some, too. And all of it was safe and wonderful. It was. There was permission to speak freely without fear of judgement or unwanted repetition or psychoanalysis.

Which, if you ask me, is super, super awesome.

And just. . . .easy.

I've said it here before and I'll say it again. Women need women friends. We need each other to be stronger and better and bigger and brighter. We do.

Beware of the woman with no women-friends. For reals.

So me? I'm fortunate to have my very own collection of magical sister-friends of many beautiful hues from multiple phases of my life. I'm proud to have the ones I have and so happy to know our lives were in the right place at the right time for that magic to happen.

And I'm especially glad we all made the same choice at the same time to keep it that way.

Yeah.

***
Happy Monday.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . I'm equally in love with both versions of this song. It just depends upon my mood. . . but since JT and Donny Hathaway are two of my favorites, I can never go wrong with either.

First, this one from James Taylor (with Carole King):

Love how JT sings in such a quiet and tender way. I always find myself wondering how he found his singing voice. It seems like something that happened by accident. This makes me love him even more.



And next, this soulful rendition from Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway. Good heavens, y'all. I love, love, love the smoky and haunting tone of Donny Hathaway's voice--ESPECIALLY when he comes in on that second stanza. He just KILLS it when he says, "Mmmmmmm, close your eyes and think of me. . . and soooooon I will there. . .to brighten up. . .eeeeeeee-ven your darkest nights." Chile, please. Beyonce's riffs ain't got NOTHIN' on Donny's. He KILLS it, do you hear me? I always yell the same thing the moment he comes in behind Roberta:

"YOU BETTA SING THAT SONG, MR. DONNY HATHAWAY!"

Ha ha ha.



Which version of this classic gets your vote? Who are some of your special can't-live-without sister-friends?

La profesora.

Not bad for an iPhone shot, eh?

"Sister,
you've been on my mind
Sister, we're two of a kind
So sister,
I'm keepin' my eyes on you
I betcha think
I don't know nothin'
But singin' the blues
Oh sister, have I got news for you
I´m somethin'
I hope you think
that you´re somethin' too. . . "

~ Miss Celie's Blues from The Color Purple

 _________________________________

I stood there quietly on the escalator taking in my surroundings. The airport was buzzing with happy and chatty people. Their voices were distinctly different than the Southern twangs typical of Atlanta. From the corner of my eye, I caught a boy lingering next to life sized replica of a legendary Pittsburgh Steeler, Franco Harris.  His mother suddenly realized that he wasn't next to her and hissed at him in a very midwestern-y voice, "Would you come on? Our bags still need PICKED UP!"


Our bags still need to be PICKED UP?

People in Pittsburgh kind of like the Steelers. Like, for real.

Alrighty then. 

That's when I knew for sure--I wasn't in Atlanta any more.

Shortly after I exited the escalator, I saw a man in some sort of black uniform-looking get up standing alone. His shoulders were squared and his legs were stiff; in his hands was a square sign that read: "MANNING."

"I'm Manning," I announced as relief washed over his face.  He scooped my carry-on out of my hand--which happened to be a Lightning McQueen backpack--and hustled over to get my small bag from the rotating belt before I could.  Before I knew it, we were heading away from the airport and onto the highway.

"University of Pittsburgh Medical Center, correct?"

I glanced at the itinerary on my iPhone to be sure. "Yes, sir."

"Are you here for a job interview at the hospital?" he queried.

"Um, not a job interview or anything. . ." I stopped mid-sentence before saying the next part since it felt rather silly. "Uhhh, yeah. . .I'm here as a visiting professor."

He raised his eyebrows, turned the corners of his mouth down like Robert DeNiro and gave a slow, exaggerated nod while turning the steering wheel.  That gesture spoke volumes--"visiting professor" sounded like kind of a big deal.

Visiting Professor. It felt funny saying it. See, the visiting professors that I met over the years were usually older chaps with wizened eyes and thinning gray hairs atop their head. Almost always male, although a few times I'd run across female ones. Even those were seasoned enough to have at least one foot in the retirement door.

So yeah. My good friend and former Grady doctor Shanta Z. suggested to someone that I come there as a visiting professor--despite my lack of Dumbledore-ishness.

Shanta--who'd relocated to University of Pittsburgh after her husband Fernando H. --also a former super-awesome Grady doctor--got a career opportunity that they couldn't refuse. Three years later, Shanta had become the residency program director at one of the largest programs in the country and Fernando's research was booming. And now, here I was coming to see them both on their new turf as a visiting professor.

Something about being a "visiting professor" sounded like it was too much for someone like me, so in my head I renamed myself visiting "profesora." Even though the translation still says the same thing, I like that it's decidedly feminine. That makes it feel a little warmer and fuzzier to me. And nurturing, too. Plus profesora has an added spunk that just isn't found in the English version.

Instead of staying in a stuffy hotel, I had the very best accommodations with Shanta and her family. (Yay!!) I bet regular visiting professors don't get to hear a four year old sing Christmas carols at the top of his lungs while wearing foot-in pajamas or get a five minute Tae Kwon Do demonstration by a seven year old yellow belt. No, they do not. But a visiting profesora? Yes, this is exactly what she gets.

I was a little nervous when I arrived at the hospital on Thursday morning. A room full of unfamiliar residents sat at a table looking in my direction. Looking at me and waiting for me to not only say something professorial, but additionally appearing a little confused by my not-so-professorial appearance. But they had been briefed on who I was already. My fellow profesora, Shanta, had started some sort of drum roll that I now needed to live up to.


Great.

But you know? I found out quickly that these residents were no different than I was as a resident. To them, learning was learning. They were gracious and receptive and welcoming. Plus, Shanta had spoken kind words about me in advance and it was obvious that they all held her in such high regard that I'd at least get the benefit of the doubt.

I met many wonderful people and was treated more like a family member than a visitor. Yesterday morning I gave a lecture to their Academy of Master Educators. I didn't admit to Shanta how nervous I was feeling on our drive to the hospital.  She had made me some coffee and I tried to act cool as both sipped from travel mugs. She pointed out a few Pittsburgh sights along the way; I wondered if what I felt turning in my stomach would become something more.  I didn't have the heart to tell her that talking to a room of people deemed "master educators" was giving me butterflies.

"I am so excited," she said to me genuinely. "You're going to be awesome."

But what if I'm not? 

That's what I wanted to utter but I didn't dare say it out loud. She had enough confidence in me for the both of us, so I drew from it. It was that confidence that prompted the University of Pittsburgh to bring a youngish profesora into their institution for two full days of teaching and networking. I wasn't going to dare make her have second thoughts about it.

When I initially stood before that podium I felt my pulse quickening, but then I glanced over at Shanta whose bright smile and clasped hands allayed the last of my fears. A thumbs up from my fellow profesora saying "You're going to be awesome."

And you know? When it was all said and done. . . I felt pretty awesome. I sure did.


Right now, I'm reflecting on the joy of female friendships. Every now and then, I hear a woman (or usually a girl) say that they don't really "do" female friendships. This is almost always accompanied by some smug shoulder shrug that suggests just how "over" her own kind she is. The pettiness. The back-biting. The cattiness. The . . . girl-ness.

"I don't really fool with females too much. Most of my closest friends are all guys."

Oh, whatever.

I think women need women friends. We sure do. We need them to survive and to be our best.

Now, let me just tell you. . . .I have some wonderful male friends--I do. I am not sure what I would do without people like David M. or Neil W. or Jason S. But no offense, gentleman, my friendships with you are simply not the same as the ones with my fellow girlfriends.

It's kind of like the difference between professor and profesora. Decidedly feminine. . . warmer and fuzzier and more nurturing. Not to mention it has that extra spunk, remember? I think every girl should have some girlfriends she can count on, and every guy should have some close male friends in his corner.

Sure. Harry is my very best friend--but he also has close male friends. In fact, in my pre-BHE days when I used to pray for a life's partner, I always included this -- "God, let him be good to his mother and also have close, good friends. Old friends. Loyal friends. And male friends."

Harry definitely has some female friends and I have no problem with that. But that's not what I'm getting at. I guess I'm always a bit leery of the woman who has no unrelated close girlfriends and equally suspicious of the man who has no homies. Because even though I need Harry, I need my girlfriends and the friends I've found in my sisters and my mom. And Harry needs his male counterparts just as much.

Wait--what was my point again?  I guess my point is that, yes, I came to Pittsburgh as a visiting professor. But having my friend. . .my sisterfriend and fellow profesora there to hold my hand and tell me I'm awesome gave me wings, man. It made my chest poke out a little more and made me project my voice more. And doing a visiting professorship that includes vacillating between questions about work-life balance and resident education and marriage and medical student teaching and raising boys is pretty darn cool if you ask me.

Yeah.

You know? My favorite part of the entire visit to University of Pittsburgh was hearing person after person share accolades about my friend Shanta Z. For being the amazing teacher, leader, physician and person that she is. How glad they are she is there. How wonderful her energy is. From the highest person on that University of Pittsburgh totem pole all the way to the recently hired temp assisting her in the office. Speaking words that I knew already but that I was more than delighted to hear again.

"You are doing amazing things here. I know you miss Atlanta, but you being here in Pittsburgh seems right. You are having such an impact."  I told her that right next to the Delta Airlines Curb Check-in. Because these are the kinds of words women speak to women.

"It was a hard transition," she said quietly. She paused for a moment and added, "You know? After your talk, people said to me, 'Now I see how hard it must have been for you to leave that place.'"

Those words were loaded with more than just a compliment to me. I thought about all of those people and faces in Atlanta that she left behind. Fifteen full years in a place she loved. Yes, I know it was hard. Then I saw the new ones. . . the people growing in their confidence there because of her. The enthusiasm I felt, the buzz of excitement vibrating from those being touched by her in Pittsburgh.

"This is right, Shanta. It is."

She just gripped the steering wheel and sighed hard. That sigh could have meant many things. I decided to just leave it at that.

We put my bag on the curb and smiled at each other. I gave my friend a hug and thanked her before heading into the airport. I told her how proud I was of her and she hugged me back. And we both felt encouraged. Because this? This is what real women-friends do for one another. And women know more than anyone when other women need hugged and encouraged.

Profesora. Decidedly feminine. Warmer, fuzzier and nurturing, too.

Oh. . .and with that added spunk, too-- remember?

***
Happy Sabado.

And now playing on my mental iPod. . . . a song that embodies what is special about having girlfriends.

Taking a load off.

I saw a fellow Grady friend today and we greeted each other like normal. Passing through the hall way, going about our normal every day. Quick small talk. How was Turkey Day? Obligatory pause for expected response: Good and yours? Mouth moving saying "fine" before I could even think about what it was like. Fine. Kind of like saying "muy bien, y tu?" when you don't speak Spanish and someone says "como estas usted?"

Yeah. Fine.

No big deal, though, because it was fine. More than fine, it was great so I added that on, too. So we passed each other and that was that, but then someone asked a question about some mundane thing and I can't really even remember who did. But what I do know is that the second exchange slowed me down enough to see something I hadn't noticed before. Couldn't put my finger on it. A heaviness was there. . . . something hard to explain. 

First thought was to ask. "You okay?" But I didn't because I figured the "yeah, I'm fine" would be just like that "muy bien, y tu?"  Instead I just made more small talk, looking to see if I could figure it out but I couldn't. This was a good friend. But a stoic one. Decided to back off.

But that heavy was there. No. It wasn't in my head.

Oh well.

I got back to my own hustle bustle and went about my business. Much to do, much I've procrastinated on so I'd put it on a post it note in my head for later. Back to work. Eventually allowed myself to forget about that heavy altogether with all my own busy.  But then I ran into my friend again. And there it still was. That heavy.  

But still I waited because sometimes heavy is private. And even when concern is well-meaning it's better to let it wash up like placid waves instead of crashing like surf.  So that's what I did. Waited.

Small talk was where it started. Laughed about this and that and chatted about that and the other. And somewhere in it all, it came out. Just like that the heaviness was explained.

"I'm sorry," I said. "It looked like you were flying on one wing."

"Yeah. . . ."

That was it.  That was all. No dramatic hugs or tears or melodrama. Just a listening ear and a little bit of trust found in an unexpected place. At work.

Imagine that.

You know. . . at Grady we give so much of ourselves to our patients, our learners, and our careers. But each of us is human and connected to lives that extend beyond the walls of the hospital. Today I was reminded of one of my favorite things about working here--these really deep and genuine friendships that I've forged over the years.  A place to put your heavy down and know it's safe.

I've had my heavy on some days and I was so glad to have one of several people see it and feel it and know it. Sometimes that heavy is 100% patient-care related. But many times it isn't at all. And this time was one of those times.

So the placid waves rolled up and the heavy washed away just a little. And that was good.

Every job isn't like this.  But thankfully this one is.

And this? This, too, is Grady.


***

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . Donny Hathaway's haunting voice does this the most justice. Please. . .listen to this and be moved deep in your soul.

It's a beautiful day.

my little godson, jackson.

Last December my best friend, Lisa D., had a baby.  A sweet little baby boy with wide open eyes and kissable cheeks. And although she is nowhere near the first of my friends that I have witnessed enter the mommy-army, something about seeing her become a mother has been unusually endearing.

I still remember the day we met.  It was the first week of our first year of medical school and we had parked near each other in the parking garage.  She struck up a conversation with me on our way into class, introducing herself to me in her very Lisa way and even pointing out that, "Hey, we both have freckles!" We became fast friends, and eventually like sisters.

as freckle-faced medical students, Nashville 1994

Lisa has held my hand through just about every pivotal moment in my life since. From knee-buckling heartbreaks to our medical school graduation to the night Harry and I met all the way up to holding my bouquet as the honor attendant on my wedding day.

she did all the worrying for me on my wedding day.

good and pregnant as her honor attendant.

In those first few days when I first became a mother and sat cross legged on the floor weeping out of frustration from breastfeeding hiccups, she was the one who shrugged and said, "It's okay. You're already an amazing mother. No matter what happens with this breastfeeding thing, Isaiah is still the luckiest baby in the world. . . .so just relax, Kim. Relax and stop trying to be perfect."

I remember and appreciate those words to this very day.

Isaiah with his godmommy, Lisa

Last year when she told me in confidence that she was pregnant I thought I would explode.  I was sworn to secrecy but felt my heart growing with so much anticipation of seeing her become a mother that it was hard to contain.  I tucked a Mother's Day card into her purse last year when she was only a few weeks into the pregnancy, knowing that she'd scold me but not knowing where else to place my enthusiasm.

women can't be friends? ba-loney.

Not everything in life has come easy for my friend Lisa. But getting the motherhood thing? Honestly? It is the role she was born to play. Never have I seen a person make motherhood look more like a piece of cake. I mean it-- Lisa makes every aspect of it look effortless, kind of like stirring pudding batter or drinking water.  Not in that "I'm-the-perfect-mommy-and-I-make-all-of-my-baby's-organic-baby-food" annoying kind of way, either. But in a way that is quietly confident and self assured.  None of the awkward attempts (like I had) at getting her baby to latch on to her breast or those perpetually overwhelmed expressions (like I also had.) No frumpy post-partum-but-still-in-maternity-clothes appearances or hair that looks like a bird's nest. Nope, not her. Even going back to work for her was seamless and easy like Sunday morning.

And I have loved seeing it.  Every second of it.

I'll admit that part of it for me has been selfish. The shared joy of motherhood between us is something I'd looked forward to for years.  And now that it is here? It's a beautiful day.

super-mom

 So today, I am reflecting on the joy of real true friendships. My friendship with Lisa has not been a perfect one--we'd both tell you that. But I can't imagine my life without her in it. So even when we have misunderstandings or growing pains, we've never stopped holding hands. I guess that's what real friendships are about.

more super-mom

So with that in mind, I'm also reflecting on how happy it has made me to personally witness the evolution of a true friend entering a new phase of life. I'm thinking about how it feels to see someone I love so dearly winning.  Because Lisa is winning. Winning at the mommy thing, winning at the life-change thing, and just winning in general.  Which means that, as a person who loves and cares about her, I am winning, too.

never fear. super-mom is here.

You see, friends root for friends. Whether they are winning or losing, they root for each other. They bring snacks after games and clean up boo-boos and say, "You'll get 'em next time." They pat you on the back and nudge you to get back into the game when you'd prefer to hang your head on the sidelines.

And.

They also scream until they're hoarse and wave a big foam #1 finger just for you because you are their home team.  And that's what I'm doing today.  I am standing on the bleachers. Squeezing an air horn. Hollering, "Go! Go! Go! Go!" on behalf of my best friend as she sprints out of the mommy-race blocks.  And she's out in front, man. She's like Flo-Jo leaping over the hurdles with her hair flying behind her, looking beautiful and gazelle-like. And me? I'm head-to-to in best-friend paraphernalia, cheering for her and rooting for her, just as she has done for me over and over and over again.

almost famous super-friends

famous super-friends

Last summer Lisa met Gayle King--as in Oprah Winfrey's bff, Gayle King.  In her very Lisa way, she marched right up to Gayle and introduced herself, sharing details with Ms. King of her own best friend--me.  She went on to tell her that she was "my Gayle."  Ha.  If only she knew how many times she'd been my Oprah.

***

I hope you are rooting for someone.  And even more? I hope that someone special and necessary has been holding your hand and rooting for you, too.

***
Happy Sunday. It's a beautiful day.

Cover me.

photo credit

I remember this one time when I was talking to one of my Grady patients who was dying of AIDS:

"What can I do for you today?" I asked him.

"You can pray for me. By name."

"Ummm. . .okay." That was all I could eke out.

"Will you really?" he pressed. I still remember his gaunt face and hauntingly sad eyes. He was serious.

"I will, sir. I . . I will." I was serious, too.

Later on that afternoon when I was sitting in my office, I replayed that encounter. I thought about his request for me and my promise to do what he'd asked. Right then and there, I closed my eyes, clasped my hands and did just that. Prayed for him. By name. When I opened my eyes again, I felt good. Like I'd offered my patient something much more than a prescription or a diagnosis.

Here's the thing: That particular day, I'd felt so frustrated. I felt helpless in that patient's overall prognosis and like nothing we were doing for him was working. Every day, it seemed like there wasn't anything I could do for him. So this time, I admit that I was slightly relieved that he actually had a suggestion for me that I could at least consider: "You can pray for me." Whew. I think I can do that. But heal you? Cure you? That would be much harder. . . .

For the rest of the hospitalization, I kept it simple, just like his question. Every morning on rounds, I would try my best to not be distracted by anything. Then I'd just hold his delicate hand and ask, "How are you, my friend?"

And.

I also remembered to pray for him. Not in just the "God bless all my patients at Grady" way that I had habitually done before. This time I prayed for him by name. Just as he'd asked. Now that I think of it, I kind of liked the added nudge to be specific.

Today I'm reflecting on all of the things we can do for people that go beyond prescriptions or medical knowledge or material objects. Sometimes our therapeutic alliances (and relationships in general) are strengthened by our authentic presence, be that physical, emotional or even spiritual.

There's this song I like called "Cover me." It's about asking a person to pray for you. It immediately came to mind when my patient made his request. I like to think that "covering" each other goes far beyond prayer. . . . .

Yeah.

Regardless of what you believe, here is something I'm pondering today that I hope you will, too:
 Oftentimes when people ask to be kept in your thoughts and prayers, they mean it. I know this patient did.
____________________________________


Remember to cover me
That I might go in peace
Remember to keep me lifted
That I might go in spirit
Keep my name on your lips
When you pray remember this:
I need you to cover me.


Remember to cover me
That I might go in peace
Remember to keep me lifted
That I might go in spirit
Keep my face on your mind
When you go to God next time
I need you to cover me.

from "Cover Me" by 21:03 (hear it here.)

________________________________________________
~ to my dear friend and fellow Grady doctor. . . .you know who you are. Your face is on my mind, my friend. Know that I am covering you. I am.