Awoke to a nice, quiet house. Spent a solid, uninterrupted hour on the sunroom couch reading on my e-reader-Nook-thingie which I have decided is a really cool thing to have and is decidedly more book-like than reading on an iPad. The sky is cloudless and everything is so peaceful that I feel like I am exactly inside of the book I am reading. Zen.
Only 6:45 a.m. Not a sleeper-inner so feel like I am doing exactly what I want to be doing which is exactly what you should be doing on this day if you are a mother. Speaking of which: in that moment made the executive decision that, as regular frequenters of church, Team Manning wouldn't go today in an effort to avoid the masses of irregular frequenters surely to descend upon churches near and far for one of the wholly-moly! trinity of church-going days: Christmas, Easter, and Mother's Day. Lord, forgive me.
Manning males awoke and pounced on me one at a time, including the 200+ pound one, which kind of knocked my wind out, but made me laugh. Am removed from 1962 Mississippi, the setting of my book, but decide that this place is better.
"Happy Mother's Daaaaay!!!"
Smooches abound, hugs, and even a high compliment from Zachary who said, "You look pretty even in your pj's and your glasses." He is 150% serious, which I love. I am then treated to a medley of Zachary songs that happen to be all from "School House Rock."Gnarly.
Next comes an offer to go out for a fancy brunch-breakfast that I swiftly decline, requesting a super-simple Mother's Day morning with no-frills fare. The BHE returns with McDonald's pancakes through the drive thru, a bagel from Panera for me, Dunkin Donuts coffee--all enjoyed at our kitchen table without a wait or reservation required. Laughter everywhere. Sweet phone calls and text messages coming in. Sun shining. And all of us shining, too. Feeling super special and like I am surely the best mom ever.
Table cleared. Soccer cleats located. Shin guards paired. World continues to turn. But still feeling like the best mom ever.
And then this:
Isaiah: "Hey Mom. Have you seen my Nintendo DS?"
Me: "It's in the kitchen."
Isaiah: "Oh no! I just remembered that I didn't charge it!"
Me: "Well, seeing as you have the best mom ever, your DS is fully charged, my child. See?"
Me pointing at his Nintendo DS portable game plugged into the socket. Isaiah smiling and hopping up and down like a mini-kangaroo.
Me: "Now riddle me this, you handsome little six-year-old you. . . . what has two thumbs and is the best mom ever?"
Isaiah: "Mom?"
Pointing thumbs at myself and dancing in a way that would embarrass all members of my family, and even you as a reader of this blog.
Isaiah: "Mom?"
Me: "Yes?" (still dancing)
Isaiah: "Every mom is the best mom ever. Not just you, Mom, okay? Especially if they are giving their very best effort at being a mom."
Stop my dance and look at him, sideways smiling. His face is serious and thoughtful. My heart is two pumps away from exploding.
Me: "I love you, old man."
Now know for certain that I am the best mom ever. And so are you.
***
This kid has deep thoughts, I tell you.
Happy Mother's Day to the best moms, grand-moms, play-moms, step-moms, god-moms, dad-moms, almost-moms and in-heaven moms ever.
This morning in church we heard a message about "the kind of love that every family should have." I liked it because it was simple and perfect. And for everyone.
Every family should have love that is unconditional.
Every family should have love that is sacrificial.
Every family should have love that is eternal.
Hmmm.
During these times, no matter how you define that word "family," that sounds like some good lovin' to have if you ask me.
::smiling::
I hope your day, your heart, and your family are all filled with a love that is unconditional, a love that is sacrificial and a love that springs eternal.
No matter what.
*** Happy Easter.
Look at fancy us dressed in our Easter Sunday best at our favorite fancy, highfalutin, after-church restaurant:
"La Gaufre Chambre"
(also known as "The Waffle House" for those who ain't quite as classy as us Mannings.)
Becoming a doctor is such a selfish walk. You declare a major in college and then you work super hard to make excellent grades. You align yourself with equally studious people (some of whom seem really cool on the exterior but are secretly as nerdy as you) and together you perpetuate the belief that you must, must, must study super, duper hard.
To get an A in Biology 101.
To get an A in Organic Chemistry.
To set the curve in Physics 102.
Then the MCAT rears it's ugly head. Because you want to go to the medical school of your choice, and because you'd prefer to not be explaining that, yes, I realize that I will graduate magna/summa cum laude yet I was having a bad day when I took the MCAT or although I was top of my major in pre-med I am not a strong standardized test taker therefore I am hoping this can be overlooked. So you purchase fat books and programs and bury your nose and your life into them.
And then you get into medical school.
Your parents/study partners/high school teachers/everybody remotely connected to your parents celebrates. And you do that dance that Snoopy used to do when he was super happy. You imagine yourself in a white coat dropping all kinds of diagnostic bombs like House, but without his drug problem. You envision your arms folded on rounds pontificating a clinical dilemma. You see the legions of patients whose lives will be better because of you, the one doctor who always listens/never rushes them/treats them with respect.
You arrive at your medical school -- and then. You meet a new posse of super driven folks; even more super driven than the people from your college/university. The stakes are higher. Everyone is going over $150,000 in debt, so failure is not an option. At all.
So you study like crazy. You have fun on the weekends after exams, yes, but always looming behind you is the need to achieve, achieve, achieve. So that you can have your pick at the next level. So that when you go for residency interviews, you aren't saying things like, yes, I did do well in medical school but I am just not a strong standardized test taker, or see, the preclinical curriculum was tough for me, but I came into my own when I started clinicals which is why I got all honors on my rotations including medicine and surgery.
You miss some things.
Even things you shouldn't have.
But you get so worried about achieving that it seems okay.
You fret a bit.
And on some days, you fret a lot.
Then, if you're lucky, you match in the residency of your choice. Your family celebrates. You want to do pirouettes and, if you aren't too cool at this point, you actually do them. Or even the Snoopy dance. On commencement day you see the proud look in your parents' eyes which, unbeknownst to you, has as much to do with the fact that you are now a doctor as it does the fact that you are a gainfully employed doctor to boot.
A doctor with a job.
You enter internship. And it starts all over again. New road dogs. New challenges. New hurdles to jump. Do I want to do a fellowship? Oh my, then I need to be the best thing since running water and Estee Lauder on every rotation. Especially the ones in the specialty of my choice.
And so.
After all this, at some point the dust settles and you finish your training. Suddenly you have a little more time and a little more money. You emerge from the cloud of me, me, me and realize that, oh yeah, there were other people who may or may not have been in medicine there along the way. Or they sort of were, except on an attentiveness scale of one to ten you were, at best, a solid five.
If you're lucky, somebody thumped your head early in this process and you had a wonderful partner to hug you tight and call you "hon" instead of doctor, doctor, doctor. Or. You could be someone who had your head thumped early, yet fickle fate never brought prince or princess charming from out of the stacks of the library or from perusing the shelves in your favorite Starbucks study haunt to love you forever and ever.
So you worry. You wonder. Wait, what's really important? Oh yeah, more than just me and my medical milestones.
Oh yeah.
***
Today is my husband Harry's birthday. And for this reason, I am reflecting on achieving what is really important. Whether you are a doctor. Or a nurse. Or any other kind of uber-achiever. Relationships with the people who matter most are what's most important. If you get a chance to narrow it down to one super-special person, hot damn. You've hit pay dirt.
Yeah.
For a while during and especially after my residency I worried about that. All that hard work. All the studying and gunning to "get there" to the promised land of doctor-hood. But my dust settled and I looked to my left and my right and with the exception of my (wonderful) immediate family, it was just me, myself, and I. Oh yeah, and my professionally framed medical degree.
I wanted a love for my soul. But it hadn't happened and it wasn't happening.
Damn.
What frustrated me most was the fact that I couldn't just work at it and study for it to achieve it. There was no intense review book for finding a love for my soul. And for nerdy academic types, that was a hard pill to swallow.
After some (very) unappealing dates and some (majorly) dead end getting-to-know-yous, I decided something very simple: I couldn't force this particular milestone. No amount of studying would get me there. Instead, I focused on myself, but in a different way. At thirty one, I made a pact with myself to not waste a single moment on any human being who had not gotten the memo on my awesome worth. I didn't want to be seen on the arm of Mr. It's-not-you-it's-really-me when the love for my soul came walking by. So that's what I did. Oh yeah, I also decided to make every effort to just be content with me in the interim.
It was worth a try.
Two weeks later, I met Harry. And just like that, I felt a different reason to strive other than me. Because finally, after all of that studying and trying and worrying and praying and waiting and achieving, I'd found the pièce de résistance. The one I'd been hoping and praying for. I'd found a love for my soul.
And sure, it probably sounds nauseatingly cliché, but that's okay. Because love does that to you. Especially a love for your soul.
Now that's a reason to do the Snoopy dance.
***
A love for my soul that led to two bonus loves for my soul.
So this one's for you, Harry.
Thank you for being a love for my soul and the best and most important achievement I never studied to attain.
~ K.M.
___________________________________________ Now playing on my mental iPod. . . .
Los días más dulces sabremos ~ The sweetest days we'll know
"All the while
Life is rushing by us
Hold it now and don't let go. . .
These are the days. . . The sweetest days we'll know
So we'll whisper a dream here in the darkness
Watching the stars 'til they're gone
And when even the memories have all faded away
these days go on and on. . .
Listen now. . . . you can hear our heartbeat
Hold me now and don't let go
These are the days. . . . Everyday is the sweetest day we'll know."
from Vanessa Williams "The Sweetest Days"
______________________________________________________________________
A few months ago, I was sitting in clinic when I got paged by my friend and fellow Grady doctor, Stacy H.
"Bought my ticket. I'm going whether you back out or not. It's official. A done deal."
She was referring to the wedding of two of our favorite Grady doctors, Paulina and Russell. They had both finished our residency program a few years back where they met and fell in love. Paulina served as chief resident at Grady two years ago, and during that year Stacy and I had even more of an opportunity to get to know and love her. When she invited both of us to her wedding in Mexico City (her hometown), we both felt so honored.
"I'm going, for real," Stacy announced way back when Paulina and Russ sent us the "Save the Date" card.We had conversed about the thoughtfulness of being included, and tossed around how nice it would surely be to see such a great couple tie the knot.
"I want to go. . . ." I responded, already making a list of the twelve thousand reasons that I wouldn't be able to make it.
Why I can't/shouldn't/likely won't go to Mexico City by Kimberly
Guilt. Stuff. Kids.
Life. Deadlines.
Guilt. Stuff.
Husband.
Work.
Stuff.
Cost.
Guilt.
Guilt.
Guilt.
"Well, I think we should really go. And I'm really going," Stacy repeated firmly. She meant business. "And by the way, all the reasons that you are listing that you can't go -- because I know you and that that's what you're doing-- just stop it. I have the same issues. And I'm going."
I chuckled as I thought about the truth in that statement. Stacy H. is not only a mother of two, she's a full time faculty, a residency program director, and an appropriately frugal wife just like me. That day, I told her that I was up for it, and insisted that I was really going to go, too. For real.
But that was back then when all I had was a Save the Date card in my hand. Now this thing had gotten to be much more than a hypothetical chat. Stacy H. had really bought her ticket. She was serious. She really was going. For real.
Okay, so this is the part of the story where I tell you about how I came up with some lame excuse about how "Things are just so crazy around here that I can't go" or "Man, I really wish I could but I'm going to have to turn it down." And even if I didn't say those things immediately, the only other alternative ending would be one where I logged on to Delta Airlines, gasped at the ticket prices, and THEN said the aforementioned things.
But Stacy H. was right. It was so easy to come up with reasons why I couldn't go. So easy, in fact, that until that moment, it had never occurred to me that I would actually go through with it. For real.
I called Harry to ask his thoughts. The guilt about taking an international jaunt without him (the plan was for it to be just Stacy H. and me) was putting me into a tight headlock. I searched Harry's voice for the slightest trace of anything that sounded like reluctance or passive-aggressive refusal.
"Awww, babe, that sounds great," he coolly answered instead. "You really liked Paulina a lot, too. I remember that chief group. That would be cool if you and Stacy went. You should go."
Dang.
And so. Right then and there, I threw caution (and guilt) to the wind and bought my ticket. To Mexico City. For the international wedding of two Grady doctors.
What a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful time we had. And would you believe that more than fifteen other Grady doctors came all the way to Mexico City to witness their wedding, too? That idea alone makes me all teary.
Sigh.
Right now, I am in reflective overload. I don't even know where to start. . . .
I think I'll just start by mentioning a few thoughts that are swirling around my head right now:
Love is beautiful in every language.
Love does not require an interpreter.
Tears of joy look the same in every country.
So do proud daddies and proud mommies.
Sigh again.
On the flight back, I watched the movie "The Kids are Alright." I think I was in such an emotional state from the wedding festivities that it took very little to make me cry, which is what I did for twenty minutes straight at the end of that movie. The man next to me on the plane (who spoke very little English) kept giving offering me tissues and even patted my hand for consolation. (See? Told you tears require no translation.)
After watching Paulina and Russ (and "The Kids are Alright") here's what I can tell you is the sho' nuff truth:
Love is love.
Joy is joy.
El amor es el amor. La alegría es la alegría. . . .
(Oh yeah, and "YAAAAYY!!!" sounds the same in every translation.)
So glad I was there. So, so glad. . . .for real.
Grady doctors celebrating Grady doctors.
Reminding myself and you to stop talking ourselves out of enjoying and savoring los días más dulces sabremos. :) ______________________________________ More to come. . . . . .
Honestly? I write this blog to share the human aspects of medicine + teaching + work/life balance with others and myself -- and to honor the public hospital and her patients--but never at the expense of patient privacy or dignity.
Thanks for stopping by! :)
"One writes out of one thing only--one's own experience. Everything depends of how relentlessly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give."
~ James Baldwin (1924 - 1987)
"Do it for the story." ~ Antoinette Nguyen, MD, MPH
Details, names, time frames, etc. are always changed to protect anonymity. This may or may not be an amalgamation of true,quasi-true, or completely fictional events. But the lessons? They are always real and never, ever fictional. Got that?
