Sign language.

 

"Hey Mom? This is Isaiah-sign-language for 'I love you all the way to Pluto' -- okay?"

"Pluto? Man, that's far."

"Really to infinity, but you know what I mean."

***

You make a grown man cry.

"You make a grown man cry. . . ."

~ Mick Jagger in "Start me up."

That first day you went off on me and everyone else.

"I'm in pain!" you yelled in no particular direction.

"I will work on your pain," I said back to you, my voice decidedly softer than yours.

"Yeah, right." That's what you retorted. Phtooo. Take that.

The next day I ask you, "How do you feel?"

Again you light me up, this time threatening to kick me out altogether.  "Worse! Worse! I'm in pain! Y'all got my medicines all confused and I'm still in pain!"

And see, you have a reason to be in pain. This is not some "soft call" where you have a little ache in your back or a visit from Arthur-itis.  No, this pain is legit. And this analgesia you're calling out for is warranted.

I take your venom and withstand your anger because I know it's really at the pain and not me. And, seeing as you're a born-at-Grady elder who happens to be old enough to remember the segregated "Gradys", then that gives you license to go off whenever you feel ready.

"Okay, let me compare your home medications to what we are doing here," I reply.  "Were your home medications helping at all?"

"They were working better than what y'all doing! This don't even seem like it's as much as what I was getting at home and I thought I was s'posed to be getting my pain medicines worked out. This is some bullshit."

"Sir. . .I'm sorry. Please. . .let me look at--"

"Get out, please. Just get out. I need some rest. I'm tired and my body is hurting. Just go."

"Okay. I'm going to put you back on your home medicines and then move up from there. Okay, I'll leave now."

"And turn my television that YOU shut off back on 'fore you go."

"Yes, sir."

"And get that bright ass light, too."

I click it off on the way out and leave with my tail between my legs.

As a team we carefully reconcile your home medicines with your hospital medicines. Looks like we were a few milligrams under what you'd been getting, and we bring it all to speed by changing the orders.

The third day I come in to see you and your back is to me.

"Hey there, sir. I'm making my rounds and I'm here to see about you."

No answer.

"How are you feeling?"

"Terrible."

"Terrible?"

"Terrible."

"The medicines aren't taking the edge off?"

"It helped a little bit, but now I feel sick to my stomach. My bowels are loose, too."  Your voice is quiet and defeated. This is different. . . and it scares me.

"We put you back on what you were getting at home and--"

"I know that. Soon as you said that yesterday I started. But now all I feel is sick."

"I'm sorry. . . what do you mean by 'as soon as I said that?' Do you mean the nurses told you it was a new dose?"

"What?"

"The medicines. You said you started as soon as I said something? That part confused me. Just wanted to get clear."

You reach under the bed and pull out a plastic Kroger bag full of pills. "No, I'm talking about my home medicines that you said to get back on. These here."

Wait, huh?

"Sir. . .wait. You're taking. . .hold up. . . you're taking these . . . and the ones we're prescribing in the hospital?"

"I did what you said." You point straight at me. You are talking about ME. Not my intern. Not my resident.

"What I said? You mean you are opening these bottles and taking these pills in the hospital?"

"Just the pain pills. Just those like you was talking about." You pull out a bottle and show me. "I took two of these here."

I look and then read the bottle. You have just shown me some Reglan to help with digestion. This is not a pain medicine at all. "This is what you took, sir?"

"Yes, I took my pain pills from home. That's what you said!"  Your voice is rising higher and cracking a bit. Your repeat yourself. "You said to get back on my pills from home!"

Briefly, I'm relieved that you didn't take double the amount of narcotic pain medicine, but that is only fleeting.  I squeeze my eyes and rub my forehead with the heel of my hand and sigh. "Sirrrr. . ." My voice sounds scolding, even though I don't mean for it to sound that way. "Noooo. .  .noooo. . . .you're never supposed to take your pills from home when you're in the hospital. This could really--"

That was it. That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Your face melted into frustration and tears began shooting out of your crinkled eyes. You shriek out, "I DON'T KNOW!!! I DON'T KNOW!!!  I DON'T UNDERSTAND THIS! I DON'T UNDERSTAND THESE MEDICINES!!!"  Your body is limp and your shoulders slump. And you weep. An exhausted, exasperated, tired weep.  "I'm tired of the pain. I just want to stop my body from hurting. This illness going all through my body. . . I know it ain't a cure but they said. . . you said you would help my pain. Please, please. . . .help me."

Your hands are shaking and your lips are quivering. Each word is punctuated by your throaty cry. That cry sounded like it had been bottled up for all seven of your decades and I had just rubbed it out just like some kind of genie. It rose out into the hallway, first slithering around my head and strangling my neck.

I stood there dumbfounded.  My face felt like it was on fire and my eyes blinked like some kind of involuntary tick to fight back the rapidly forming tears. I dared not talk. I had done enough.

I reached down and patted the bed, looking at you for permission to sit beside you. You nod, still crying. . . now trickling off into restrained manly crying instead.

And so I sat next to you in silence. I held your hand and wiped your cheek with some paper towel since it was the only thing sitting on your tray table. Then, when you were ready, we started over. Going through each medicine one by one. . . opening the bottles, pouring out each pill, and making it more concrete.

You told me that sometimes it's hard to see the words on the pill bottles and that even when you can, sometimes it's hard to read them depending on the words involved.  I tell you I should have asked that and I apologize for what feels like the one hundred-trillionth time.

Then, eventually we get somewhere.  I excuse myself with your permission and share this with the other members of our team. The intern, the resident, the pharmacist, the students. I let them see how ashamed I feel and how much it hurt my heart to see you cry. Yes, you. A grown man. Their faces look sorry, too, and I say nothing to blow it over or shrug it off because you being confused and in pain and frustrated just isn't acceptable. So together, we vow to do better.


And so we do.


On the fourth day you were smiling. A big beautiful, nearly toothless smile. . . lighting up the room and even the hallway.


"How do you feel today?"


"Spectacular."


"Spectacular?"


"Spectacular."


***
Happy Wednesday.

Ode to a dreamer: So long.

Ain't no party like a Uganda party. . .

For my friend and former Grady doctor, Kris . . . who will soon be leaving on a jet plane. . .


Ode to a dreamer:  So Long.

For so long
this is what you've wanted to do
this is what has tugged at your heartstrings
and slipped in and out of your daydreams
for so long

For so long
you thought, "There is no way"
no way that anyone else would be on board
and definitely no way that someone could be excited even
to do what you want to do
when you want to do it

Some way, somehow your dreams overlapped at the right time
and now
they are one reality
and now
dreams and realities are overlapping, too

For so long
I listened and heard you speak of it
eyes all dancing
hands all animated
and a little tremulous with excitement
because it's happening
it's really happening

For so long you leaving seemed further away
and where you were going didn't seem so far away
But it is
and the reality is
You won't be around the corner
or laughing out loud across from me at neighborhood restaurants
or clinking wine glasses in kitchens with artwork on the refrigerator
I mean, yes, you will in spirit
but not in person you won't
Nope, you won't
But that's okay

Because today it hit me
you'll be gone for so long
living your dream that you've been having
for so long
which ultimately makes me more happy than sad
and celebratory and glad
that you are bringing new meaning to the words
"Going there"

So long, my friend
so long

image credit

***

Kris Reid is my good friend and (former) fellow Grady doctor. In a few days, along with her husband Mike and their three children, she is moving across the world to Uganda. To some of you reading this, it sounds completely crazy to do that. To others of you, I know for sure that you are reading this from the other side of the world you once knew. . . . . getting it and digging it and feeling it. (NOLA and Charmayne. . .I know y'all are getting it and feeling it!)

I always laugh and tell Kris that--NO, MA'AM--I did not get the "move to the motherland" gene. At all. Matter of fact, I barely even got the "leave my house and my routine for more than a week" gene. But that's okay because I don't need to share her dream to appreciate it and believe in it.  And honestly? I don't waste a lot of time trying to dissect peoples' dreams either. Because look, man--I'm just happy to be trusted with it in the first place, especially trusted with one of your biggest, baddest, best-est dreams. And if you ask me, the very best-est dreams stretch us the farthest and often garner the most hairy eyeballs. Which should make the dreamer dream even bigger.

I went to a going away gathering for Kris and Mike on Saturday and I felt the weirdest mixture of happy and sad. I felt their nervous anticipation and how in sync they were with each other. It was inspiring, man. Mostly because I remember when she told me this dream to move to Uganda which led me to say, "Did you say 'UGANDA?' As in, Uganda-Uganda?" 

To which she just nodded hard and smiled like Mike had just proposed on bended knee.

Now that. . .that was a while back. And this? This is like a few days away.  So I am happy and sad to see my friend go.

But mostly happy.

You go, girl.

***

Alright, y'all. What is your dream?  What are you doing about it?

(That's for you to answer to yourself. . . not me. )

Haiku: Firsts and Foremosts.

First day of Pre-K!

And--two years ago--this blog

(Big time first grade, too.)

***

Happy 2nd Birthday to Reflections of a Grady Doctor! Thank you so much for reflecting with me!  ~ KM :)

Top Ten: Soul Food.

 "Come and get your soul food. . .well, well

Good ol' fashioned soul food. . . alright

Everything is for free

As good as it can be

Come and get some soul food."

~ Goodie Mob featuring Cee-Lo Green

  _______________________________________________
First things first--- I know, I know. I've been pretty raggedy about my . . .ah hem. . ."Thursday" top ten. But seriously? Life moves too fast sometimes and I look up and it's not even Thursday anymore. So yeah. . . I need to revise it to just "top ten" to afford me the chance to not get the hairy eyeball when it's not up yet. Errrr. . . yeah.

Okay. . .so from here on--let's just say I'm keeping it. . . uuuhhhhh. . . mysterious. Yeah, that's it. Kind of like my People magazine that comes on any damn day it wants. Sometimes early the following week even. (Which reminds me--why the heck haven't I gotten the one with Amy Winehouse yet?! Arrrrgggh!)

Uuuuhh, okay. Let's get on to more unimportant things, shall we?

Freaked-out Friday. . . .

Okay, so on Friday I was so busy. Like, crazy busy. The morning started with my regular household craziness made crazier by the early hit time I had at the school of medicine. Any time I have something early--too early--it sends my house (read:my husband) into a tailspin.

Bananas.

Next up--a small group session with my brand new first year meds. They all spent a week shadowing interns and third year med students on the wards and we all met up to debrief their experiences. In addition to hearing their impressions of medicine as they walk the fine line between layperson and medical person for the last time, I asked them all to write a letter to their future doctor selves from their novice doctor selves.  For example:

"Dear Future Me,

Don't ever forget to listen to your patients.  Never forget to be in awe of the privilege of doing this. . .

 Sincerely,

M1 Me."

Pretty amazing stuff.

Okay, so we bonded and laughed and got all cozy. I looked at their faces and watched their mannerisms carefully. Thinking about how familiar it would all become and savoring the newness of this time. Next I asked them to describe themselves in one word. My new small group (aka SG Gamma) is:

• adventurous
• neurotic
• humble
• sarcastic
• relaxed
• curious
• organized

They also seem pretty fun. Score!


Finally, after all of that, I hightail it over to Grady to round. I meet up with my resident and by the time I get there it's after lunch. Even though my tumbly is super rumbly, we hit the ground running. She brings me to speed on all of our patients that she'd managed with care all morning long. Lucky for me she was all over everything and we had a great time rounding. She taught me about Chinese names and the meaning behind hers. After that, I ask her if it's okay for me to call her by her Chinese name--"Chenlu"--because I think it's such a lovely name. She obliges.

So Chenlu and I stamp out disease all over Grady all afternoon and finally, finally we finish up and I have a minute to breath.

I am starved at this point. Famished both gastronomically and mentally. It's well after 3 PM by now and seriously? I just need a minute. My soul feels good from patient care but also drained a bit, too.

Do you ever feel that way? Full and hungry at the same time? Well, I do. My soul gets like that. . . .especially on crazy days like this.

And so. I take me a minute. Just like that. A minute for me.

I walk right out of the hospital and down Jesse Hill Jr. . . .to feed my stomach and my soul. . . .with some soul food.

Today I bring you something very simple. . . . 


The Top Ten Things I did after rounding on Friday to feed my soul.

#10 -- Kicking it to the Curb (Market.)

First, I took a walk to the curb market. The Sweet Auburn Curb Market is right up the street from Grady--and seriously? It has some of everything. Everything, do you hear me? Yes, there is food there. But the people, the noises, and the energy? The best.

#9 - Soul Food for real.

Here is my late, late lunch that I had on Friday. Sho' nuff soul food, for real. Collard greens, cabbage, fried corn shucked right off the cob, and black-eyed peas. And yes, people. That is a "hoecake" you see behind all that yummy goodness. (That would be a cornbread pancake, for you folks that don't know nothin' 'bout the dirty south.)

(Oh--and for the record--no hamhocks were harmed in the preparation of this food.)

#8 -- Talking to Mimi and Fred

Mimi and Fred are the couple that own the Metro Deli where I had that delicious veggie plate. I love sitting at the counter talking to them about anything and everything, especially when the lunch crowd has died down. This day, I was asking Mimi how she got so good at making American southern fare even though she was raised in Ethiopia. She told me that "soul is soul" and that as long as you have a "hand for spice and a feel for soul" then you can't go wrong.

She never does.

#7 -- Peeping out the vegetable stands in the curb market

This made me think of you, Sister Moon!

Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, the line is out the door at the Sweet Auburn Curb Market. This is where folks come to get their big bunches of collards, turnips, kale, and mustards. (See, when you live in the south, you get on a first name basis with your greens.) I can personally attest to the yummi-ness of these fresh vegetables. They are a crapload harder to clean, but it's worth it.

And they're dirt cheap, too. It's win-win.


#6 -- This I just looked at.

Ever wonder what they do with the rest of the pig? Wonder no more. A quick stroll up the street from the Gradys and the mystery will be over.

0_0

Um, yeah. (Sorry, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.)


#5 -- Checked out these Big A-- Sweet Potatoes.

One day I was buying some sweet potatoes at this station and one of them started crying for a diaper change. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but damn these yams are as big as somebody's baby! At least a 39-weeker, for real.

0_o

All I'm sayin' is this--one of these can make five pies. And a souffle for a family of six.

#4 -- Sweet Tea.

This is what annoys me about any travel west of the Mississippi--unsweetened tea! Dude! Keep your Sweet n' Lo and your Kool Aid. Give me some sweet tea. . . .I'm talkin' sweet tea that's still kind of warm from being brewed. . . and I'm all good.

Which reminds me. Mimi and Fred have yummy sweet tea.


#3 -- Gold Fronts.

This brother with gold fronts smiled at me wide and happy in the curb market. No, it wasn't Puff Daddy, but his golds were on the bottom row like this. Anyways. He waved from across the market and said,

"I see you, ma! I see you doin' your doctor thing! That's what's up."

And then he nodded and gave me two thumbs up.  It was kind of sweet.



#2 -- The Med Students.

One of these four guys gave me a hand-written card that I slipped into my pocket before walking to the curb market. It may have possibly been one of the kindest things I have ever received from any learner in a very long time. I read it at the Mimi and Fred's counter and it totally caught me off guard and made me tear up.

Mimi asked me what was wrong, and I told her nothing was wrong. Nothing at all. I simply let her read the card. She teared up, too.

#1 -- A minute to myself.

After all of that, I walked down the street toward Grady and felt the sun pouring all over my face and shoulders. I received it . . . .and then just looked around me. I smiled at the people passing by and said hi to the ones I knew and the ones I didn't know, too. I even hugged one Grady elder who said, "I be seeing you on Fox 5! Can I have a hug?" And I said, "Only if I can, too!"

Next I slipped into my office and took my shoes off. . . and leaned waaaaaaay back into my chair and reread that thoughtful, handwritten card. . . . . .

Yeah.

My stomach was full of soul food and my soul was fed, too. Yes, it was.

***
Happy Soul-filled Sunday.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . .before ATL-ien Cee-Lo Green was on mainstream iPods. . .

Side effects.

This picture was taken on rounds the other day. . .just two seconds after my resident and I sang "Happy Birthday" to one of our patients. We sang it loud and proud and our patient just smiled and smiled.  Man, how she smiled. My favorite part was the part where she was singing with us and substituted "Happy Birthdaaaay, dear ME-EEEE" for the part where we said her name. I also loved how she was waving her fingers high and animated like a conductor leading an orchestra through a beautiful masterpiece concerto.

People were wondering what the commotion was about and sticking their head in there and everything. That made her smile even more and us sing even louder and prouder. She then said, "Wow. I feel so special."

Yeah.  That's what she said. And isn't it cool for someone to say that to you on their birthday? Because really, isn't that your goal on somebody's birthday? Like, isn't it really?

We examined her carefully and compared our findings that day on rounds. Next we wrote orders for her medications and discussed the progress of what had her hospitalized. Yes, we did the business part and answered all of the questions, too. We crossed the 't's' and dotted the 'i's' and made sure about the things that needed to be made sure of. We sure did.

But the best therapy we had to offer that morning on rounds was when we sang "Happy Birthday." Loud and proud. . . .


Man. I love it when "feeling special" is a side effect of our treatment.

***
Happy Sunday.

Q and A.

 This week on rounds at Grady. . . . .

Just finished up talking to one of my patients about what was going on with his body. Serious things were on the top of the list--all of them dealing with big organs in his body with important uses. First up? The liver. We go into the issues with how his liver is functioning and also how important the liver is to the body.

"Your liver is kind of like a giant filter and a plant that manufactures all sorts of important things." He seemed to like that description, so I keep it moving.

Next are lungs and test results related to those.  I launch into this whole soliloquy about his x-ray results and what they may or may not mean. I review the level of his oxygen that day and what I was hearing when I put my stethoscope to his chest.

Lastly, I discuss the goals of care. What he can expect, what we are looking into, what we still aren't sure about. I draw pictures on a sheet of white paper and add arrows to help him get the point. The whole process, complete with his queries for clarification took quite some time.

He looks somewhere in between being with me and being bored. Which is better than bored only.

Finally, I ask a simple question. "What questions do you have for me?"

And, seeing as he is looking partially bored, I prepare for a predictable response of "nothing" -- but, see, am already positioning myself to ask the same question again in a different way.  "What questions do you think your family would have for me--or you when they call you?"

"None."

Dang. None? No questions? Come on. There's got to be at least one question. And if there is at least one, I want to know it.

Because I am rounding by myself and this is a good time for us to just talk and talk and for him to just ask and ask. Time is on our side and I am not under any pressure to leave or run to the med school or dash off to a meeting. So I want to know, for real, "What questions do you have for me?"

And finally, finally, finally he looks at me with his strikingly jaundiced eyes and his sallow complexion. He doesn't speak he just stares after I ask for the umpteenth time, kind of like he's trying to tell if I really want to know what concerns him. And I wait patiently to show him that I do really want to know.

"Okay. I do got one," he eventually says. "But you may not know the answer to this question."

Hmmm.

"You are right. I might not. But it's worth a try. What is the question?"

Could it be a question to clarify a medical term I inadvertently used? Probing concerns about prognosis, perhaps?  Maybe he would point out an issue with a medication like "this one gives me diarrhea" or "that one make my head swimmy."  Either way, he had one and that preface made it sound like it was a good one.

And so. I wait for him to ask. And finally he did.

The question?


"What's a brother got to do to get a good CAPPUCINO up in this piece?"


No. Not kidding.  That was his question.

And yes. He was right--I didn't know the answer.


***
Happy Wednesday.



Clearly this is playing on my mental iPod. . . . .

Tuesday.

Here was today. . .


Gave a lecture this morning at 7-something in the morning for a Board Review/Medical Update program. At the end of my lecture as I prepared to leave, a really senior physician walked up and shook my hand firmly. His skin was as dark as coffee grounds, which made his wide smile both striking and lovely. He nodded, almost bowed before me . . .

"You make me feel proud, little sister."  

That's all he said, with full emphasis on "proud." 

And then he walked away.

***
Drove to Grady.

Joined my ward team for rounds at 9-something in the morning. One senior resident, two interns, one pharmacy resident, one fourth year med student, one third year med student and two six-day-old first year medical students. I did a teaching case on the whiteboard and everyone was engaged and learning.

When I finished, one of the six-day-old first year med students looked at me and said, "Thank you, Dr. Manning! That was really fun!"

Which made me super-happy because I was hoping they would see what I see.

"Yes, this is really fun," I told him, "and you ain't seen nothin' yet."

***

Rounded in the afternoon one-on-one with the fourth year medical student. He talked and I listened and I talked and he listened. Together we went to speak to a patient about a complicated medical situation. Halfway through the discussion, I asked him to take over explaining what our plan would be.

I watched and listened and learned as he carefully and respectfully communicated very serious information in a way that somehow didn't sound intimidating. It was great.

"Thank you for including me in that!" he said.

"No," I said, "thank you."

***

Harry tells me stories of when he was in Army Ranger school. He said every Ranger had a "Ranger Buddy" who had their back and makes sure they don't die. (Yes, "that you don't die" is what he says.)

Today, I realized that I have a Ranger Buddy at Grady, and it's my friend-slash-mentor-slash-fellow-Grady doctor, Neil W. Yes, I have many wonderful friends and colleagues at Grady, but it is Neil who can always be counted on in a pinch to cover my patients or help me out with a project--even on a weekend. And sure, it's a reciprocal thing, but damn, I appreciate him.

In the hood, they call this "holding you down." When someone "holds you down", they take care of you. Sounds funny, right? Like, I know it seems like the meaning should be the opposite, but in this context, being "held down" is totally a good thing. In fact, it's a great thing. Reserved for the very few people that you know always "have" you--no matter what. See, the people who hold you down sacrifice for you and make sure you have what you need to make it. And survive. And well. . not die. So yeah. My Ranger Buddy, Neil W. has held me down in more ways than I can even begin to describe.

This week is crazy. Today, I called and told him I needed help. There is something I need to be present for with my children that conflicts with my rounds schedule. And you know what? I knew he would help if he could. And he could. So he is.

Thanks, Neil W. for having my back and holding me down and making sure I don't die.

***

Drove to the med school to meet with Small Group Beta. I hadn't seen them in two weeks and seriously? Even though I was exhausted from being up since the crickety-crack of dawn, I couldn't wait. Man. They didn't disappoint.

We learned, yes, but also laughed so hard that I though we would all be sick. At the end of the session, I said, "You know? I love you guys. I really do."

And this didn't weird them out at all because they know that it's true.

***

Got a text from Harry that said, "Love you." Out of the blue.

Texted back, "You more. . . How is the day going?"

And he texted back, "Excellent. Really, really excellent."

Which I know is a blessing when you are a person who owns your own business in this crazy economy. Yet somehow God has shown him some sort of favor and he continues to live to tell. And I am so proud of him and his work ethic and his honesty and who he is. I really, really, really (three reallys) am.

Then he came home from work and showed me his new smart phone with "the good camera." This was very necessary because his last phone was "do not resuscitate" for real. He took a picture of me sitting at the kitchen table in my glasses looking really, really scary. Then he looked at it and said with a genuine smile, "You look so pretty, babe."

Whaaaa?

I felt bleccchh. So deeply appreciated that the man who I really want to find me "pretty" does.


***

Watched the kids run through the house in their new school shoes with all of the lights off--because they, yes, GLOW in the DARK.  Which clearly correlates with excellent school performance.

Zachary screeched to a halt and squealed at the top of his lungs. "I'M JUST SOOO HAPPY!!" And he really did look so happy that he couldn't even stand it.

I looked at Harry. He looked at me. And we both felt the same thing.

***

Harry just said, "Come on to bed," and I nodded okay. I'm going . . .I'm going. . . but first I will sit for a minute at my kitchen table feeling thankful for little things. . . .

Like unsolicited encouragement from senior physicians, memorable experiences for six-day-old med students, a chance to be included for fourth-year medical students, Ranger Buddies who hold you down and make sure you stay alive, small groups of med students who make your heart soar, husbands who think you look pretty at the most ordinary times, and having the where with all to stop long enough to proclaim in the midst of it all that, yes, you are sooo happy.

Good night.

Camp Papa Postcard Classics: Coast to Coast

Dear Papa,

What are you doing? Are you wored out? Mommy said to say thank you for the hostatality. I don't know what that is, but thank you, okay. Also thank you for no bed time and for the pool and beach until night time. Mommy said maybe you were wored out but I said not Papa.


Okay, I think you can come have a sleepover sometimes if you get sad while we are gone. Or just rest for when we come next year so you won't be wored out. If you want to you can get me a Nintendo DS for next time. Okay, bye.

Love,


Zachary, Age 4 and 3/4

P.S. We told Daddy what you said about real men give bear hugs and he said he liked that. Then we gave him a bear hug and he liked that too.

Zachary and Isaiah, Summer 2011

***

Blogatrophy and BFFs

Warning: Late-night, non-spellchecked rambling ahead. 

atrophy:  partial or complete wasting away of a muscle or part of the body.

When I first started this blog, I wondered a few things. Like, would I consistently have anything to talk about? Would I stay with it? Would anyone other than the students in my small group, my sisters, and my parents even read it? And--the main one--would my words and intentions some how come out wrong?

I am just about one week shy of my second anniversary of starting this blog.  Honestly? I cannot believe that I've stayed with it so consistently for so long. I mean. . . it's not like I don't stick with things that I start. It's just that writing a blog takes time. If your heart gets into it, which mine absolutely has, you become very particular about its vision and how that translates into the finished product. You learn new tricks and find ways to spruce things up a bit. You go to other blogs and realize how non-schmancy yours is and how few readers you have or things like the fact that you don't blog anonymously and they do.  It's a funny little world, the blogging world.

You make "friends" with folks and share a little pieces of your world with them. Some of these virtual bffs (blog-friends-forever) follow the course of a lot of friendships.  You know. . . . the ones where it seems like, OMG, you have everything in common and you, like, hang out every single day.  Then one day someone says something that lightweight offends the other or they get too comfortable. Someone takes off their shoes and, SHUT UP, their feet stink or somehow some way the discovery is made that those same stinky feet are made of clay. One of you realizes that your friendship involves zero reciprocity and here you are doing all the visiting and sharing when the other has only been to your place like once.

Or it's not that deep. Maybe one bff gets busy or simply has new interests. Your bff used to have mornings open to chill with you over coffee, but now that they had-the-baby, moved-away, got-the-new-job, got-the-new-love, gave-up-electronics, started-a-new-exercise-program, got-in-med-school, finished-med-school. . . . whew. . . there just isn't time any more. See, like real friends, they love you, yes, and will surely text you on your birthday . . . . but as far has LOLing with you all the time, it's here and there.

Eventually life happens and it becomes there more than here.

Some of those bffs don't leave. They roll with the punches and evolve with your evolution and tell people behind your back that you are totally awesome.  They are loyal and consistent, even if they don't bring you flowers (read: comments) on a daily basis, but they are the ones that have you prominently perched in their favorites. In fact, some of them are so low key that you don't even know they have your back until you say or do something particularly vulnerable that makes them remove the invisible cloak for just a moment . . .only to slip back into the google-reader shadows.

It's kind of interesting.

I'm rambling about this because a lot of folks who read blogs don't actually blog. Those who do blog, get this. And those who don't, now you will, too.

Anyways.

Today I was looking at my entries and looking at my blog and asking myself questions. Almost like I was interviewing myself. This kind of blog introspection usually comes at certain points. . . like. . . when you notice that you've lost a follower or two. Or you post what feels like something that everybody and their mama should be high-fiving and relating to you on, but for whatever reason, they don't. It also happens when you check your blog stats and notice that the traffic has lightened up. . . or that your traffic is all from the same Google search that seems to yield one of your images.

Or.

You are feeling blogatrophy. Where you feel like your blogging muscle needs the P90X (or something to make you hotter.)

I've felt all of the aforementioned before. That tiny sting when that public follower clicks "stop following," the happy affirmation nestled inside of a comment, the let down of realizing your traffic is coming from something other than. . . well, you. As a matter of fact, I've felt all of this in the past week.

And so. What generally happens when I am in this place is this:

First, I second-guess everything.  Like. . . not enough medicine stuff?  Too family-oriented? Too spiritual for my agnostic readers? Not spiritual enough for my fellow believers? Too relaxed and non-straightlaced for those who link over from places like ACP Hospitalist or Internist? Too heavy for the ones who linked over from lighter URLs? Too tear-jerky or too preachy? Too goofy or too silly?

Finally, I get myself so wound up that I end with this: Why are you even doing this? Like, who do you think you are? And, like, why is this even important? Really, why are you even doing this?  Like, for real. . . why?

Then, I remember the words of Toni Morrison when she was asked why she wrote her first novel, The Bluest Eye:  

"So I could read it."

I wrote a whole post about this once and today I had to revisit it. I needed to chuck myself under my own chin and  remind myself that every single story helps me to grow and to walk in my purpose. And just maybe, it helps someone else to do the same. Or maybe not. But either way, it gives me a special place to honor my patients and my family and just life in general. Kind of like it let's me live my life like it's golden,  you know? I love the idea of giving someone else the chance to learn the lessons I'm learning and for us to talk about it and think about it together. But again, I write the things I need to read. . . the messages I need to hear. . . sometimes that day, but many times later. I'm sure no one reads this thing more than me.

Thank you for coming, going, staying, and leaving. Thank you for following, just-googling, commenting, lurking, de-lurking, laughing, crying, or whatever it is you do.  Because it's been enough. Enough to push me to keep at it for almost two whole years. To "go hard" (as Harry calls it) and to keep writing here for you to read, too. . . instead of into a Word document only or a spiral notebook on my nightstand.

So yeah.  Thanks.  I mean that, too.

That's all I got today.

***
Happy Monday.