Top Ten: Blogworthy Moments

Poopdeck showing me how tall Isaiah has gotten this summer.

Hey y'all. Can't you tell I'm off? Second blog post of the day! Whoa!

Today was a pretty lazy day. I didn't have to go into Grady and as hard as it might be for my friends to believe, I actually didn't either. So I simply rested and did the things I wanted to do. I went for a walk/run at the Y. I read some non-medical stuff on my e-reader. I took a nap. I went grocery shopping. I skyped with the kids and Papa. Essentially, I did whatever I felt like doing.

And nothing I didn't feel like doing.

So here's what I am feeling like doing now. A random top ten! Woo hooooo!

Like to hear it? Here it go!

Today I bring you. . . . .

THE TOP TEN SUPER-RANDOM 

YET FOR WHATEVER REASON BLOGWORTHY THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED IN MY LIFE, AROUND MY LIFE, OR IN PEOPLE MAGAZINE IN THE LAST WEEK -- 

AND THE LESSONS I LEARNED FROM THEM 

(WHICH MAY OR MAY NOT BE IMPORTANT)

 And let me just warn you. I'm off of work this week and  have no idea what direction I'm going with this post. Which means anything could happen. Feel free to stop reading now if you'd like.

Shall we?


#10  -- NOTCHO GAZPACHO!

Well, here's a good place to start.

My cry for gazpacho helped me to realize how many cool people I have reading my blog. Thank you to those who sent me recipes and also to Lesley M. who personally offered me a to-go Tupperware-ful of the batch in her fridge.

 Just like Sister Moon recommended, I decided to try my hand at a hybrid of the recipes I'd received plus what what I found on line that looked good. I wanted to use the Pioneer Woman one that Mary Alice told me about, but for whatever reason whenever I go to the Pioneer Woman blog she weirds me out with her perfectness. So I took some parts of hers (after my brief and creeped out visit there)--but also Barefoot Contessa's and the super awesome one that Lulumarie sent me.

So the first thing I discovered was that my big food processor that I got as a wedding gift and never, ever use is no longer working. Thank goodness for the mini-chopper that I DO use because we got-er done with that.

The other thing I figured out is that fresh garlic is STRONG. And three cloves of it in your gazpacho might be just a wee bit too much. And I'm a garlic lover.

Hey Lulumarie! I used V8 instead of regular tomato juice -- in fact, I used the spicy version! 

Score!

So I poured it all into a container and stuck it in the fridge. But not before putting a serving in a ziplock bag and then popping it into the freezer for expedited cooling and consumption.

Lesson learned:  Gazpacho can cure anything that ails you in the summer. But if you plan to make some, use two garlic cloves instead of three--or just let it sit long enough to calm the garlic down. Mine calmed down after sitting overnight.

#9  Surprise, but not "SUR-PRIIIIISE!!"

40 ROCKS!

No seriously. It really does.

My good friend Akima H. turned 40 last month and last Saturday her dear husband Mark threw her a surprise birthday party on a swanky outdoor hotel roof lounge. And see, this is the kind of party that you need to be over thirty to have. What can I say? It just had an extra. . . grown. . .feel to it.

Like, we didn't even jump out and yell "SURPRISE!" He just sort of brought her up there and she started seeing everyone and it all came together. Which, to me, was a much more grown way to surprise somebody than hollering in their face.

Plus when you are 40, you or the people you know just might have a cardiac arrest from being surprised like that. Oh, and did I mention? My friend Akima is expecting her second child, so that also made the not hollering part good.

And yes, a lot of women who are 40 are having babies.

So yeah. Her "big reveal" at the party was super chill and swanky. See, cause when you get more grown -- as in 40 and up -- that's just how you get down. (See? This would never occur to you twenty-somethings, now would it?)

 

The party was very Real Housewives-esque. . . . except without the hollering, backstabbing, and name-calling.  Hmmm. On second thought, how can something be Real Housewives-esque without conflict?

There was no conflict here. Instead there was just a beautiful forty year-old woman being celebrated by a bunch of her friends who also happen to be in their forties. . . .and okay with it.

 Lesson learned:  40 is the new 40 -- and this is the new 40.

And here's some grown and sexy music in case you don't believe me. Yessirrrrrrr. (It might explain why some forty-somethings are still having babies. . . cough. . .I'm just sayin'.



#8  Brett and Adaeze.

First, Brett.

This is Brett M. And this photo was taken in the lobby of Grady Hospital on Brett's last day of residency. I just adore him. Seriously. Have you ever met someone who's just good through and through? Like if you sliced them in half, a beam of light would be inside instead of guts and gore?

If not, you need to meet Brett M.

Anyways. I've known him since he was a medical student. After serving as his clinic attending every single week since he started as an intern, I got to know him well. I heard all about his weekends and his life and his hobbies between patients. And that was great. Really great.

On Saturday, his girlfriend had come to the hospital to get a glimpse of a day in his life. Before his life changed to something else. I ran into them -- and since I've heard a ton about his girlfriend -- I was super-happy to actually meet her.

She was as sweet and adorable as she appears. And being with Brett made her even more so.

 But hold up! 

It was totally time for Brett to finish residency because I looked down and noticed that he'd busted a hole in the side of a pair of DANSKOS. I didn't even know that was possible! But yet. . . .curiously, Brett managed to do that. So hallelujah that he's finishing his residency!

(I've got to talk to that girlfriend of his about getting that man some more shoes before starting his gastroenterology fellowship.)

Next, Adaeze.

Here is Adaeze (pronounced A-DAZE-A) on her final day of residency.

I adore this woman. I truly do. Like Brett, I've known her since she was a medical student and had the distinct pleasure of being her attending physician on her very first Grady ward month as an intern -- and again on her final ward month as a senior resident.

I paged her on June 30 just hoping that maybe she was somewhere in-house. And she WAS! Yaaaay!!

She had just finished rounding in the ICU and I had just finished rounding on the wards--and we finished at the same time! So I invited her to have some post-Grady breakfast with me. . .you know. . .now that we're both fully bona fide internists and all. She obliged me and we had an awesome time!

Loved it.

On the way to eat, I asked her to do this "free at last" shot on her exit from Grady.

I was so glad the planets aligned for us to be together on her last day.

Lesson Learned:
1. Danish clogs can get holes in them.
2. I am fortunate to build some really wonderful relationships with my learners.

#7 Old married ladies.

These two sweet faces belong to Paulina and Karen. This photo was taken at the end of their chief residency at Grady Hospital back in. . . hmm. . .2009, was it? Anyways. They have since moved into their respective fields of Infectious Diseases and Rheumatology respectively. But they haven't moved on from being two of my favorite people.

 

The other lovely lady pictured in this photo from that same time is my dear friend Stacy H. Stacy and I work together on the Residency Leadership Committee and we both grew quite close to Paulina and Karen during their training and during that year.

Our working relationship with them evolved to a friendship. In fact, Stacy and I flew all the way to Mexico City for Paulina's wedding and were side by side at the "Grady Table" at Karen's nuptials this past April. 

Pau and Russ'  wedding day, 2010

Me y Stacy in la ciudad de Mexico

Good times in Mexico City, baby!

And look at this beautiful bride, Karen (Le Lin) on her big day!

Sealing the deal with one of my former TY interns, David

The "G for Grady" table:  We don't miss a good par-tay!

 So now we are all just a bunch of old married ladies. So we did what old married ladies do -- we "did lunch!"

Wait. If "brunch" is breakfast + lunch, what is lunch + dinner? "Lunner?" "Dinch?" 

I think I like "dinch."

Except "dinch" for us ended up swirling into the late evening hours with all the LOL-ing and "Girrrrrl, shut-yo-mouth"-ing!

Can't you tell that we're totally getting all the dirt from each other? I had to miss out on some of it to get this picture below. . .

Yeah. We pretty much shut the place down. And it was 100% awesome.

Way past dinch-time.

Love these girls.

Lesson Learned:  For real, true friend time, you need to carve out a good block of time sometimes.


#6 Feeling special.

Y'all know how I feel about my medical students. Current ones. Former ones. All of 'em.

I take pride in the relationships we've built over the years and this week I had several reminders of how special those relationships have become.

First, this:

A text message from Hreem, one of my seven students from Small Group Alpha. Hreem is now starting her second year of residency in Chicago. Her boyfriend Neel had just proposed and she sent a text message to our small group almost immediately afterward. 

I felt special to be included in that announcement.

Next, this:

A photo texted to me all the way from Vietnam. Four of the six people photographed here are in my third small group -- Small Group Gamma. They're all on summer break and Erica U. sent me this photo of them after they'd just gone cycling through a monsoon. I asked her if she was texting me from Asia. Her answer?

"Well, I missed you for some reason at this very moment so figured I'd shoot you a picture of some of your fav people."

Sigh.

And this one on the fourth of July from another one of my SG Gamma members who was stateside:

"Hey Dr. M, Happy Fourth! Thought I'd share a piece of good news with you!"

Sigh again.

Super happy for you, too, Courtney. And your sweetheart, Cody.

Lesson Learned:
It's good to be on the list for mentoring and advising students. But it feels even better to be on the list for those special moments that have nothing to do with the classroom.



#5 Katie left Tom?

Awww, damn. According to People Magazine (which I'm all caught up on since I'm on stay-cation), the dude was blindsided by the announcement. Yes. I know the relationship appeared a little odd. But I wouldn't wish that on anybody. I feel kind of bad for the dude. And her, too. And especially that little daughter of theirs.

Lesson Learned:  Just because you names make a cute hybrid like "TomKat" doesn't mean that you're home free.


#4 The Real Hotmess Housewives.

They all give me heartburn. Every version. Every city. Every storyline.

And yet. Curiously. I have watched. More than once.

Lesson Learned:  Self-centered ridiculousness makes for good television. 

#3 Slap yo' mama.

I was in the hair salon and this dude came in selling peach cobbler. And let me just tell you his story real quick--'cause you know I got it.

So check it. This guy -- whose name is Joshua -- well Joshua was raised by a wonderful stepmom and she taught him how to make peach cobbler from her special recipe. Unfortunately she passed away and he carried on the recipe at family events. Joshua lost his job and decided to take what little he had and made a batch of peach cobblers to sell.

And sell they did.

So here I am sitting under the dryer and in walks Joshua with his little mini-cobblers. And he had such faith in his recipe that he said he'd let me taste one, assuring me that it would be the best I've ever had.

Game on!

Chile, please.

Can I please just say that if my mother had been anywhere in the vicinity, I would have definitely slapped her! (Sorry, mom.) It was THAT good. I have the number but not a website. If you're in the Atlanta area and want to get some SLAP YO' MAMA GOOD peach cobbler, shoot me an email on my gradydoctor@gmail.com address.

Oh yeah.

For those who are completely perplexed by the idea of a random dude selling peach cobblers-to-go up in the hair salon, it is clear to me that a.) you are not black, and b.) you are black but you need to hand in your membership card. Whether a. or b. applies to you,  of course you know that I'm committed to cultural competency on this here blog so I'm happy to bridge that little gap for you.

Real talk? There is nothing and I do mean NOTHING unusual about the occurrence of a random dude rolling up on you in a black hair salon with some homemade desserts in a giant plastic bin. AT ALL. In fact, you just might be able to buy any of the following in the hair salon I go to:

• peach cobbler
• some costume jewelry
• Spanx
• school supplies
• a designer handbag
• a shrimp po'boy
• Spanish wavy 100% human hair

and much, much more. 

By the way--for a fun little romp in my beauty shop, read this post--it's one of my favorites.

Lesson Learned:

1. Bring cash to the hair salon. Even if your stylist takes checks and credit cards.
2. You can't ever knock somebody's hustle.

My hair salon post reminded me of this:


What you know about Big Maybelle?

*eyeroll*

Under 40 youngsters.

#2 -- Summer lovin' . . .had me a blast. . . .

He's hot. He's confident. He's mine. He's the B.H.E.

Being with this man never gets old for me.  This is from the party I mentioned earlier in #9. This picture was taken right before I walked over to him and acted like I'd never met him before. Or that I had seen him somewhere but couldn't place where. He went along with it. Mmmm hmm. He sure did. Ha ha ha.

Lesson Learned: Ladies, you have to keep things spontaneous. Gentlemen? Y'all, too.

#1 -- Firecracker Day!

First, some lovely time on a patio with my linesisters, Joy and Ebony!

 

We go waaaaay back despite how amaaaaaazing we look to be 40 and over . . . ha ha .

Up on the roof. . .

Next, I went to my brother Will's veterinary clinic to watch fireworks on the rooftop in downtown Decatur, Georgia. And let me just mention how super proud I am of my brother and his clinics! Ah hem. He and his wife own and run The Village Vets, and the swanky 11.000 square foot building we all hung out in on the fourth is the flagship facility built in 2008. They have another in Buckhead and another in Lilburn. If you have pets, you need to be taking your pets to the best vets in the ATL!

Not. Even. Kidding.

Okay, back to our regular scheduled programming!

I got to hang out with my family which includes this handsome nephew of mine, David. He's looking all mannish these days.

 Here's us from exactly one year before.

See? Doesn't he look more mannish than he did last year?  Cannot. Take. It.

And here's a picture of my mom with my sister-in-law Frannie who is not only gorgeous, but pretty much the most totally freakin' awesome sis-in-law possible.  

Anyways. It was a beautiful evening. 

And the fireworks were really cool, too. Especially up on the roof!

Funny how the times have changed--here's my two nieces snapping photos of the fireworks with their iPhones. That is SO NOT what I was doing when I was watching fireworks as a kid. Ha ha ha.

And of course, one more pic of Tounces aka Shugsie aka my mama (the one that almost got slapped over the cobbler) with my sweet niece Olivia. Isn't this a great picture?

Lesson Learned: Firecracker Day is a great excuse for family and friend time.


Okay, y'all. That's all I got.

Dang, y'all. That was a long post. For those who made it all the way to this point? Congratulations on a monumental waste of your time. . . .ha ha ha. And now I will leave you with the song that's been playing on my mental iPod since watching fireworks on the roof yesterday. . . .

Any excuse to play a little bit of JT --especially when he's joined by Carol King. She's awesome, but JT always kills it. Kills it. (See, this is another bonus of being over 40 and grown. You can 'preciate such things.)



You're welcome.

***
Happy Second Blog Post of the Day! This is just for you Carol R. I miss you!

*I almost talked about palmetto-gigantosaur cockroaches again but decided my last mention was enough.

The other side of complexity.

**Warning: Rambling ahead. Read at your own risk.**

“For the simplicity on this side of complexity, 
I wouldn't give you a fig. 

But for the simplicity on the other side of complexity, 
for that I would give you anything I have.” 

~ Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

This quote is in my head right now. I think of it often and felt the need to share it with you. 

 It applies to so many things.  Personal lives, professional lives. . . even sweeping social and political changes. At some point, we have to accept that the only way to get to the simplicity on the other side of the complexity is to deal with the hard parts. The yucky parts.

When I reflect on those words, I recognize that oft times what we we think is "simplicity" on one side isn't simplicity at all. Instead it's stagnancy. It's fear. It's this false safety in what is known. Even if what is known isn't so good.

I call that "pseudo-simplicity."

There are some people I care for deeply who are dealing with affairs of the heart. Paradigm shifts that they didn't sign up for that will require them to armor up and run full speed into that complexity if they want to truly be happy again. But the problem is . . . there's that pesky unknown; it's hard to know exactly what the simplicity is on the other side. 

 Is it simply peace?

And if it is, what will bring that?

Is it a full reconciliation?

Is it a complete redefinition of life as you knew it with someone? 

Is it instead redefining who you are?
Or is that the reason this happened in the first place?

Hmmm.

And see, all these questions suck for me as the friend listening because I don't know the answers. At all. All I know is that I don't like seeing people I care for with their waters being troubled. All I know is that I don't like passing tissues over the table to catch tears. 

Other than that, I don't know much of anything really. That is when it comes to helping to support someone as they step into the tornado of complexity. And vice versa.

So I've started saying one of the few things that can be agreed upon in such times. 

Which is:

"Man. This sucks."

Because sometimes when someone is on the edge of that complexity or just too scared to step all the way into it, that's all they have it in themselves to hear from you. 

At least I think so.

On the bright side, I know some people who have been pushing through some complexity and who are getting closer and closer to that simplicity on the other side. Like Mark and Fred who are an amazing same-sex couple who are as entrenched in their every day life of kids and houses and friends as any other couple I know. Except for several years, they've had to fight to stay together because Fred is a French national and not an American one. 

Which reminds me: Mark says Fred "had him at allo." 

 Ha. (Yes, Mark, I read that somewhere on your blog.)

Anyways. My point in mentioning them is that Mark and Fred have been super brave about living their simple lives in the eye of the complexity of a real, true threat of Fred having to leave. Leave the country. The country where they've built a life together with their four spectacular children and their lovely home. 

And maybe I have oversimplified this and if I have I apologize. But I guess I thought about Mark and Fred because I see a lesson in their lives. Mark's blog is called "Our Simple Lives" -- which is technically how I "know" him -- but we're a community here and I think the stories and photos Mark shares there illustrate how beautifully one can enjoy the simple celebrations of life inside of that swirling storm of complexity.  And. Since we are a community of believers of all sorts of things, I know that every person reading this may feel something different. But I think we can all agree that loving and cherishing children and each other and making sure that safe and loving families exist are good things.

We can agree on that, can't we?

I'm just thinking. You know? They could have just hidden it all from the world. Huddled down in that pseudo-simplicity of shadows without the judgment or the difficulty of fighting to just be who they are. But, see, just knowing that on the other side of the complexity of all of that lies something greater? Man. It's worth it.

Not easy. But worth it.

No matter what you believe.

And, see the tricky thing is that you don't even know for sure if you'll win. You don't. But you try. You have to if you want to be happy.

Mark and Fred's story also teaches me that sometimes as the listening ear that's being supportive, sometimes you have to say more than just "Man. This sucks." Even if it gets kind of complex when you do.

Sigh. I'm rambling, ha ha ha. . . I know.

I guess I think that quote just sums up so much of life. All of the things I try to do. All of the things I want to do. Every moment that I step off of the shore of my comfort zone and wade into a zone of development, I see it. The other side. And sometimes the simplicity on the other side is just feeling proud of myself for trying. Or proud of myself for loving and believing in me enough to go for it thinking I could and succeeding.

Yeah.

So I guess I just wanted to give this idea to you to chew on, too. To get you to explore the pseudo-simplicities that are holding you back from the authentic simplicity that awaits you on the other side of the complexity before you. 

And for you, I don't know what that is. 

But you do.

***
Happy Day-After-Firecracker Day.

***

"You know the day destroys the night 
Night divides the day 
Tried to run 
Tried to hide 
Break on through to the other side 
Break on through to the other side . . ."


~ The Doors


Now playing on my mental iPod. . . Mr. Jim Morrison pushes you into the complexities to get to the other side. (Ignore the fact that he was high -- this is good music, people.)

Camp Papa Postcard Classics: Hold it!

Dear Mama,


If you drink a giant slushie and then you kind of have to pee right before getting on a ride at the 'musement park and then your Papa asks you if you need to go to the bathroom, I would recommend that you say yes and don't try to hold it.


Love, 


Zachary, Age 5 (and a half)

Loving you like a child.

image credit

 

You treated me like a stranger
And all the time I was loving you
All your slick moves
They were once innocent moves
I wanted to look up to you
I really trusted you
and every word you said. . .

All the time you were smiling
the same smile
I was loving you like a child
I really trusted you. . .

. . .and every word you said.

~ Sade "Every Word" 

___________________________________

We looked all over for next of kin. The people who came to his bedside were all "friends" and "associates." The lady who kept vigil identified herself as simply his "old lady." When I clarified what that meant, she let me know that it meant she was his girlfriend of two years and not his wife.

"Do any of his people live in Atlanta?" I asked. And by "people" I meant somebody, anybody who could come in and legally call some shots on behalf of our patient, Mr. Dyer. He hadn't given his "old lady" his blessing as durable power of attorney and we needed someone with that authority.

"A daughter," she replied after a pause. It almost seemed like she wasn't sure if she should even say one way or the other. "But he don't talk to her. She live somewhere up near Suwanee or some place far like that."

"Does Mr. Dyer's daughter know he's sick?"

"She don't know nothing about him, like I said. She don't fool with him at all." His old lady balled her fists up and gently rested them on her ample hips. She looked disheveled. Her shirt was a soiled and threadbare tee that clearly had been worn for several days. Every time she moved, her pendulous, unrestrained breasts did, too. Years of hard life and gravity had pulled them closer to the floor than the sky.

"She lives here in the Atlanta area, though? I'm sorry. I didn't ask you your name, ma'am."

"My name Marsha."

"Okay, Ms. Marsha. Do you by any chance know his daughter's name?"

"Yeah, ma'am. I could get her information if I look around. Let me see what I can do."

I started to ask Marsha why he'd been estranged from his daughter but was pretty sure I had some idea. Even though my patient was well into his fifties, he'd spent more than half of his life using crack cocaine and running the streets. It was a hard life, and one that I would imagine would be especially hard for a child.

Even a grown up one.

It took Ms. Marsha longer than expected to get contact numbers for us. The original urgency was because Mr. Dyer was crashing from what was likely some kind of severe vascular catastrophe. The lining of his aorta had torn apart like tissue from years and years of high blood pressure and cocaine abuse. This led to an emergent operation to repair it but it was all complicated by a perioperative stroke and heart attack. All of the teams of doctors from the neurologists to the cardiothoracic surgeons to us in internal medicine stayed involved because it was all snowballing too quickly not to. Things didn't look good at all.

I needed to reach his daughter because Mr. Dyer could likely die. His body was already weak from street life and I wasn't sure what kind of meaningful recovery we could expect, if any.

After a lot of dead ends, one of the interns finally reached Mr. Dyer's daughter. She arrived just as a swarm of physicians ran into his room after hearing the code sirens. He had gone pulseless.

The team of resident physicians methodically drove through the advanced cardiac life support steps. One was drawing up medications while another called out orders. Everyone worked in concert but none of it was working.

I caught a glimpse of her standing in the hallway outside of the door. I recognized that it was his daughter not only because she bore a resemblance to her father but because of the awkward interplay I saw between Marsha and her. Tightly folded arms and a complex facial expression; she was off limits to her father's "old lady" and fortunately Marsha had the sense to respect that.

In my opinion, codes aren't usually good things for families to witness. For many reasons, but mostly because it's quite traumatic to see. The chaos, the pace, the shocks, the all of it. And this code was a perfect one in the sense of how it was being carried out but still. It isn't a great thing for a loved one's eyes.

"Hey there," I said softly while stepping right in front of the woman who I assumed was his daughter. "I'm Dr. Manning, the senior doctor taking care of Mr. Dyer."

She reluctantly peeled her hand from under her folded are and shook mine with only her finger tips. "I'm Andrea. He's my biological father."

Ooph.

I cast a glance over to Marsha who looked troubled. "Ms. Marsha? This is a lot. Let me have someone take you over to the family area, okay?" The acknowledgement made her cry. "I know, Ms. Marsha. This is hard. I appreciate you being here, okay?" One of our senior nurses instinctively put an arm over her shoulder and escorted down the hall.

I found Andrea scowling in their direction when I turned back toward her. It was a searing and resentful gaze, but the minute she realized I was looking at her she closed her eyes tight and drew in a breath. Flinging her eyes open again, she spoke. "This is what happens when you smoke crack all day and all night. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to think of what to say next. I had no words at that moment so I simply gestured for us to ease closer to the end of the hall and away from the doorway to the room.

"I don't even know why she even told y'all to call me. I don't even know how that crackhead lady knew my name."

"Ms. Marsha was really kind about helping us find you. Andrea. . . your dad is very sick. He's had a tear in his aorta which is the big blood vessel next to the heart. Our surgeons did an emergency operation on him but he had a heart attack and a stroke from the strain of it all. His heart started beating irregularly and now they're trying to bring him back."

"Why? He's a criminal. He steals from people and uses drugs. Why try to save somebody like that?" She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes.

"Andrea, your dad --"

"This man is not my 'dad.' He's a man who got my mother pregnant thirty one years ago and then got strung out on crack and left us without a pot to piss in."

"He's sick, Andrea. When somebody is this sick and they haven't told us they want something otherwise, we do everything we can to save their life. Sometimes we manage to keep them alive but not in a good physical state. Sometimes families choose to have us back off of the heroic things if it gets to that point."

She widened her eyes and cocked her head sideways. "You all expect me to be that person? I haven't dealt with him since I was like fourteen! That Marsha or whatever the hell her name is lady can do that. She obviously gives a shit and I don't."

I stared at my feet because this was hard. I didn't know the whole story behind all of this and I wasn't sure now was the time to find out. So I didn't say anything. I just stood at the end of the hall by the window next to his daughter. In silence.

Then someone came out of the room. They looked from side to side and I could tell the news wasn't good. I immediately walked toward the resident and confirmed what I suspected. Mr. Dyer was gone.

The room cleared out surprisingly fast. Before I knew it, the hall was pretty barren and quiet. I approached Andrea who still waited near the window with those folded arms.

"Your fa--" I cleared my throat and started over, "Mr. Dyer is. . .he passed away."

She just stood there for a moment like she didn't hear me. Her next move surprised me. Andrea briskly walked down the hall to Mr. Dyer's room. When she reached the doorway she froze and put her hands over her mouth. A nurse reached her before I did and wrapped her arms around her.

I felt like some kind of voyeur watching her crying these complicated and muffled sobs into the nurse's shoulder. After a few moments she abruptly pulled away and turned to pace the hall.

"I have no idea why I even give a fuck. Why? Why do I even care!" She shook her head and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. Then she spoke straight into that open doorway. "You weren't good to me. You left me. You left us for that life. Why do I even care?"  She lifted her hands to her face and cried into them again. Something about her body language told us all to leave her be.

And a few moments later she'd gotten it out.

"What needs to be done?" she finally asked me. Her tone was all business.

"Right now? Just notify the rest of your family. We can call the coroner, okay?"

She nodded in response.

"Andrea? I'm sorry. I know he disappointed you but. . . . he was sick. I think he was sick, you know?"

"No, I don't know," she shot back. "And you don't either, Dr. Manning. You don't know what it feels like to have your daddy stay and leave at the same time."

"I'm sorry."  I felt my face warming up because I feared I'd sounded condescending. I repeated the apology. "I'm. . . sorry."

Her eyes fixed on the door leading to his room and slowly filled with tears. With those same folded arms she stood with her whole body rocking from the tapping of her right foot. Her lips were slightly parted like she wanted to speak and her brow was furrowed with pain. Those tears pooled right on the edges and threatened to fall.

I whispered to her again in a tiny voice, "I'm so sorry."

A tear spilled over her lash and she quickly wiped it. She closed her eyes and nodded for a few beats and then changed over to a shaking of her head. I wasn't sure what to do so I said the next thing that came to mind. "You okay?"

Time froze. The afternoon light painted her face and I could see the tears glistening below her eyes. She drew in a deep sigh.

"Am I okay? Yeah," she spoke while still looking at his room. Her tone was disconnected from my question; her expression was far, far away.  "I'm okay. I've never had a choice but to be."

Then she turned and disappeared down the corridor.

And I never saw her again.


Love is complicated. Especially when people don't do what they're supposed to do. But sometimes the heart doesn't get the memo and continues to love with the innocence of a child in spite of all of that.

And that's hard.


But that? That's real life. And Grady is real life.

And this? This, too, is Grady.

***
Welcome to Saturday.
 
 Playing on my mental iPod. I remembered this story for you, Anonymous. . . you were loving like a child. Sometimes we can't help that.


*Obligatory disclaimer: Names and details have been changed but the message always remains authentic and true.

Camp Papa Postcard Classics: Trackin' and Packin'.

Dear Mama,

In the mornings, we go to get some exercise with Papa. Early. Did you know that a lot of granddaddies and grandmommies wake up early to exercise at the track, too? Papa said when your bones get old you have to get them moving so they won't get stuck on you.  That's why they all go to the track.

Isaiah asked Papa if when you get old you have to wear a fanny pack and pull your socks up high, too. Papa said when you get old you wear whatever you want to wear, including a fanny pack.

Mama? I don't think Isaiah is going to choose that when he gets old 'cause he said it's a little bit not that cool. 

But don't tell Papa he said that. OK, bye.

Love,

Zachary, Age 5 and a half.

Getting to know you.

Bryan O.: half med student - half musician

Getting to know you,
Getting to feel free and easy
When I am with you,
Getting to know what to say

Haven't you noticed
Suddenly I'm bright and breezy?
Because of all the beautiful and new
Things I'm learning about you
Day by day

~ from The King and I

__________________________

Last month I had a student on my team that I'd never met before. I'd seen him in passing, yes. But no, I hadn't ever really met him. Anyways, this is actually one of my favorite situations to be in--working with people where I have no idea what to expect. Because you know what? I simply expect the best and treat the person accordingly.

That makes me think of a part of a book called "The Art of Possibility" by Rosalind and Benjamin Zander. The part I like in particular is this chapter called "Giving an A." It's all about how treating people up front like they are an 'A' -- or exceptional -- allows them to live up to it. It's about not waiting for people to fail or forcing them to live up to something. . . . but simply assuming that they will wow you and excel long before they do.

And you know what? In my experience, when you treat anyone this way they almost always do.

Anyways.

That wasn't my point so I won't stay on that. But let me just tell you about our June ward month. It was busy. Busy as I-don't-know-what. The patients were sick and perplexing. I was tired and our team was, too. The month required a lot of focus and reading and discussing. It was tough.

But. 

Every day when we'd get ready to round, I'd start with some small talk. Like, "What is your favorite dessert?" or "What's your favorite restaurant in Atlanta?" I'd also ask things like, "What did you do on your off day? Did you do something fun?" Then I'd listen as they answered and then share something about my thoughts on those same questions.

I do this with all of my ward teams. Invariably it allows me to get to know my team better. And that's super important for team-building and for establishing a good learning climate. It's also critical to not forget -- no matter how busy things get.

And this month? It was a busy one.

But still.

I found out that Bryan -- the student who I'd never known before the month -- is a newly wed and he describes his wedding day as "totally awesome." He's in his fourth year of med school but technically it's a fifth year since he just finished getting a Masters of Public Health. And, as of right now, he thinks he might want to pursue a career in Internal Medicine. 

Also.

He installed a chandelier in his house all by himself on an off day in June. And he plays a mean guitar and writes his own songs (most of which are for his wife.) Yep. 

Oh--and he got his first guitar when he was twelve.

So while we waited for elevators or walked to conferences and patient rooms, I learned all these things about him. Which made all the rest of the things we talked about -- like people being sick-sick or nearing the end of life -- easier.  It made explaining things like severe sepsis or HIV-related diarrhea or acute decompensated heart failure less daunting. It also opened the space up for questions to be asked and thoughts to be shared. Not just my questions and my thoughts--but everyone on the team. On every level of the totem pole. 

See, all that small talk creates a safe space and an easy space. Which is very, very necessary if you ask me.

That reminds me.

When I was a student on Medicine, my attending introduced himself to me three different times in one month. Asking me if I was the medical student on the team--because he had not made getting know me (or even remember me) a priority. At all. Do you know how unimportant that made me feel? How ignored and undervalued? So me, I go the whole other extreme. I want to know as much as I can about the people I'm working with. About my learners, yes.

But especially about our patients. 

I took pride in the random things I learned about the people we cared for last month. Some things were amazing--like how one of our patients had a dream to dance with the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater or The Dance Theater of Harlem. And how he STILL does a meeeeean "six o'clock." 

Then he explained to me what a "six o'clock" was since I didn't know. He sure did.

Alvin Ailey Dancers: The one in the yellow is doing a "six o'clock" 
-- the other brother appears to be at about 5:50.

Other things I learned were awful--like my patient and his wife who told me that a few years ago their adult child got in a dumb argument with someone and then that someone shot him point blank in the head while he was eating a pecan waffle in The Waffle House. Then unloaded the rest of the gun into his chest ending his precious life. All over a stupid spat over some woman that he didn't even know.

The day I learned that I was rounding and they looked sad. I asked and they told me. It was the anniversary of that son's death so it was a hard day for them. They needed to talk about it and I was glad they did. So it turns out that the person who killed their son went to jail. And do you know what my patient said to me? 

"It never made me feel better, though. I watched that boy's mama's face when that verdict came down and knew in my heart that two people lost they baby that day." 

And his wife chimed in, "Wasn't even twenty-one years old and they put him away for good. They was both too young to be gone."

And I listened to that story and then I listened to his heart and his lungs, too. I've learned that doing the former always, always helps me with the latter. 

Always.

So the answer is yes. Yes, I did notice that suddenly you're bright and breezy. Because being intentional about getting to know you makes taking care of you or teaching you or treating patients with you more fun.

It also helps me with "giving an 'A'." 

Does that make sense? I hope it does.

Yeah.

That June month was a tough one. Tough and trying. But we took excellent care of our patients--that we did. We also got to know each other better. 

And that was a bonus.

I hosted our end-of-the-month team dinner at my home last week and asked Bryan to bring his guitar. You bet I did. And don't you know he gladly obliged me, sitting cross-legged on my sunroom floor strumming a song and singing words he'd penned himself? He sure did.

And that? That was a bonus, too.

***

Happy Monday-about-to-be-Tuesday.

This version is playing on my mental iPod. Might see if I can get Bryan to play this next time.

Camp Papa Postcard Classics: Fit to be tied.

Dear Mom,

Remember all the clothes you packed for us to bring to California? Well, we didn't need it because Papa got us some cool muscle shirts with shorts that match. We picked them ourself. 

Mom? Papa kind of likes to dress us like twins. But nobody will think we are that because I am a whole head taller than Zachary. Or at least a whole forehead. 

I like the cool clothes, though. Next time I will help you pick some cool clothes for us, okay?

Papa said why don't kids know how to tie shoes good and tight anymore? He said that's a damn shame.

Mom? What does "damn shame" mean? Papa said to ask you.

Love,

Isaiah, Age 7

Just sort of.

Leaving the Grady parking garage on Saturday.

I'm sort of stressed today. Not all the way stressed. Just sort of.

Do you ever feel that way?

That's how I'm feeling right now. For no real good reason, either. I'm off of my busy ward month. I'm even off of work for most of this week. But still. . . .I have this little tiny undercurrent of stress today.

And I don't like it.

Probably the angst of going from being pulled a million directions with wards and orientation to being given time to do nothing at all. Not even child care related things.

And while, yes, I do miss my children, this is their fifth year at Camp Papa, so it isn't that. It's the rapid downshift I just had. I know it well. See, I always feel this way when I first get off of a busy inpatient service. I have this gnawing feeling like I've abandoned my patients -- even though I know that I've turned them over to an absolutely able colleague. It's silly but I just do and it's hard to shake. In fact, it takes every bone in my body not to go up to Grady just to . . . . check on them. People always say "zero to sixty" but leaving the wards is like going from "one hundred to zero." It's weird. So it plants this tiny seed of uneasiness in me. Which I don't like.

It took a moment for it to really kick in because my weekend was busy. I did fun things which allowed me to ignore it but today I had time. Time for it to marinate and seep in. That feeling of being sort of stressed.

Just sort of.

And I know what it means. It means I need to exercise with some good music playing in my ear. And it especially means I need to write.

Oh and my kids are out of town so the other thing this sort of stressed feeling sometimes means is not really an issue, thank you very much. (We're all adults here, aren't we?)

Ah hem.

And so. I'm off to do those things.

First -- exercise. The kind that makes you sit hunched over with your elbow dripping and propped on equally sweaty knees. The kind that makes you feel strong and good and healthy. And I already have a kick ass playlist for my iPod.

So first, that. No, not in the hot sun. In the gym.

Duh.

Next --  I will write. So stay tuned for that part because you will see the fruits of it here.

Oh yeah, and if I can find some good gazpacho to eat somewhere, I will do that, too. Sister Moon? Do you have a gazpacho recipe for me? If so, make sure it's easy. Gazpacho always makes me happy and will certainly be a part of the panacea for my "just sort of" stress.

Do you have a panacea for your "just sort of" days?  Do tell.

(Make sure it's legal. Heh.)

***
Happy Mundane Monday.

Camp Papa Postcard Classics: The proof is in the Skyping.

Dear Mama,

I TOLD you I could read for real by myself. Big kid books, not just the little books with little words like "if" and "it." I can read big words, too. Like "Constantinople" and "Timbuktu." 

(That last part is from Dr. Seuss. He's pretty good.)


Love,

Zachary, Age 5 (and a half.)

P.S. I want to download some stuff to read on the iPad.