Question askers.

I love it when people have people. Like, when they are sick in the hospital and I come in to see them and there is a loved one there at the bedside? That's a good thing, man.

The ones that perk up when you walk in are my favorites. They have the steno pads with questions on them and read your badge then write down your name. These are the folks that ask the questions that the patient is too tired or too sleepy or too scared to ask. They keep you honest and on your toes.

And.

They point out those things that aren't life-threatening but are quality-of-life-threatening like:
"Can y'all do something about how dry his lips are?"

or

"Is there something prescription you can give her for those ashy elbows?"
or, my favorite this week:

"Miss Manning, can you PLEASE have somebody maybe from surgery come and see about fixing his outty?"

O_o

Um. You mean as in, the outty belly button that has been in such a state since Muhammad Ali was telling folks he wasn't fighting in no war?

Chile please.

Seriously though? I don't mind. Because seeing you at the bedside is right up there with seeing balloons, cards and flowers. It's a sign that somebody loves my patient. And somebody loving you is a positive prognostic indicator, man. You got a bunch of questions? That's cool. Bring it on.
That is, unless you start asking me about YOUR ashy elbows. Or YOUR outty belly button from 1965.

Then you got to go.

Good times, man.
***

Affection control.

Late afternoon rounds today

Me: "Hey there."
Patient: "Hey."
Me: "I just came back to check on you and--"

*notices another person in the bed*

Patient: "Oh we ain't doing nothing in here. We just cuddling." *pulls back cover* "See? We dressed."
Me: "Wow. Umm, okay. Soooo. . . that's like. . .uhhh. . . . . yeah."
Patient: *smacks lips* "You act like we in here hooking up!"
Me: "Ewww. Seriously?"

*laughter from both.*

Me: "Okay but for real. Y'all spooning in here is an infection risk. Soooo . . . .you have to get up out of this bed." *laughing and shaking my head*
Patient: "Awww man."
Me: "Sorry not sorry."
Patient: *pouts* "But that's my boo."

*laughter*

Me: "Well. Boo? You ain't got to go home but you got to get up out this bed I know that. Before the infectious disease team comes to get me."

*laughter*

Patient: *scowling as Boo gets out of the bed* "Miss Manning, you was probably a blocker back in the day wasn't you?"
Me: "Wait. A what?"

*laughter*

Me: *shaking my head* "Okay but for real. The bed is for the patient only, okay?"
Boo: "I got to leave anyway, babe."
Patient: "SEE, Miss Manning? You a BLOCKER."

*silence*

Me: "I'm sorry, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit."

*laughter*

I love this job.


***
#nospooning #idontmakethisstuffup #yourewelcomeinfectioncontrol

Fear of dogs.

When you came in, this problem was barking like a dog. It looked like one and behaved like one, too. A few tests later, it was confirmed to be just that. A dog.

Albeit not a very nice or well-behaved one.

This is the kind of dog that requires the help of expert dog tamers. And we have very good ones who stepped right in and made recommendations. Special tricks to acquiesce the gnashing teeth of this dog.

They say what to do and we do it. I am only the middleman. And you feel fine, mostly. So I come in to see you, do what the experts suggest, and not very much more. Which can sometimes be how it is with exotic breeds like yours.

“Has everything been explained to you?” I ask.

“It has,” you reply. I confirm by pressing you a bit with questions. Your understanding is accurate. Your exam unchanged. There is nothing to do.

“I was so scared I wouldn’t see you by yourself today,” you say. “Outside the team rounds.”
“I’m here,” I say. "I'm back, okay?"
You smile and your dry lips crack. “I'm glad.” The look on your face makes me feel glad, too.

And so. I sit beside you and lay my hand before yours. You reach for it and close your fingers. And then we just sit and hold hands. I listen to your thoughts. Hear about what makes you afraid. We talk about how you are scared of dogs. Real ones and metaphorical ones, too.

I'm not the dog whisperer and no, I don’t have all the answers. And, yes, I'll admit that I have fears of lions and tigers and bears—and, just like you, those cancer rabid dogs, too. But what I also know is this: Even though I’m not the expert, I am brave enough to hold your hand and face them with you. I am.

Or to at least show up and try.

Yeah.

***

This time.

*image shared with permission

I’ve passed you too many times to count in the last decade and a half. Our eyes always meet and the same thing happens. I wave my hand and say hello. And you offer a gentlemanly nod accompanied by a gesture for me to look at your collection of items for sale. I smile in response and, without fail, you say, “Maybe next time.”

Every. Single. Time.

This morning I woke up thinking of you. Recounting the hundreds of lunches that I’ve had that called for me to pass you and for us to have that same Groundhog Day-like exchange. I decided that today would be the day that I stopped and really, truly looked at what you were selling.

Yep.

I walked up slowly, to let you know I wasn’t in a hurry. And when you held out that flattened palm toward that rectangular cloth holding all of your goods, this time I halted, kneeled down, and gave it all a good, hard look. I asked you prices and questions. You were patient and answered each and every one.

“I like the copper bracelet but don’t have enough cash on me for it,” I said. “Maybe I could make a donation instead?”

You asked if I needed socks. Or perhaps some African oil? What about some shea butter? You didn’t want a handout. It was clear.

“What about you play me some music? And I pay for that?” I asked. You seemed to like this suggestion best of all.

And so you played. A sweet little ditty that I’d never heard before. But sweet all the same.

After that, I decided that I didn’t want us to be strangers anymore. I learned your name. You learned mine. I discovered that, like me, you love people more than you fear them and believe that we are all more alike than we are different. I found out that—no, you aren’t a Rastafarian from the West Indies. You are a bona fide ATLien—a Grady baby born and raised right in the heart of the 4th Ward. You’re a musician, an entrepreneur, a jewelry maker, a singer and, especially, a man who loves the pulse of a thriving city. You used to live in New York City for many years but found your way back home to Atlanta. You thought Dinkins could’ve done more as “the first brother mayor of NYC” and that Rudy Giuliani was decent but that he had no business running for President of these whole United States. Oh, and you like that Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms is one of Atlanta’s own just like you.

Yep.

I bid you adieu and went to have some lunch after that. On the walk back, you gave me that same gallant nod and gestured to your spread. “Maybe next time, Dr. Kimberly,” you said this time.

“Yes, Mr. Harun,” I replied. “Maybe next time indeed.”

I love this place.

***
#amazinggrady #ilovepeople #objectsarecloserthantheyappear #loveisthewhat #iseeyou

Grandson.

“Where are your people from? Maybe Mississippi or an island?” 

- India.Arie, “Brown Skin”

______________________________

Grady elevator, July 4.

Him: “Hey doc.”
Me: “Hey there, sir.”

*silence*

Him: “Hey doc? Where you from?”
Me: “Me? I’m from California.”
Him: “No I meant like, where you FROM FROM.”
Me: “Ummmm. Born in Compton. Raised in Inglewood.” *holds up hand gesture* “West syeeeeeed.”

*laughter*

Him: *squints eyes* “But where your peoples from?”
Me: “Alabama.”
Him: “Alabama? So you just regular black? I was thinking you was something else.”

Me: *shrugs and smiles* “Nope.”
Him: *still pondering my ancestry*

Me: “So tell me, friend. Where’re you from?”
Him: “Straight out the A. Vine City.”
Me: “Gotcha. Is that where you’re FROM FROM? Like, your peoples, too?”
Him: “Yep. I’m just a regular ass n*** from Atlanta.”

*silence*

Me: “So, why are you at Grady today on Firecracker day?”
Him: “To see my grandmama. She been real sick.”
Me: “I’m sorry to hear that. Are y’all close?”
Him: “She my heart.” *eyes glistening so looks down* “I see her every day.”
Me: “I bet she’s so glad to see you everyday.”
Him *nods and keeps looking down*

After that, I asked his name and told him mine. I told him that I thought his grandmama was a very lucky woman to have a special grandson who came to see her every single day. And then I reached my floor and the doors opened. I stepped out but then turned back to face him with my hand on the door.

Me: “Hey grandson? Can you do me and your grandmama a favor?”
Him: *looks up* “Yes, ma’am.”
Me: “Please don’t ever, ever refer to yourself as a ‘regular ass n***’ again, okay? Like, ever. Because you’re not.”
Him: *staring at me while I stand in the doorway as elevator buzzer starts going off*
Me: “Alright then, grandson. Go see ‘bout your heart. She waiting on you.”
Him: “Alright then, doc.”
Me: *smiling*
Him: *smiling back*

Both of us: *fist bump*

I love this place.❤️🏥

***
#slowtojudge #hewasspecial #peopleoftenaskwhereimfromfrom #butonlymyownpeopleask #itscooltho #totallycoolwithme #dialoguestarter #amazinggrady #loveisthewhat #alwaysandinallways

Baby Daddy.

Him: "You got kids, Miss Manning?"
Me: "Yep. Two sons."
Him: "They grown? Like my age?"
Me: "Nah. Thirteen and eleven."
Him: *eyes widen* "Damn. Doctors be waiting to have they kids."
Me: "Ha. Some do. Some don't."

*silence*

Me: "You excited about being a dad?"
Him: "Very. But it scare me, too."
Me: "What part?"
Him: "Getting it right."

*silence*

Him: "Miss Manning? You think if you didn't have no good daddy, you can be one to your kid?"
Me: "I think there's a lot of good daddies who are the first good daddies in their family."
Him: "Kind of like the first to go to college, huh?"

*silence*

Him: "I just hope I got what it take to be a good daddy."
Me: "You do. You got love. And love is the what, man."
Him: "Take more than love."
Me: "It's a start though. That and showing up."
Him: "I can show up and love her. I can do that."
Me: "Good stuff, man."

*silence*

Him: "That's what your daddy did, huh?"
Me: "What?"
Him: "Showed up. And loved you. I can tell."
Me: *silence*


He changed the subject after that and just watched the TV. And I just sat there on the chair next to him. At first, I wanted to cry. But then I decided to go ahead and give thanks for the amazing father this young man will become.

Because he will. I claimed it.

Yeah.

***
#whynothim #hegotnext #loveisthewhat #amazinggrady #iprayformypatients #gooddadsrule #hewasrightaboutmine

Divine intervention.

A fist has hit your face. A strong hand has gripped your arm hard. Spit has flown from lips as they spewed forth words cursing you. And you took it day after day, year after year. Now your body is sick and growing older. The energy it took to be a crouching tiger from this hidden dragon is needed for other things. Except this is all you know. Or all that you've known for most of your adult life.

"God called me to this place. I am trusting Him." That is what you said to me when I asked about all of this. You explained it with such simplicity. Like, this was your lot in life. Your destiny of lumps that you would just have to take.

Like you had been taking for all this time.

When I explained that I worried about this and said I didn't believe love should hurt like this, your eyes filled with tears. When I told you that I knew it was complicated but we wanted to protect you, they fell. Onto your cheeks and in splashes on your blue hospital-issue gown.

We sat in silence for a bit. Then you squeezed my hand tight and said, "I'll be okay. I've made it this far. I will be okay. God's got me." You smiled. And when you did I saw your cheek quivering. But you nodded hard and sure. So brave and full of fight. You meant those words.

You did.

"No." That's all I said. Then I closed my hand tight over yours, shook my head and clamped down hard. "No."

And you understood what I meant. That this idea of you fighting this old fight and this new fight at the same time was not going to happen. Even if it was super complex and lumpy and scary. We can't unhear it. I can't unknow it.

I can't.

I gave you a hug before walking out of your room. And you hugged me right back. You sure did.
I didn't say anything more after that. But I hope that hug conveyed what was on my heart.

I recognize that you are scared and respect that you believe that God has called you to this place. But I need you to remember something, okay? Just maybe He called me to this place, too.

I will do my best to fight with you. I will.


Yeah.

***
Happy Monday.

Rules of Intern Year.

10 Rules of Intern Year

1. Show up.

2. Do your best.

3. Listen to the nurses. 

4. Don’t lie.

5. Put the patient first. 

6. Do fun stuff when you’re off.

7. Cry when you need to. 

8. Laugh out loud when you need to.

9. Eat lunch and take the stairs. 

10. Care like it’s yo’ mama.

July 1. One day down, 364 to go. You’ve got this, interns. And we’ve got you. Let’s get it! 👊🏽🏥 #gohardest #bespecial #carelikeitsyomama #youarereadierthanyouthink

Stick together.

"I was next!"

"No you weren't!"

"Why are you cheating?"

"I'm not cheating!"

"You are!"

Their voices escalated from down the hall. I sunk my face into my hand and groaned. I wasn't in the mood.

"Mom!"  I took a big drag of air and tried to ignore it. It was repeated with more urgency. "MOM!

Next came a cacophony of clattering plastic. I'd attempted to sit at my kitchen table doing nothing enough times to know the exact sound of a PlayStation video hand control device falling to a hardwood floor. I squeezed my eyes tight and pressed my lips together.  Next came the feet stomping in my direction.

"Mom? Isaiah was supposed to --"

"No. No, he's exaggerating," Isaiah protested before his brother could finish his sentence.

I swung my head from side to side between them. Zachary was now blinking back mad tears and fuming. Isaiah held the plastic controller behind his back so that Zack couldn't reach it. They were at a stand still. And I hadn't even uttered a word of mediation.

And wasn't going to.

Clasping my hands in front of my face, I looked straight ahead into the space between them. "Listen," I said. "You will argue sometimes. You'll frustrate one another, too. But no matter what, I just need you to always remember what I say about brothers." Both boys stared at the floor, still fuming. I cleared my throat hard, "What do brothers do?"

The answer came as a mumble. They'd uttered that response so many times that me asking to have their words repeated had far more to do with me just wanting them to speak up than not hearing. I pressed them in a firm voice. "What do brothers do?"

"Stick together," they replied in low unison.

"Solve this. You solve it. And if you don't, nobody gets to play." I turned back to my computer and let them know I was done. Because I was.

Last week at Grady, I took care of a man with an advanced cancer. He was up in age. His parents had passed several years back. The ex-wife he'd had remotely was no longer in is life and they'd never had children. He'd had a few strokes that left him with labile cognitive function. And his health issues were significant and active enough to warrant somebody thinking about him and advocating for him.

Yeah. That's what he needed.

Again--there was no spouse. No common law boo wringing hands at the bedside in woeful misery. No parents filled with that unconditional parental love and no aunties or uncles who'd doted on him since he was a child. All there was was one person: His brother.

Now. This man's brother was a grown man with a full life. He had a wife and adult kids and grandkids, too. He had a business that he ran and a church where he deaconed and a square of lawn in front of both his house and his church that called for him to mow it on a weekly basis. But the other thing he had was a brother.

Sure did.

He'd come in with a work uniform on. Soiled with a full day's work and with this little hint of masculine mustiness that would waft into my nostrils whenever he moved. Sometimes he'd wipe his forehead with handkerchief or just the back of his hand. Or rub his eyes with the heels of his palm. But no matter what, you could count on him seeing about his brother.

Yep.

Brother was only the next-of-kin for my patient. And since some days my patient was with it but on most other days he wasn't, we needed someone to step in. We did. And let me tell you--Brother was there.

"I'm sorry to keep putting so much on you," I said to him the other day.

"It's okay. I just hate I can't get up here no sooner. My wife would've come for me but 'cept she got some hip troubles and ain't driving right now. So I can't get here 'til I get off."

"I understand."

"He look a little better to me today." Now he was dabbing that same hankie on his brother's brow.

"He always seems to perk up when you come in." I realized that may have sounded negative so I corrected myself. "He does look to be a little better."

We sat and talked some more. Brother asked hard questions and I answered to the best of my ability. We discussed next steps and what he thought would best honor his brother's wishes. This was a day that my patient wasn't flying on both wings mentally. That was happening more and more frequently.

Brother signed a few papers and placed the pen down in front of him. A big yawn escaped his lips, causing his body to let out a tiny shudder at the end.

"I can tell you're tired."

"It's okay. That's my brother."

I squinted my eyes at him and twisted my mouth. "I have sons."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, sir. Two of them. Sixteen months apart."

"They fight?" Brother laughed at his question. "I know they do. You always do when you close in age like that."

I laughed. "Pretty much."

"See, our mama always told us this: 'Take care of your family, take care of your mama and your daddy, and take care of each other. I don't care what you got going on. You stay connected to your peoples.' So I hear my mama straight in my ear sometimes. I be tired but I come on down here."

"I love that."

"I'm all he got."

I didn't know what to say do that so I said nothing. Then I finally said, "He's blessed."

"We both blessed."

We sat in silence for a few moments. Brother stood up and put his soiled trucker's hat back on his head. This time he addressed my patient. "Okay then, Junior. We'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," my patient replied. Brother reached down to give him a tiny hug in the bed. Then he gave one more of those big yawns. He waved goodbye to me and before I knew it he was gone.

The whole way home I thought about them. I thought about a mother infusing this idea into her children of staying united. Letting no weapon formed against them as siblings prosper.

Ever.

That night over dinner, I shared with my boys about this story. With privacy protected, I explained that my sick patient had no one to look out for him in this whole world except his brother. And that his brother worked all day long and came anyway.

"I'd come for you." Zack looked at his brother. His face was serious.

"Me, too. I'd come for you, too."

And that was that.

I felt a tiny heave in my chest. Followed by a shiver like the one Brother had. Something about my boys saying those affirmations to one another had given me chills.

Yeah.

I've probably had to ask that same rhetorical question about what brothers do some fifty times since then. But after watching those two men fulfill that duty to one another, I knew that it was an important seed to keep on planting.

I'm learning day by day that connectedness requires intention. It involves forgiveness and redemption and resilience and commitment. And it especially calls for us to fight for the relationships we value the most.

The mama who raised those two men did something right. She made love and loyalty a rule. And no--sometimes it doesn't work. But what I do know is that the kind of sacrifice I witnessed between those two brothers didn't just happen overnight.

No it did not.

Do brothers fight? Sure. And will brothers get on one another's nerves? For sure. But as for me and my house? They will stick together--and stay connected. If I can help it, at least.

"I don't care what you got going on. You stay connected to your peoples." 

Damn right.

***
Happy Tuesday.

On Anthony Bourdain.

“Life is complicated. It’s filled with nuance. It’s unsatisfying. If I believe in anything, it is doubt. The root cause of all life’s problems is looking for a simple fucking answer.”

- Anthony Bourdain (1956 - 2018)

I remember watching this dude on TV and thinking, “Damn. He seems cooler than the other side of the pillow.” I dug the way he treated people the same regardless of their position. He listened to the short order cook in a Bangkok dive with just as much interest as he did Barack Obama. I always thought that was dope.

Yeah.

I met him once during those years when I used to do segments with CNN. He was good and famous by then. And though I don’t watch a ton of television, I’d seen his show more than enough times to know that fan-girling over him wouldn't be necessary. I was waiting for my segment and he walked through the room where I was. When he saw me, he was exactly the non-diva that I imagined he'd be. He paused, shook my hand and said, “Hey. Anthony.” And I nodded and said my name in return. He looked to be in a hurry but I said I liked the show. Because I did like the show. He stopped, looked at me, smiled and said, “Hey thanks.” Then he pointed at my hair and said, “Joining the silver fox club, huh? Welcome!” We both laughed and he walked out. And that was the time I met Anthony Bourdain.

Yep.

That was like 5 years ago. I had just started letting my grey hair come in so him pointing it out was pretty damn observant. And he wasn’t being even remotely fresh. He just saw me. And acknowledged me. Which was cool.

Turns out I was right. That dude really was cooler than the other side of the pillow. I’m glad he noticed people and lived so voraciously. I’m glad he got to break bread with people all over the world and that he looked at me not through me when I encountered him that day. I’m sad to hear of his death.

It's cliché to say things like, "No matter how rich or fulfilled you seem, that won't make you happy." So I won't say that. Instead I'll just say that I'm thankful that Mr. Bourdain--I mean, "Anthony"-- shared so much of his world and this world with so many people. And though he lost his life to suicide, I think his life included a lot of joy. I've learned from living and watching and listening that we all have parts unknown. Happiness is an everchanging spectrum. Sometimes light and darkness dwell together. It isn't just one or the other.

And it's complicated.

Thinking of every person I know who has ever been affected by suicide. I know this has been a tough week. You’re all in my thoughts, okay? I mean that.


***
Happy Friday. And rest well, my fellow silver fox.