Pouring from an empty cup

I was so juiced to donate platelets today. It's long overdue - between full-time work in the pandemic, wrapping up two professional development courses, my assorted "extracurricular" professional activities, and parenting/family commitments, I've been spent. But it's pretty hard to ignore the worst blood shortage crisis in over a decade, so I felt inclined to do my part. I worked really hard to get caught up on my work so I could make it to the appointment. I even got a solo hike in this morning and was feeling good about doing something for myself before I did something for others. This was going to be great!!

I show up to the donation center, ready to go - my hemoglobin level was excellent but my blood pressure was a little lower than usual. I noticed I was feeling a little dizzy, and I was starting to realize I hadn't hydrated enough. I hoped, though, that I could push through - just like we do in the clinical sphere - see patients now, hydrate later - no way to get enough water in with the consistent masking that is necessary these days. They get me in the chair, I queue up my movie and am ready to go-- I think. But I sorta know it's not going to go well. The nurses scrutinize my veins, squeeze my arms with blood pressure cuffs, tell me to "squeeze 3 times and hold it" - tap tap tap, squint. They are not pleased. They check the other arm. They put heating packs on me to try to get the veins to pop. No dice. They didn't even bother trying to poke me - they could tell it wouldn't be successful. I was sent on my way.

DAMN. IT. I get in my car and feel the tears well up. Then, the inner voice - "Why are you being such a weirdo? You can always try another time." I guess what I was feeling was frustration and sadness that I couldn't be of help in a crisis. And some of the frustration was self-directed, because I definitely should have known better and ensured I had been drinking enough water and had adequate nutrition to participate. But we health care workers are often really bad at the whole self-care thing - it's a running sad joke in medicine. It's even more embarrassing because I am the Wellness Director for my department and try to strive to walk the walk for my colleagues. 

But it's time to set the guilt to the side and see this as the lesson I apparently needed to relearn, again. You can't pour from an empty cup. It seems so obvious, yet we sure do try sometimes. And while doing all the right things for our own wellness can feel overwhelming at times, it doesn't have to be perfection. Sometimes it's just going to bed when you feel tired instead of trying to power through a few more items on the to-do list. Or keeping a bottle of water nearby to sneak swigs in when you can. Or doing a 3 minute meditation in the car before you transition from work to home. These tiny moments can be cumulative and are a powerful testament to prioritizing yourself just a little bit so you can keep doing the important work that makes your heart sing.

"Self-care is giving the world the best of you, instead of what's left of you." - Katie Reed

Family Medicine - where health is primary

I’ve got you When you’re sick or well Through your joys and sorrows I’ve got you Your children, partner, parents From birth to death, I’m there.

I treat the whole person

You’re not “the diabetic”, but rather

the resilient person who lost 30 lbs

and picked up a love for cycling

after we found those elevated blood sugars

I’ll be there with you, tissues and all,

Through the bad news

And we’ll figure it out together.

We’ll celebrate the joys, too

Life’s accomplishments, love and family

I’ll catch your babies

Then fall in love with them along with you

High-fiving at those well child checks

Marveling at their growth

[it happens so fast doesn’t it]

We’ll share stories while

I remove that suspicious mole

Or insert an intrauterine device

Or deliver a steroid shot into that tired joint

I’m your partner in care

With you on your path to wellness

My head, heart and hands are my tools

I’m here for you.

I’m your family doc.

Social rounding

 social rounding

i had some time so i peeked in

on my patient on the wards.

he'd been having a rough go of it - 

in and out of the hospital,

his conditions getting the best of him.

in clinic, we usually focus in on 

these health issues that have

decided to make life difficult.

but today was different. 

we sat together for some time,

talking about our families,

the holidays, what's next in life.

we talked about what makes life hard 

and what makes life worth living.

i saw a bit of hope glimmering 

in those half closed eyes.

my heart swelled.

"thanks for the visit, doc,

you really helped me, mentally"

no, thank you, sir.

i needed this just as much as you.

a hazy arrival

"she’s anterior lip"

the words from the phone line
shock me awake
as i clumsily shimmy on some scrubs

it’s been a long few weeks 

peppered with sadness and heartache

coming off wards on the holidays 

in a pandemic surge.

i’m tired, but i need this.

“i have a baby to deliver!” 

i exclaim to an amused lyft driver

then take a few breaths. 

no rush, no stress

she’s a nullip, after all

she sleepily lights up when i arrive

epidural simmering

she’s labored down

let’s practice pushing

we talk about baby names and the weather 

in between contractions

it’s foggy on this uncertain morning

pairs of nervous eyes watch the fetal strip

from afar

the late dips give me pause, too

but i breathe, and i feel the progress

and i trust her process

with some more coaching, 

the pushes gain power and 

she rounds a corner

a student joins me for her first delivery

nervous but excited

hand over hand, we deliver the package

just as the fog starts to clear-

birth by fire

so many docs miss the beauty of this 

second stage

but i absorbed it all that morning 

with husband, student and nurse

cloaked in awe of the magic

a beautiful birth

a new family

a fresh chapter

a perfect antidote to so much grief

this is the power of our work

to attend to so much pain

but also connect in joy

this is family medicine.