Growing up, my mom would often warn me to "be careful, you're wishing your life away" when I would wish fervently for some day in the future to be the present. I would just roll my eyes and think "yes, that's exactly what I want to do...wish this waiting part of my life away so I can get to the good stuff". As i've gotten older, I am more aware of the preciousness of time and how it seems to have sped up as the years have gone by. But, I still catch myself 'wishing my life away'. You only have to read my last post to witness the evidence of that.
For months now, I have longingly thought of the day when I wouldn't have to work nights anymore, when I could move on to the next phase of my life and next exciting career opportunity and feel like I was truly moving forward instead of casting about. And now that moment is here. And I feel sad. Could it be that when I was so focused on counting the days (nights) remaining I ignored the fact that I was developing friendships with the people who surround me and support me and make me laugh during those long nights? Did I not realize that the very smiles I look forward to seeing on a regular basis are the same smiles I will miss the second I walk out the door, the same smiles that make this job so much more than just a job?
When I step out into the sunshine tomorrow morning after my last shift I will be excited to move on, excited to begin my new career in a new place where I plan on raising a family together with my husband. But for now, I will be happy here, right now, in this place. I will savor the smiles, and be grateful I had the opportunity to be here at all.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Four
I have four night shifts left. Four. That's all. After two long years of nothing but nights...I have four left. I try not to obsessively think about those nights and how they might drag on and on and be the most painful of my nights at this job. I try to boost myself up and think "only four nights left!" with a gleefully insane grin on my face. My husband tried to rally me with an analogy about a frog and boiling water. I understood the relevance but I don't think anyone else would. That's why we're married. It doesn't always work. The rallying part I mean.
But then I have an experience like I had the other night and it slams me back into the here and now and pushes me to think of each day (and night) as a gift. I have the privilege of coming to work at night. I love being a pediatrician. I am able-bodied and (fairly) young and I have a job and am secure in the knowledge that my loved ones are safe.
A few nights ago, we were notified of the impending delivery of a term baby with a congenital heart defect who would require immediate transfer and eventual surgery. The parents were my age and they had a 2 year old little girl at home. I met with them shortly before the delivery and answered their questions. Composed yet anxious, they told me they had not found out the sex of the baby so it would be a surprise at the delivery. Hours later, we stood in the delivery room watching as the husband coached his wife and she pushed like a soldier. I found myself holding my breath as the baby slowly slid out - head, then shoulders, then belly. No, I wasn't nervous about the cardiac defect or the resuscitation or whether we would have to intubate the baby right away. At that moment I was completely caught up in what my friend calls "one of life's great surprises". The dad threw up his arms and yelled "It's a boy!" and they started crying and we started cheering. He was pink and screaming and perfect. For that short window of time, those parents forgot all about the trauma that was inevitably awaiting them. For that short window, they were a healthy family of four. It wasn't until the OB brought the baby over to us that anyone even remembered that we were there, or why.
Two hours later, after mom had recovered and I had put lines in and we had started the prostaglandin drip, they arrived at his bedside. The transport team that would spirit him away in an ambulance arrived shortly after with their 'hospital in a bed' and started preparing for what would be the first of many dangerous journeys for this little boy. I watched as the mom sat in her wheelchair beside his bed and looked at him with a sadness i've never felt. The look seemed to be saying "If only I could put you back in my womb where I could protect you and keep you safe from all of these prying hands and we could have our quiet moments together before we go to bed and first thing in the morning and I feel every movement you make and I love them all." I watched her as they loaded the baby into the isolette on wheels with all of its attachments. And I watched her as they wheeled him out of the room and into the hallway and the nurse wheeled her in the wheelchair right behind him. I couldn't tear my eyes from the beauty of the moment. Just then a nurse grabbed my attention and asked me to clarify some orders on a different baby. And then I turned and the family of four was gone.
But then I have an experience like I had the other night and it slams me back into the here and now and pushes me to think of each day (and night) as a gift. I have the privilege of coming to work at night. I love being a pediatrician. I am able-bodied and (fairly) young and I have a job and am secure in the knowledge that my loved ones are safe.
A few nights ago, we were notified of the impending delivery of a term baby with a congenital heart defect who would require immediate transfer and eventual surgery. The parents were my age and they had a 2 year old little girl at home. I met with them shortly before the delivery and answered their questions. Composed yet anxious, they told me they had not found out the sex of the baby so it would be a surprise at the delivery. Hours later, we stood in the delivery room watching as the husband coached his wife and she pushed like a soldier. I found myself holding my breath as the baby slowly slid out - head, then shoulders, then belly. No, I wasn't nervous about the cardiac defect or the resuscitation or whether we would have to intubate the baby right away. At that moment I was completely caught up in what my friend calls "one of life's great surprises". The dad threw up his arms and yelled "It's a boy!" and they started crying and we started cheering. He was pink and screaming and perfect. For that short window of time, those parents forgot all about the trauma that was inevitably awaiting them. For that short window, they were a healthy family of four. It wasn't until the OB brought the baby over to us that anyone even remembered that we were there, or why.
Two hours later, after mom had recovered and I had put lines in and we had started the prostaglandin drip, they arrived at his bedside. The transport team that would spirit him away in an ambulance arrived shortly after with their 'hospital in a bed' and started preparing for what would be the first of many dangerous journeys for this little boy. I watched as the mom sat in her wheelchair beside his bed and looked at him with a sadness i've never felt. The look seemed to be saying "If only I could put you back in my womb where I could protect you and keep you safe from all of these prying hands and we could have our quiet moments together before we go to bed and first thing in the morning and I feel every movement you make and I love them all." I watched her as they loaded the baby into the isolette on wheels with all of its attachments. And I watched her as they wheeled him out of the room and into the hallway and the nurse wheeled her in the wheelchair right behind him. I couldn't tear my eyes from the beauty of the moment. Just then a nurse grabbed my attention and asked me to clarify some orders on a different baby. And then I turned and the family of four was gone.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Alex, I'll Take Tattooing and Body Piercing for $200 Please
I fully intended to blog last night. I really did. But I ended up spending 3.5 hours taking an "open book" test on the computer for my Wisconsin medical license. After that, words kept sliding around on the screen and I felt like my eyes were carp shooting. Weird analogy, I know.
I have to admit, I didn't really take this test seriously. Until I started reading the questions and paging through screen after screen of subheadings such as Application for and issuance of special plates and Credential denial, non renewal and revocation based on tax delinquency. I paged back to make sure I wasn't actually taking the bar exam. Of course the questions based on these subheadings weren't all hard. Many focused heavily on controlled substances. For example, my personal favorite question was "Nasal inhalation of cocaine before performing an appendectomy is an example of unprofessional conduct. True or False?" Now, I know they tried to trip me up by saying 'nasal inhalation' instead of the more common term 'snorting' but I think if this came up for a vote the medical licensing board would frown upon that particular scenario. Another one was "In addition to maintaining meticulous chronological records of the dispensation of controlled substances, a physician must also record the name of the substance. True or False?" Umm, difficult to call your record keeping meticulous if you don't even note the name of the drug you are recording isn't it? Unless of course you are in a situation where giant insects are flying out of a thick mist that has blanketed your town and you need to race to the pharmacy risking being snatched up and rolled into a giant cocoon just to get some narcs for your hurt companions back at the grocery store. Then record keeping goes out the window. That's the reasoning I used to outsmart these test writers and select the correct answer.
I'm proud to say that I passed the test with a 97% despite the craftiness of the medical licensing board and my inability to pin down the relevance of the questions to my particular practice of medicine. I shouldn't be so negative though....that might be construed as an example of unprofessional conduct. :)
I have to admit, I didn't really take this test seriously. Until I started reading the questions and paging through screen after screen of subheadings such as Application for and issuance of special plates and Credential denial, non renewal and revocation based on tax delinquency. I paged back to make sure I wasn't actually taking the bar exam. Of course the questions based on these subheadings weren't all hard. Many focused heavily on controlled substances. For example, my personal favorite question was "Nasal inhalation of cocaine before performing an appendectomy is an example of unprofessional conduct. True or False?" Now, I know they tried to trip me up by saying 'nasal inhalation' instead of the more common term 'snorting' but I think if this came up for a vote the medical licensing board would frown upon that particular scenario. Another one was "In addition to maintaining meticulous chronological records of the dispensation of controlled substances, a physician must also record the name of the substance. True or False?" Umm, difficult to call your record keeping meticulous if you don't even note the name of the drug you are recording isn't it? Unless of course you are in a situation where giant insects are flying out of a thick mist that has blanketed your town and you need to race to the pharmacy risking being snatched up and rolled into a giant cocoon just to get some narcs for your hurt companions back at the grocery store. Then record keeping goes out the window. That's the reasoning I used to outsmart these test writers and select the correct answer.
I'm proud to say that I passed the test with a 97% despite the craftiness of the medical licensing board and my inability to pin down the relevance of the questions to my particular practice of medicine. I shouldn't be so negative though....that might be construed as an example of unprofessional conduct. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)