"I know you will."
some hallway thoughts (literally, figuratively)
The temperature has DIPPED in Los Angeles. I’ve elevated my commute attire to include a sweatshirt and beanie, but I have spotted the occasional puffer and gloves when roaming around my neighborhood. I want to judge, but secretly I’m envious when it’s 40 (FORTY!!!!) degrees on my walk to work in the morning. I won’t complain too much though; this is my favorite time of year in this city. The feeling of the sun on your face accompanied by a cool breeze captures East Coast Fall without a looming pile of snow to dig up in late February. I try and optimize this season by doing as many sunset hikes as possible; I highly, highly recommend it.
Enough outdoor chatter. So my fellowship is dividing into monthly rotations, and I’m currently doing a pediatric cardiac anesthesia elective. It’s a terrifying and electrifying mix of dealing with some of the sickest, most fragile humans on Earth, and helping them get a fighting chance to get a start at life.
Earlier this week (last week?) I helped take care of the sweetest baby for a complicated bypass case (bypass: read heart-lung machine read very complicated read risky and very tough on the body). The flow at our hospital is such that we wheel patients back—with their parents—from the pre-operative holding area to a hallway before the operating room, where family members can give their loved ones a final hug and kiss before we whisk them away. I’m still workshopping exactly how I want to handle this handoff; it’s a vulnerable time where they (the parents) are instilling their trust in us (the providers) to take care of their kids whole-y and completely, and the best phrase I’ve got so far is “We’ll take good care of them” while they look at us through tear-stained eyes. Truthfully, oftentimes before I even get a chance to say this, I get some variation of “please take good care of them” or “make sure you do a good job”. It’s an understandable statement, and probably one my Mom would have made to a doctor if I was in a similar situation. This time however, after repeating my (I admit B-/C+) words of hope and encouragement, Mom just looked up at me and said, “I know you will.”
This…. gutted me. I was so taken aback that I’ve been thinking about those words and that interaction ever since, and will probably continue to think about it for weeks to come. Having this parent, after five minutes of meeting me, feel so confident in our teams’ capabilities….to get this child through perhaps one of the most extreme and technically challenging surgeries a patient can undergo… made me feel all sorts of ways. I’m actually still trying to sift through my emotions. I feel gratitude, awe, respect, humility, cognizant of the privilege of my job… and acutely aware of the responsibility I have to that patient. Let’s be clear— I don’t think she was wrong to think this way or make this statement— in fact, I know that the team that took care of her baby did everything in their power to give that patient the best possible outcome. But it’s not often I hear a patient/loved one validate what I as a provider feel deeply in my core as a physician— which is that I do try to take care of these kids as if they’re my own, and make decisions for them in that vein. The whole experience re-reminded me of a painting that—in the words of my friend who shared it with me— depicts the “essence of pediatric anesthesia.” The artwork, which may or may not be titled “The Transfer of Care”, is hung at Boston Children’s Hospital, and the artist is still a practicing pediatric anesthesiologist (now at Stanford).
I actually think that even in adult-land, and adult-medicine, caring for and helping patients in their most vulnerable moments is not taken lightly. But I appreciate this mother for helping remind me—and further articulate to me— the beauty, privilege, and responsibility of the job that I have.
Because my opinion about things matters…
This podcast episode has made its way around the Internet—> while the irony is that I actually found out about it because of “the algorithm”, it was a way for me to reflect on how I want to consume, think, opine, and spend time in 2024.
It’s awards season, which means it’s the only time of year I make real attempts to watch movies. The latest on my list were Saltburn and Poor Things and if I had to recommend one, I would go with the latter. I have really mixed views on both, in fact more critical commentary than what I’ve been reading in the media circuit, but firmly stand by my stance that Poor Things is, indeed, ART.
Succession had an auction with THE BAG— made me giggle.
I enjoyed this article on tipping culture.
Finally, question for the crowd— if someone has recs for stylish, FUNCTIONAL sneakers, please send my way. I was eyeing some Salomons until I realized the silhouette I loved wasn’t, in fact, made for running and hiking. (For those of you who are about to come at me for very delinquently trying to partake in a trend, I’ve been wearing this brand since my dear friend Liza turned me onto them, like, YEARS ago, and honestly, they’re great).
All of you lovely people, thank you for reading. I’ll see you next Sunday.
S.