Category
March 12, 2019
When my kids were little(r), I always insisted they say “thank you”. For everything. “Now, what do you say….?” C’mon parents…you know exactly what I am talking about, right? Every little piece of candy/sticker/trinket. Sheepish look and a whispered “thank you” will suffice. So…what about us now? Why don’t we say “thank you” like we should? Like we always used to? I guess no one is breathing down our necks like they did when we were kids. So we slide...
August 7, 2018
We recently received a mass email from our Department Chairman that included some updates and general information. Towards the end of the message, he explained that we should expect a meeting invitation for our annual, individual one-on-one meeting with him. He stated the four questions that he will ask, offering them in advance to allow each of us time to contemplate an answer. The last question was, “What are you working on and how can I help you?” I am...
June 14, 2018
We recently returned from a celebratory 20th anniversary trip to Italy and France. While in Rome, we visited the Colosseum, the Forum and the Pantheon. We walked around piazzas and buildings that are hundreds and thousands of years old; we stepped down into wine cellars that were hand carved in 200BC and we climbed up cathedral towers to see sweeping views of the Tuscan hills. “I feel small,” I said to my husband. Here I am, just one little dot...
May 10, 2018
Every year we meet up with friends in Memphis and go to the Beale Street Music Festival (BSMF). Both the line-up and my capacity to stay awake past midnight get a little weaker with each subsequent trip. But we keep going because we value the time with our friends and quite frankly, Memphis owns a little slice of our souls and we feel compelled to annually pilgrimage back to our adopted second home. We eat too much and sleep too little,...
December 29, 2017
It’s the awkward week between Christmas and New Year’s. The kids are home, my husband took the week off, family and friends have been in and out. Months ago, as my partner was making the call schedule, he asked each of us to list the days we wanted off. I put in my request to have this week free, knowing that several other partners would do the same, and that I probably would end up with at least one call....
August 17, 2017
I don’t want to write this post. I don’t want to join the game. I much prefer the silence over here in my own corner. But the persistent tug at my heart, the unyielding irritation in my mind that I must say something simply will not go away. I have been wrestling for days over my response to the historic events of this past weekend. And I have finally decided that while my words are likely to go quite unnoticed, I...
March 15, 2017
Last week, I was on a ski vacation at a trauma surgery conference. Every year, trauma surgeons from around the country gather at a ski resort for a week of science sharing, friendship building and skiing. Now let’s set the record straight…I am an advanced beginner. I ski mostly greens and blues. I can stay on my feet, but not gracefully. My husband convinced me to ascend the side of the mountain that promised a nice easy blue run, but despite the...
January 1, 2017
Across my desk, sat the Vice Chair of Surgical Education. She was debriefing with me after an observation of my interactions with the residents and students I have the honor of teaching and mentoring in my new job. She offered some kind and complimentary words followed by a few pieces of advice to make me a better teacher. The interaction was comfortable, but matter-of-fact and compulsory as part of my role as academic faculty. But just as she was getting...
November 17, 2016
Last week, as I was sitting at my desk, mindlessly scrolling through FaceBook, I read that a former colleague, just three years older than me, met an untimely, rather sudden death, leaving behind a wife and two small children. Numb, tears rolled down my cheeks. I couldn’t believe it. On call over the weekend, I admitted patients much younger than me and watched their grieving parents as I told them there was nothing left to do; I admitted patients much...
October 23, 2016
I grew up in a baseball house. The carefully oiled glove, the bat taped in a certain way, the dusty cleats lined up in the garage. The radio tuned to 700WLW, I can hear Joe Nuxhall and Marty Brennaman calling the Reds games as I lay across the back seat in my Dad’s old Pontiac Ventura. I can smell the leather of the brand new baseball and hear the crack of the bat. The sweet taste of Big League Chew...