Tag: medicinewriter

On 2019-2020

Leaving NYC last year, at this time..now, feels like a thousand lifetimes ago. Currently it’s like I’m waiting for the man behind the Green Curtain, in OZ, to show his face. The face we are all holding our breath to see — As it is, so many faces.  

I left, not to find some — Thing, but as if it was the next, one foot in front of the other. With the help of the wind, behind my back, friends I am forever grateful for, and an emptied retirement account(I wasn’t going to leave my moola in the hospital’s hands) I set sail; by air.  So I guess it’s kinda like I retired. haha/ And it’s time to get back to work….differently of course. 

I think I was kinda bored in the city; the same day in and day out. Not that there’s anything wrong with routine/structure. It’s quite helpful. And comfortable. Yet running the same patterns and drill, ie working hard for the money and then seeing it all disappear, in one clean swoop; something wasn’t adding up. And did my salary buy me beautiful and tasty things too…indeed.  But that salary couldn’t buy the feeling of a futbol game on a dirt road, in Egypt, with a few young barefoot boys/young girls on the sidelines — rooting and cheering for the team with the woman(from New York) to win. Priceless. These tiny humans are the  heroes of my 2020.  

From Europe to Southeast Asia. From SE Asia to Northeast Africa and back to Europe again. The end of 2020 a vastly different view than the end of 2019 — For everyone. Trust me I have wanted to skip right back out of America or sail out to sea with some handsome man (in my fantasy) as I’ve been feeling an extreme of emotions. None of what I have to say is probably too helpful in these times; times of unrest, the lifting of the curtain, the new order — or shall I say, the new weird. A weird that is going to get all the more so.

And to those that are finding these days all too inconvenient, disturbing your peace/comfort, ruffling your feathers — well, this is the OZ we’re in. This is the dismantling. The rebirth. The hurt and pain..in our face. This is Justice. This is the people — those that have been on the sidelines for far too long. This is love. This is change.

On Medicine

As I look back, I think I’ve seen one Doctor cry; a Surgeon. Thank the Surgery Gods, I felt more human in his presence; in an industry creating robots out of living, breathing, dying bodies. He was unaware, a thick green curtain separating our hearts, me witnessing his pain/sorrow. I guess the two go hand in scalpel — Pain. Sorrow.  

They say in Medicine one must protect oneself; not just with masks, gloves, and gowns and things.  There’s a different kind of armour, invisible to the naked and goggled eyes. Doesn’t cost a thing and is actually made, right here in America. It’s a shell. Like a turtle wears. We go there when we’re blue, when we’ve lost a patient, can’t save a patient, look in the eyes of our patient, with news we feel unfair to tell. And perhaps we’re pressed for time. In and out. Right? A timer on our tool belt says, the Practitioner has 15 minutes. And what about time? Especially, the time your patient(though I think they’re called clients now) thought he/she still had. The I love you’s. The changing of winter to spring and summer to fall. All things beautiful, funny and sad — Things time cannot tell.     

Maybe we also go inside this shell, well, when we’re ashamed — We didn’t have the time and space to sit with that person. Whether colleague, friend, or patient. We go there, to have a bottle of beer or two. To numb out. Forget all things messy. After all, we wouldn’t want the public, a so-called superior, or a client to find, we’re sometimes messy. 

On the contrary. Medicine. It’s messy. Messy as hell. 

And while we’re on contraries; those shells, they do come at cost. I think they come at a cost of sharing our human-ness. The mess in the human. The something other than our pride and influence we boast to tell. It’s a deeper thing, inside that shell. Filled with other stories, we don’t dare to share. Less palatable. More Human.

No Title

A year ago today I boarded a plane to Rome. Ohhh Rome, bless Rome. Bless Italy. Bless New York, New York. Bless this Earth. You are dear. I don’t know about you, but I’m Romanced by this life….to go by foot. By boat. Air. To travel is to have one’s own wings. ⁣
⁣
With my romance comes sadness and anger and the most awe too. I’m scared sometimes, more so for humanity than our environment. We, after all, are the Beasts in the Beauty. She will stay and make new life — in one way, shape or form. A woman always does. Birth something new, from destruction. ⁣
⁣
We however, get one go. Or so I think so. On this magic carpet ride — with her majesty. Yet we have not realized we do not own her, have authority over her, or reside under her. Her air, water and dirt — At least not, until we’re dead. Are you dead yet? Some of us act like it. Remember, nor or you King.⁣
⁣
I heard recently, “Can we have social justice without environmental justice?” I’d say no. I’d also add the word Health. If she is unhealthy — So will we be. Unhealthy. If we do not know what love is, truly, for this beautiful and glorious blue dot, we will not know Beauty in another. Nor ourselves. Period.⁣
⁣
🌹Do You Realize, by the Flaming Lips is now in my head. Let’s go listen.
And as I read this over a 🐦 flew in the house. Hahaha. And back out.

Ode to Medicine

Our hospitals aren’t built for “what will you do for me?  Us?  Same as politics –They’re stories from the same book  —  I remember smelling the hierarchy in the air within a week, and wanting to quit my job that first year.  “Holly, you can’t quit now, give it three years,” said a New York, New York BF of mine — if we could even call him that — I stayed nine years and seven years respectively, with said men. Both men. We cannot deny Medicine lies in bed with the Man, after all. 

A year and a bit ago, before packing my bags, I went on an interview with another NYC hospital.( to some this is repeated information) But what I did not tell you is, the women I sat across from in a windowless, cluttered, shoe box office with, told me to come back with “real questions.”  I was taken aback at the time. Today, I laugh. They weren’t ready for me. As most our structures aren’t ready for us — to rip the band-aids off. Tear the statues down. Humans who finally have the heart to ask, “what have you got?”  What will you do? How do you care? Tell me about your culture. Your values. Your leadership. No, they weren’t expecting me to pull an orange journal out of my bag filled with curiosity.  My values. Agency. 

Wahe Jio, I sit here on my front porch, in the middle of nothingness. With a life to be filled anew, with essentials, imagination, power(not one upMAN-ship) creativity. Relationship. Right relationship. With service — eyes reformed. There being no us and them, actually. 

Just Love Actually. That is the Medicine.

Our lives and Medicine

I woke up missing the sense of community today, of the Operating room corridors I once ran up and down and from room to room in search of supplies. Though I never felt our medical system had their shit together,(Hey, — This is healthcare in America — and yet we are so privileged) I was at least getting some good exercise. I miss the soft(older the better) and smelly scrubs….yes, there’s something to the scent of a new med student or resident excited and nervous all at once to make their very first cut or suture fleshes of skin, back together again. I know. I know. Oh, and I can actually smell those bovie plumes now. Ya know, that instrument that dissects and controls bleeding in one magical wand. I miss the characters mostly. I don’t know if there’s another structure in the world, at least in an urban place like NYC, that houses the most dynamic, quirky, nerdy, fresh, caring, striving, hardworking, risk taking, humans all in one place. From across all walks of life — Politically, socially, economically — unified(and sometimes not) to take care of other human beings. It’s quite miraculous actually. Such a complex system, that each and everyone one of us walking this planet cannot, and will not escape being a participant of. Well, I digress. For some, the choice becomes this or that. My health or supper on the table. My health or the roof over my head. The health of my child or the health of my mother. 

There should never be an OR; only an AND — in Our Lives and Medicine.

Resuscitation -Take I-

In these most unprecedented times, the public has been swarmed with a range of portraits/narratives into a medical system that has been quite frankly, working in the closet for years. I don’t think there’s ever been a moment where we’ve had more of a closeup, inside the walls of our hospitals. This closeup though, needs further attention. First and foremost, may we observe lightly as well as think deeply and more objectively into the lens we are viewing from outside the walls. Things are never as what they appear to be….we know this. We live in such a time of glossy and or fake news/entertainment, agenda driven squares and quite frankly, an ever evolving lack of self authority and responsibility.    

In order for us to transcend — renew a sense of responsibility in our Care systems, I think we must begin to storytell. We need stories from deep within the hearts of medical providers. We need the tragic and the beautiful. The moments we have been touched by our patients, when we have learned something from them, and moments we’ve realized, mistakes were made. We need the stories of birth and of death and how we can accommodate both transitions better. We need to hear humans over machines; hearts over minds, at times and the stories that are impacting our environment as well as the health of the providers/patients within these walls. 

Recently, I have listened to many perplexed and anxious medical minds and bodies on the forefront. And we perhaps, have an even more bewildered and scared mass of bodies waiting outside, to be seen by these insides. My hope is we resuscitate a culture that’s too often boot straps and boxing gloves. That we become alive and healthy again through truths, stories and broader perspectives of what it means to be a human in health care. The good, bad and the ugly. Hey, and if you want to do a dance at times, dance.  I guess just looking into the intention, within that celebration. Because remember, the outside is always looking in, fortunately and unfortunately with a more scrutinous eye.  At the end of the day may we all be Ambassadors for something larger than ourselves. 

Nurse Me

Well here it goes. The Nurse me.  If we want to speak of “battles” then I have a battle wound or two. These wounds are more akin to tears(holes, breaks) in my heart. It’s ironic, as my inner compass showed me Medicine for a reason. But it appeared to me,(through my body/my health)in almost my 20th year of service that the way of the West, the way of New York; powering through, the way of metrics, evaluation, speed, waste, and profits no longer met my inner standards/values of what Medicine means to me. In my heart. 

I worked and pushed through a lot of disempowerment in my hospital days. The only thing bringing me back from these edges was not a boss that says “If people aren’t happy, they can leave.”  It was the immense humility to connect and be present, make more comfortable, to see; to see another through a most vulnerable time. Through the gifts of what medicine, at its roots, also entails. Yet these gifts, and I will name them, are the Femine values and virtues/the intangible/the unmeasurable,unquantifiable parts to the whole, that often go unrecognized.  It is the gift of selflessness; as a human being on their deathbed that says. “Give a piece of me to another, please,” and they donate an organ. It is the Nurse that shows up to work countless hours to send money home to their families. It is the Caretaker that comes to work sick, because there lies in these systems, lots of trickery, guilt and shame. It is a system that, in the current conditions, looks so unified on the outside. But the truth is, it’s broken.  

This is not meant to drag the current resilience, bravery and light by which we view the Health Care system off the stage. I only write this to cast some shade…because there’s always a shadow. I admit, I felt betrayed as I walked out of the locker room after eight years of service to a place I brought heart, soul, light and wisdom to.  But I am also so proud of who I’ve become in the process.  I know that we each are our own Medicine following our own heart’s Lub,Dub. And  I was definitely one, to march to the beat of my own drum, always. I guess I no longer felt part of the beat.