July 31, 2012

So the Olympics are on...

...and I'm thinking about everything but the Olympics.  I'm thinking about how:
  • I'm afraid to pray, but am trying to remember that my sin is not news to Him, so I shouldn't be afraid.  After all, He did command me not to fear my storms.
  • Mum, realizing that I'm actually done with research on Friday, asked if I wanted her to come up earlier than Sunday...and I, not wanting to miss church, said, "No, Sunday's just fine."
  • I'm tired of people and tired of crying and tired of myself and tired of missing the one friendship I can't have right now.
  • home is going to be more of the same.
Do I have to?  Father, I need to stop being afraid of You.  Come near, please, and help me to pray.  I want You back.

July 29, 2012

Done with class (until the fall)

[This are my last few proseminar journal entries.  I'm done with my classes...one more week in my lab, and then I can finally say that I'm on vacation...]

I think that I’m finally beginning to understand what Prof. M says when he asks students to “think like bioethicists”.  Context: I came into this proseminar thinking that a bioethicist couldn’t possibly process things in the same way that a scientist or a musician might.  (That is, since I identify as both a scientist and a musician, I will have a very difficult time learning how to think like a bioethicist.)

However, to my surprise, I’m learning that there is a similar sort of thought process to all three of these personalities.  All of them, at their core, involve the proposal of an idea, and then the substantiation of said idea.  Each personality will take a slightly different approach, of course, but my point is that if I can think like a scientist and like a musician, there’s no reason why I can’t learn to think like a bioethicist.  (In other words, it may not be as far out of my reach as I thought.)  After all, I already like to think systematically; that’s the way I’m wired.  And a bioethicist, according to Prof. M, survives by a) clearly defining the concepts and terms he wants to use, b) using those concepts and terms with stringent consistency, and lastly, c) using them to advance the proposed argument – that is to say, “thinking hard with them”.

One topic covered today that I found especially interesting was the question of how bioethics attempts to handle the physician’s apparent duty not to kill.  My knee-jerk reaction to this issue is firmly rooted in my faith, which takes a clear stance on it in Exodus 2013: “You shall not murder.”  Therefore, if I were to assume a position strictly based on my religion, I would be the physician who, without exception, refuses to perform any kind of abortion and rejects physician-assisted suicide (or euthanasia, or whatever they’re calling it these days.  That’s all very confusing, especially with the connotations of terms like “euthanasia”.)  But here’s my problem – deference to a religious position, however clear, seems like an almost laughably easy route.  In fact, it’s too easy.  Why?  Because of cases like Dax Cowart.

I’m finding that it’s one thing to talk about issues like abortion and active intentional killing in theory.  Yes, it’s one thing to tackle these issues systematically, to delineate the categories and arguments, to make all of the charts and tables.  I rarely have a problem when it comes to examining difficult issues with a cool, analytical approach.  But it’s another thing entirely to see such issues.  As a student, it’s a completely different experience to be presented with real cases…real people…real lives.  This is not theory anymore!  How can I possibly decide that active intentional killing is universally wrong when Dax Cowart went through such agony and mistreatment from the very professionals who were supposed to be helping him?

This brings me to some thoughts on the two types of “active killing”.  As I understand it now, the difference between homicide and assisted suicide lies in who takes the “last step” before the individual dies.  At this point (i.e. the caveat being that I’m not a physician yet), I can’t see myself ever agreeing to commit homicide, even at the request of a patient.  Even the sight of those words makes me shudder.  However – if it would fall in the realm of quality medical care, I might, after a lot of consideration and conversation, assist a suicide.  (That said, I really hope I never run into this kind of situation; even thinking about it is making me nervous.)
At the end of the day, do I believe that there is something intrinsically wrong with killing another person?  Yes.  Killing in the sense that I believe God meant it in the Decalogue (that is, murder) clearly violates respect for the individual and the sanctity of life.  I think that murder (in this case, homicide) unjustly interferes with a choice that is no one’s to make but God’s.  But then again…I don’t believe that God sanctions unnecessary suffering.

***

This could be a little nitpicky, but I really liked that Dr. S asked us those basic questions: why medicine, and why LIM.  I was a bit caught off-guard since I sat near the front and had to go first, but I’m realizing now that those answers are really important ones to have at my fingertips.  They’re basic interview questions, after all…and having comprehensive, elevator-ride answers to them will only serve me well as I progress through my education (i.e. residency interviews).  And I haven’t even mentioned that it will help me to have those answers clear and accessible whenever I’m doubting my abilities or my call to this profession (which happens way too often.  But then, I guess I would be a lesser steward of my own growth if I didn’t look at my choices with a critical eye once in a while…)

Oh, one other thing: I’m not sure that this was her intention or not (or whether it’s just my projection), but I felt like Dr. S did a good job of subtly saying that the MBA is a better choice for LIM students than is the MS.  I understand that she’s speaking from life experience, and that she’s seen MBAs go “farther” in the job arena…but as an MS student, hearing that is a bit harsh.  I do wish that she had given a more balanced picture of what these graduate degrees – both of them – could do for us, instead of just implying that the MS students are destined to be disadvantaged if/when we ever decide to step away from clinical work.  For now, it feels like just because I’m not expressly interested in management, finance, accounting, informatics, etc., I’m losing out and settling for the consolation degree…

***

I was thoroughly unimpressed by today’s lectures.  Prof. L speaks well for sure, but as a LIM student, I felt somewhat excluded after the relevance of the talks given by Profs. M and V to my future.  Eugenics, Sims, and more on the history of bioethics?  Perhaps I’m just tired, and a little burned-out (which would be a reasonable assumption, given the pace which I’ve maintained since the end of spring term), but I really don’t want to hear any more history.  That’s not going to help me, practically speaking, over the next few years.  What will help me is more examples of how to systematically work through difficult cases, and clinical situations where the ethics are murkier than anyone would like.  I much prefer the lectures in which I get to learn about the ethical principles involved and then apply them to real scenarios.  And I don’t know about my peers, but I do not see myself ever getting involved in animal research – my summer research fellowship (in a Drosophila lab) is teaching me that and more.  I certainly don’t support the practice of hurting animals for scientific gain, even if they cannot feel pain, but yesterday’s lecture by Dr. S gave me all the clarity I need about how the next few years of my life are going to play out.  So all of this talk about animal experimentation, for example, is leaving me rather bored and disenchanted with this proseminar for today.

That said, I forgot to mention yesterday that Dr. S did leave me thinking about something positive.  (I was a bit harsh on her, I think…)  She did spend quite some time talking about academic medicine, albeit in the context of how much money different professors at varying “levels” (i.e. full, associate, visiting) can earn.  Perhaps at some point way in the future, when I no longer have the same energy for my private practice that I started with, I could be a clinical professor!  I already know that I enjoy teaching – how much more enjoyable could it be to teach future physicians about the profession I love (and only expect to love more as time passes)?  And then, on the practical side, this could give me the more structured schedule that I may need as I settle down and raise children.  This definitely deserves some more thought on my part, since it would probably affect where I choose to pursue residency positions – I would need to look more seriously at university hospitals and other teaching facilities…

I was really thrown off by Dr. P's lecturing style.  Perhaps the issue is a simple incompatibility with my learning style.  In any case, it took  me a significant amount of time to get used to the way she was handling her lecture time.  I wish that it had been more structured – that is, less of a “casual discussion”, less haphazard, less jumpy.  I’d like to give her the benefit of the doubt, as I have been learning in a decidedly “undergraduate” environment for the past three years.  It’s strange, how quickly I judged (i.e. within the first fifteen minutes) that she was an ineffective lecturer, just because she didn’t really give much background or introduction to any of the myriad topics she covered.  I guess it goes to show that no matter how much you’ve learned at a university as prestigious as UC Berkeley, a degree from there doesn’t automatically make you a good teacher of everything you’ve absorbed.  The lesson for me, perhaps, is that no brand-name medical school or residency position, in itself, will make me a good physician.

But enough of my editorializing.  I did learn a bit from her.  For example, before today, I had no idea what “23 and Me” is, much less the ethical issues that surround it.  But now that I’ve done a little bit of Googling on it, I am amazed that for just a few hundred dollars, I could send in a biological sample and receive my entire genome in return.  And then, there’s the whole issue of genetic testing not just being available to all, but actually being recommended (for certain pregnant women).  Do people really need to know the intricacies of their genetic programming?  Are we just opening new doors to increasing the cost of healthcare – for procedures and scans done largely out of paranoia?  All of this makes me wonder if we’re getting to the point of doing science just for science’s sake…

***

What a wonderful end to the seminar.  I never thought that I would ever be interested in writing, publishing, and all of that…much less in the field of research ethics!  I mean, I’m obviously settled on pursuing a career in medicine, but today corrected my previously-held notion that as a physician, I would have neither the time nor the capacity to write.

For example, I was intrigued when Prof. P mentioned that a medical student occasionally wrote for a column in the “New York Times”.  After spending some time on Google, I didn’t find this student, but I did find a Dr. Perri Klass, professor of journalism and pediatrics (what a relevant combination!) at NYU, who has written quite a bit for the “Times”.  Here is one article of hers which takes on the issue of patient confidentiality…with middle-school-age children.  This fascinated me partly because patient age was rarely incorporated into discussions on confidentiality, either in this proseminar or in class last term.  However, I think it’s going to be an important part of my education, especially when I begin to see patients.

I’ve never really thought of myself who might go into research, even clinical research; I guess I don’t really have a burning desire to explore that side of medicine.  But it’s nice to know that you don’t have be a “researcher” to write for peer-reviewed journals (as well as other forms of media).  I’m thinking about people like Dr. Sanjay Gupta, for example, who’s made a name for himself both as a clinician and as an educator…he affects so many lives, just because he makes the occasional television appearance.  I wonder if I could be like him, and dare to reach outside the confines (albeit safe confines) of a private practice.  That would mean venturing outside my comfort zone for sure, but I do like to write.  Perhaps I ought to make sure that I don’t forget to write, even as medical school threatens to take over all of my time.  After all, as Prof. P pointed out, the scholar Janet Emig said, “writing makes our thoughts visible and concrete and allows us to modify them.  Writing down a word, a sentence, a paragraph, suggests more words, sentences, paragraphs.  Writing progresses as an act of discovery.”  I’d like to distinguish myself somehow while I’m in medical school; perhaps writing, in some way, will help me to achieve this goal.

Speaking of Prof. P, I must say that I am extremely impressed with both his lecturing style and his attention to detail as a teacher.  The way that he takes seemingly-insurmountable tasks (i.e. explaining how to write and publish in a journal) and breaks them down into manageable chunks is a really helpful thing for me, as a student who knows next to nothing about that process.  His starting with the basics (i.e. why publish at all, techniques for coming up with ideas) is making the world of publishing seem far less inaccessible.  His business acumen, with regard to everything from HIV research to genomics to IRBs to research ethics and publishing, has me in awe!  I will certainly be consulting him for advice on how to move forward with my healthcare management project.  (I think that I’d like to do something with regard to improving treatment and management of patients with eating disorders, but am aware that any research on mental health will require me to get all kinds of permission from the Albany Med IRB.  Time shall tell…)

Choosing a specialty? Now?

In a professional context, I was recently asked about my goals for medical school, and what specialty I'm considering...now.  Specialty choice?  I haven't even moved out of Schenectady, much less begun at AMC!  But as it stands, today, here are my thoughts:


Ideally, I'll ultimately find a specialty that will:
  • provide me with professional and personal fulfillment/challenge with regard to the work itself, 
  • afford me a lifestyle that will allow me sufficient flexibility to be a wife and mother, and 
  • generate enough income so that my family and I will be able to live comfortably.
Other thoughts:
  • I figure that my dad may want me to assume responsibility for his patients/take over his practice at some point.  (I am not sure about where I stand on that at the moment.  It's an established practice, which is helpful in a lot of ways and has its own merits, but I may not end up in OB/GYN.)
  • To date, I have done major volunteer/internship work in an STD/ID free clinic, a peds private practice, L&D/maternity floors, and a peds ER.  By virtue of these experiences, I have some insight into those specific specialty areas.
  • Purely in terms of interest, I have always felt attracted to specialties involving babies - specifically, fields involving neonates, and the field of obstetrics.  To that end, I may need to spend some time in a NICU in order to learn more about the practice of neonatal medicine.
  • I am currently unsure about whether I want to pursue surgical training in whatever specialty I may choose, although I am certainly open to considering it.
  • I would also like to explore my options in emergency medicine and critical care.
Time shall tell...

July 28, 2012

God shows up

It's important, especially in the midst of sorrow and trial, to remember the good things, too.

I just finished listening to a presentation on the history of physician involvement in prison torture.  I won't...can't...say much else except that there were visuals.  Which is why I'm grateful to God for what happened next:

I went upstairs and grabbed a table so that I could try to "emerge", so to speak...and had barely been sitting here for five minutes when another student approached me on his way out for lunch.  TP is a retired family medicine practitioner, silver-haired but still remarkably sharp, and I've found over the past week that he has contributed much to discussions simply by virtue of his extensive life experience.  I haven't spent much time actually talking to him.  But today, he gave me a bit of a shocker when he just walked up to me and said:

"So when you eventually become a doctor, just remember the old guy who was in a class with you once...because I'll be one of your patients pretty soon."  At this, I began to stammer in my self-deprecating way, whereupon he cut me off and continued: "I have to say that I'm really impressed with you - the way you answer questions, the compassion in your heart, your kindness toward everyone you meet."  "But you've only known me for a week!" I exclaimed.  His reply: "But I can tell already...and I can't wait to be your patient."

Wow.

July 27, 2012

Running

I'm in full flight...I have been, for a few days now.  Hiding, turtling, and then feeling alone - I wonder when that will make more sense to me.  For now, it just seems like the usual paradox.

I read this morning that "oftentimes when love hurts, we shut down and stop feeling.  We blame and get angry.  And in those times, we often miss the one thing that we ought to be doing.  Trusting in God that He will provide for our every need, knowing that He is in control of our lives even when our lives seem so very out of control.  Our issues do not shock him...it is okay to be angry.  It is okay to hurt.  It is even okay to be angry with God.  What is not okay is to sit in that anger; to remain in that place...when love hurts, where do you run to?  Where do you hide...is it in the promises of the One who created you and knows your every hurt, even when you aren't speaking to Him?  When love hurts, to whom do you run?"

Well, that pretty much sums it up.  I haven't been speaking to Him because prayer, at its core, is honesty about Him and me, with Him and me.  I don't feel ready to be honest, because this kind of honesty is something I imagine to be a Pandora's box of sorts - open one issue, and the whole lot come tumbling out.  Perhaps it will be better for me in the end, but right now...well, it's only been a month.  It's okay to grieve a loss (although I mustn't stay in this place forever, like D keeps saying.  I must not...yet it feels impossible to move.)

Father, I'm sorry.  You scare me.  Approaching You scares me.  Give me this day my daily bread...in time, I'll try harder to come back.  In the meantime, I count three people who I can talk to - thank You for these three.

July 26, 2012

Bearing all things

I've had nothing to say for the past few days...not to myself, not to anyone else, not to God, not to anyone.

It's been a month.  One long month.  I have a little more than a week left on campus, and exactly a month left in New York.  My eyelids are heavy...dim with tears and emotional exhaustion...so I'm trying to remember, as the hymn says, that there is "grace that is greater than all [my] sin".

Grace, grace, God's grace
Grace that will pardon and cleanse within
Grace, grace, God's grace
Grace that is greater than all our sin


I know that if I ask for Your pardon, You will give it, and give it freely...for that, I'm grateful.  I wish it meant something more than just a Biblical truth, though.  D says that even after you've asked for and received forgiveness, you may still have to live with the consequences of your actions.  That's pretty much where I am...I need Your forgiveness to mean something in my heart, in my bones.  Help me, please...show me that You're more than words, more than verses and ink on page after page.  You have to be more than that, right?  Father God, I read and hear and understand (sometimes) that love bears all things...and I would concede these things, give you my yoke and take your burden (or whatever the verse says), if I trusted that You have my best interests at heart.  I confess that I don't trust You like I should...I don't love You like I should.  My greatest love is reserved for people, and that's wrong...so I need You to help me change that, because loving people - loving a person, caring through pain and awful ache - is hurting my heart.  And that's not how friendship is supposed to work.  It's not supposed to hurt like this.

July 24, 2012

Medicine = art

Today, Prof. V spent some time talking about how “modern” medicine used to strive for the objective judgment of fact; medical professionals used to believe that medical science held all of the answers about what therapy might be best for any particular patient in any particular situation.  I think that there is some comfort in this kind of scientism, but am glad that things are moving toward a more complex view of patient care.  Scientific inquiry begets facts, which I think should be relegated to objective thought – not the subjective decisions that characterize patient care.

I agree with Prof. V in that therapeutic choices are, by nature and necessity, value judgments.  It’s easy to criticize physicians who take aggressive or even unpopular approaches to patient care on the grounds that they should only be making strictly evidence-based judgments.  But if that’s all physicians were allowed to do, I would suggest that that’s cookbook medicine.  Patient care must not be reduced to flowcharts and algorithms…and I don’t say that just to make myself feel better about the huge investment of time and effort involved in my career choice.  I say it because medicine is, first and foremost, an art.  It’s an art of making responsible, considered value judgments that maximize benefit and minimize (or at least, manage) risk, all the while with patient care retaining top priority.

Prof. V made one distinction today which bothered me a bit; he spoke about the complexities of what defines a patient’s well-being, namely the different “spheres” (i.e. physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, social).  He posed the following question: is the physician’s goal and duty to maximize a patient’s physical health, or his total welfare?  I understand that focusing on the latter seems to put the physician beyond his sphere of expertise...that for example, a chaplain could be a more appropriate professional to consult about matters of spirituality.  However, a sole focus on physical issues feels like a cop-out.  Just because a holistic approach to care is more difficult doesn’t mean the physician should avoid it; in fact, I think that that’s the most responsible way to practice medicine.  People are more than just their bodies, and a physician’s duty, in my eyes, is to care for the whole person.  I realize that this may be a naïve, idealistic goal, given the economic and time constraints of practicing in the US, but even if I can’t achieve this end, I’m definitely planning to aim for it.

I believe Prof. M to be the most effective lecturer of this seminar (so far); generally speaking, his talks feel most applicable to my career trajectory, and I find that no other professor has been as good as he is at teaching me to formulate, substantiate, and defend my arguments.  I am learning a great deal from him and feel that he is a great asset to this class.

Prof. M made the valid (albeit loaded) assertion today that the idea of rationing healthcare violates the ethical principle of integrity – that is, practicing medicine according to intellectual standards of evidence-based medicine that put the patient’s interests above all else.  My immediate reaction to this was, “How does one then respond to the argument that rationing is necessary in a society like ours, where resources are limited?  That’s a nice ideal toward which to strive, but what do we do in real life?”  I was impressed with the answer I received: that instead of focusing on rationing and its pros and cons, healthcare professionals should be focusing their energy on reducing waste and minimizing regional variation in patient care.  His comments on how we should be studying medical processes with the people executing said processes (in order to reduce spending overall) reminded me of Atul Gawande’s The Checklist Manifesto: How to Get Things Right.  In this brilliant book, Gawande informs us about how he used a tool as simple as a checklist to bring various processes of patient care under scientific discipline.[1]  Indeed, this is candor at work; medical professionals would do well to take a step back once in a while, look at their failures without judgment, and subject said shortcomings to scientific inquiry in order to improve patient care.

In discussing the ethical principle of compassion, I raised my concern about emotional distance…and true to form, Prof. M reminded me of Gregory’s emphases on “steadiness” and “tenderness”.  I don’t think that I will have any problem treating my future patients with tenderness, but steadiness is a different story; I will have to work actively to cultivate that virtue, and I can already tell that this will be an uphill battle.  Even the film (i.e. not a firsthand encounter) about Dax Cowart’s pain and suffering left me significantly shaken.  I wonder how experience will teach me the practical distinction between hard-heartedness and necessary distance, as well as the one between debilitation and empathy.

[1] Gawande, Atul.  The Checklist Manifesto: How to Get Things Right.  New York: Metropolitan, 2010.

July 23, 2012

Living the professional life

R turned eight today.  When did that happen?  It seems like yesterday that he was lying on his back in the bassinet, and my mum had to shoo me away so he could sleep.  I used to push the little light-blocking fan away from the top and surprise him by appearing upside-down...that giggle was infectious.  Pure beauty, like bells when the storm has calmed and all is still.  I miss that.  I love him more every day, but I miss those early days so much...the days when he so blatantly depended on me.  I miss feeling him go limp in my arms, or on my shoulder, as he dropped off to sleep.  I miss that baby smell.  Why does he have to grow up?  Oh, Father, help me to love him right now, to love him more, to love him exactly as You love him.  Memory has a way of paralyzing even the most earnest of lovers, even the most well-meaning of big sisters.

Oh, I have to move on...I could write all day about him, but I must move on.  Most of my thoughts from today are in the journal entry, but I can say one more things that I didn't include there: after the rigor and stamina-draining awfulness of sitting through straight lectures all morning and afternoon, it was a great relief to go upstairs (to a room with windows, no less!) and be addressed by Profs. P and B like the young adults, the students we really are - not the adult professionals we must deign to be when we are among the older graduate students.  It was so, so relieving to hear even offers of help with the presentations, with the journal assignments...to be asked such an elementary question as, "Are you guys struggling with anything?"  (I mean, I don't know about the other LIM students, but that's how it felt for me.  Despite my obsession with doing all things adult, I do, in a lot of respects, want to be a child forever.)

Issues of learning and abortion

[It's nice that I'm being allowed the liberty of creative (i.e. non-academic) writing, especially in a LIM class.  After all, I'm all about journaling.]

As draining as it is to spend such long hours in the classroom, I am so thankful that I'm getting to take this seminar.  After all, I'm not in college to spend my time in passivity, learning by rote and memorizing information that may or may not matter to me after I've graduated.  I'm here, rather, to absorb information about issues that will be relevant to my career path.  I'm here to accrue knowledge and refine my personal convictions.  I'm here to be an active participant in my own growth, as well as a good steward of my education.  And although this class is more tiring than I ever expected, it's giving me all of the above, and in abundance.  So, I'm grateful.

On a more personal note, I’m beginning to notice that this class is teaching me something that’s decidedly not academic.  To put it simply, it involves a classmate of mine who is…ah, why sugarcoat things?  She’s obnoxious.  Now, I hate to cast (unwarranted) aspersions on another person’s character, so I’m going to try to shoot for objectivity here.  (I may or may not succeed… but this particular classmate is a woman I’ve only known for a few days, after all, so let me at least try to be fair without sacrificing honesty.)

My context for these comments is that I haven’t taken classes with adults very often during my three years at Union.  On the contrary, I’m used to being around undergraduates, to being immersed in the undergraduate “atmosphere”.  Specifically, I’m used to hands raised, and to the implicit understanding that a professor deserves a certain respect from his/her students.  My observations of this particular classmate over the past few days reveal her to be a complete departure from all of the above.  She speaks out of turn appallingly often, and apparently thinks it respectful (to both her peers and her teachers) to carry on side conversations while class is in session.  She responds to professors more audibly and frequently than is decorous – and here, I’m not talking about the responses to professors’ direct addresses.  The adage that comes to mind is “speak only when you’re spoken to”…I mean, by all means, laugh at a joke, but no one needs to hear how you feel about the professor’s every other assertion – especially when you’re not adding anything of substance to the discussion.  That’s just inappropriate!  What’s more is that her conduct hinders the education of those who are trying to pay attention and take advantage of the wonderful opportunities (i.e. lecturers) in this class.

This woman has me convinced that she thinks she’s the only one in the room; such a selfish attitude, coupled with her pushy demeanor, does nothing to inspire my respect for her as a peer.  It is, rather, a huge turn-off, and I would be grossly understating things if I were to that she irritates me.  However, in a roundabout sort of way, she is proving to be instructive.  (I’m searching for a silver lining here because frankly, unless I do, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to tolerate being around her for the rest of the week.)  The first lesson that comes to mind is an old admonition my mother used to give me: “If you have nothing nice to say, there’s no need to say anything at all.”  It’s been taking considerable and constant self-discipline to not ask this classmate to rein herself in (if for no other reason but my sanity)…and, on occasion, to kindly stay quiet.  This exercise in self-restraint is not without its benefits; I know that in the future, it will behoove me to control my reactions, especially among my elders.  The line between being a doormat and exercising social prudence is a fine one, but an important one that this classmate is helping me to toe.  As my mother also often points out, there are all kinds of people in this world, and the least that each of them can do for you is teach you a greater awareness of yourself.  This woman is teaching me about the kind of classmate I don’t want to be, which is just as important a definition as is the kind of classmate I do want to be.   At best, this is a counterintuitive conclusion, but it’s a valuable one nonetheless.

On to matters of class material, then…this morning, as Dr. M spoke at length about [philosopher] Gregory, he often spoke of the value Gregory placed on candor in the physician-patient relationship.  As I understand it, candor is honesty of expression – and in medicine, implies a transparency with the patient regarding all aspects of his care.  For example, a respect for candor dictates that a physician must refrain from managing a problem that is too much for him to handle, instead opting to seek a consultation with the appropriate professional.  Perhaps this speaks to my relatively sparse history education, but I am continually surprised by how applicable many of Gregory’s assertions are in the contemporary context.  The value of knowing one’s own limits by no means expired with Gregory.

The other subject which especially interested me today was the discussions on abortion, particularly because this issue bothered me personally for years in the context of my father’s job as an OB/GYN.  It seems that a personal context always lends an extra dimension to this issue, which is already frustratingly controversial.  I’ve been asking my dad for years about how he can perform abortions (albeit infrequently) and still maintain a clear conscience.  His reply is always that one shouldn’t use religious beliefs as a basis for professional decisions.  Perhaps that’s a way to avoid the issue; I don’t like this method, though because my faith plays a prominent role in defining my self-conduct, both personally and professionally.  I do understand the value in “keeping work at work” and so on, and I am aware of Gregory’s position on the issue (that when professional and personal interests conflict, the professional interest should prevail).  But at this point in my life, at least, I feel compelled to seek consistency between my faith and my career.

During the winter break of my sophomore year, I had an observership on the labor and delivery/maternity floors of a hospital in the Bronx.  I remember spending time in an ambulatory clinic where abortions (both D&Cs and D&Es) were performed.  It was that experience that gave me my first experience with what the issue of abortion looks like in real life.  The D&Cs were somehow easier to watch, perhaps because they are performed before the pregnancy really looks much like a fetus; everything is blood and scraps of tissues, and it’s less obvious to a bystander that all of that would have become a baby…someone’s baby.  The first D&E that I observed, however, made me nauseous…I remember seeing the surgeon extricate a small, slippery arm, a foot, a head, and thinking, it’s like seeing parts of a doll, the kind of doll I played with as a young girl.  It was essentially a dismembered fetus, and that was upsetting.  It seemed to me then (although I didn’t use this terminology, per se) that this was a baby, and it had the right to live…it had moral standing.  Did the first fetus have it, too?  I think so…but the problem here is that it just never got a chance to survive to the point where it would have looked like a doll, too.

Having actually seen the procedure, it’s hard for me not to think of abortion – at any stage of fetal development – as wrong.  How will my faith figure into my professional conduct, if at all?  Here is the current stance of the Episcopal Diocese of New York on abortion:

“The Diocese supports freedom of choice in abortion...Convention in 1974 (reaffirmed in 1986) endorsed the decision of the U.S. Supreme Court ‘allowing women to exercise their own conscience in the matter of abortions.’[1]

I think need to do more research to see what the Church of England and the Bible say about abortion before I draw any conclusions…

What will I do when my professional obligation to my patient hangs in the balance (i.e. when the mother’s health is at risk)?  I’m not sure yet.  I can’t see myself ever performing elective abortions, but perhaps I could justify performing therapeutic abortions on the grounds of responsible patient care.

[1] “Positions on Social Issues.”  Episcopal Diocese of New York: Abortion, Needs of the Poor, Aging.  23 July 2012.  http://www.dioceseny.org/pages/319-abortion-needs-of-the-poor-aging

July 22, 2012

Forever and almost always

Once in a while, I encounter a song that puts some kind of invisible-but-very-real bind around my chest.  Take, for example, these lyrics penned by Kate Voegele herself (who, I must say, has a beautifully smooth voice in addition to an attentive songwriting-mind.  Well done, Pandora):

I'll be fine; just love me when you can
And I'll wait patiently
I'll wake up every day just hoping that you still care




S says that "[I] have better things to wake up for."  Not right now, I don't.  Right now, this is all I want.  Ugh...that's stubborn of me.  Even the words, as they appear on my screen, look like belligerence.  Here's the thing, though: after a full day of vacillating between fragility and refusing to break, I'm ending the day feeling...steely.  (It makes sense, especially physiologically, that I'd need a break from all of the crying, although it may not be the healthiest choice to run to the other extreme and decide to try to not feel anything.)  But I'm tired of battling this expectation (whether it's from others or just from myself) to be happy and fun and bubbly and social and light all the time.  God meets me where I am.  He is, as I learned in church this morning, compassionate...and compassionate for me.  Yes, He meets me where I am, and where I am is none of those things...not today.  And I need to let that be okay.

A balancing act

[This is my first journal entry (a reflective writing exercise) for my Health and Human Values class.]

Toward the close of today’s lecture session, Dr. M posed the following question: “How are we motivated by the joy of others to join in their joy, and by the suffering of others to do something to relieve it?”  (He went on to attribute such responses to the activity of mirror neurons in the brain.)  This question drove me to reflect on one aspect of medicine which I expect will challenge me in the near future, especially once I am permitted to interact with patients: the necessary balance between maintaining emotional distance from their pain, and allowing compassion and empathy to inform my caregiving.

A dear friend of mine recently commented to me, “S, you are no passive observer of life.”  Not only am I inclined to agree with him, but I am also convinced that this kind of fire will serve me well as a physician.  The passion itself deserves explanation, of course, as it is a manifold creature – it includes anger (both righteous and unrighteous, I admit) as well as compassion.  In the context of my fast-approaching entry into medical school, I often feel compelled to consider my capacities for all of these emotions, but I want to use this particular space now to focus on compassion.

I am, by nature, the kind of person who feels deeply, no matter what the emotion.  Naturally, this character trait has always rewarded me with substantial and fulfilling relationships in my life.  However, it also comes with an important limitation: its tendency to drive me into distress, and sometimes even incapacitation (at which point, of course, I always try to employ appropriate coping strategies).  Seeing another person’s pain occasionally causes me to wonder what kind of significant difference I, a single physician, will ever be able to make in this broken world.  It’s a paralyzing experience indeed, and one that hits hardest when I encounter the stories of patients who suffer from illnesses with which I have a personal connection.  (I have already had one such experience in class, and today was only the second day!)  So I expect that both as a medical student and as a physician, I would do well to constantly check myself – to ensure that I am never becoming too emotionally involved with my patients.  At this point, I am not sure about how best to conduct this kind of self-evaluation.  However, I expect that I will learn more than enough about this at medical school (if not formally, then at least experientially).

I am reminded now of something written by Ann Voskamp, a favorite blogger of mine: “Compassion isn’t merely a vague sense – but a feeling so strong that it causes you to bend: it shapes your body, your life, into a response…it’s birthed out of the Latin ‘pati’ and ‘cum’ and it means ‘to suffer with’.  Compassion chooses to suffer with the sick, to be kicked in the gut, to weep with the weak, to pray with the powerless, to cry with the castoffs.  Compassion is the condition of being fully with.”[i]  Indeed, there will come a day when another human being entrusts himself/herself to my professional care, and I will gladly accept that challenge, that person’s burden.  I want to be shaped into a person who, as well as “suffering with” her patients, has the ability and acumen to respond with a therapeutic touch, whatever that may mean (i.e. a drug, a referral, or even just a simple conversation).

That has always been my reason for pursuing medicine: I want to be with those who hurt, firstly so that we can be human together…and then, using all of the knowledge and experience I will accrue in the years to come, so that I can heal.  To use Voskamp’s phrasing, I want to bend.  But like any human response, bending involves complexities of which any future physician should be prepared to address on a personal level.  I want to bend, yes, but not to the point where I break and cannot serve.  I want to be motivated by suffering, yes, but not to the point where suffering is all I can see.  So it’s my hope, now, that the next chapter of my education will teach me how to find the balance I need.

[i] Voskamp, Ann.  “When Compassion becomes a Gold Rush.”  Web log post.  A Holy Experience.  N.P., 12 Nov. 2011.  12 Nov. 2011.  http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/11/when-compassion-becomes-a-gold-rush/.

July 21, 2012

Prayer is personal.

The discipline of writing calms me.  Idle time usually spooks me, but I think this self-imposed requirement (that I write every day) is creating a safe space for me to slow down.

I've been thinking a little more about why I've gone back to writing like this after about a year of inactivity.  The issue before was that I didn't have a clear-cut purpose for the blog, and so my motivation flagged because I didn't know why I was writing.  But it's clear to me that I'm not writing for an audience.  I'm not trying to promote a product, or a service, or even myself.  I think, rather, that this is turning into a journal of sorts...the kind of writing I always reserved strictly for my notebooks, to be created by hand and pen and scribbles here and there.  But typing is faster.  Perhaps that's lazy, but I'm okay with it.  Who knows - maybe I'll go back to more traditional journaling at some point, but for now, this is what is helping me.  It helps, especially given that I'm an internal processor...and I'm content to let this logic dictate things for now.

The logical follow-up question to this thought is, why don't you make the blog private, then, or just keep a journal on Word and save it to your computer?  Well, I guess I could take either of those routes, but here's the thing: I sometimes get into these moods where I'll hop from blog to blog, hitting the link at the top of my screen just for kicks.  And occasionally, I come across a blog that teaches me something new, or catches my mind, or plants a seed, or just plain interests me.  There's nothing (so far, at least) I've written on this blog that's too private for another person to read, whether he/she knows me or not.  And maybe someone out there, someday, will come across something I've written or thought and be spurred to think a little harder.  Maybe something in me will help him/her, or prompt conversation.  I'm aware that as a person, I'm "no passive observer of life" (as my best friend so encouragingly put it, a few months ago).  I have lots to give, and a willingness to do so...so in the spirit of maybe creating something beyond myself, I'm keeping myself wide open.

A shift: I've been thinking lately about how intimidating prayer can be, and how such fear is actually counterintuitive to the idea of praying.

Yesterday, in a weak moment, I tried to pray - honestly, not because I thought it might help, but because I was desperate and already a weepy mess.  Over the last few months, I've fallen into a comfortable pattern of starting prayers, "Father," or "Lord," but yesterday, was in a precarious place of being physically alone and just wanting a person to be there with me.  I wanted so badly to be leaning into someone who cares about me and understands the bitterness of being curled up in bed and hugging your pillow so you can try to pretend you're not alone.  I wanted something personal, in other words, and at that moment, "Father" and "Lord", though intimate titles, felt like distance.

A name, on the other hand, is a far more personal way to approach a person...and God, as it turns out.

So I tried to begin a prayer, and it took me only a moment to realize that I couldn't say, "Jesus."  It felt paralyzing, to be that personal, even with the God who has searched me and knows me and all that jazz.  And it wasn't like I had reason to be self-conscious, either; I was alone.  I persisted for a few minutes, and when I finally was able to say it, it only made me cry harder.  I'm not sure why, though.  Perhaps it had something to do with hearing myself trying to eke out something even vaguely resembling prayer.

That was last night.  The post-crying headache has stuck around all day and is still squeezing the back of my head, so I think I need to stop writing now and prep for tomorrow's Bioethics seminar.  Between that, my head, and my needing to be out of my room by 7 am tomorrow, I wonder if I'll be able to catch any shut-eye tonight...

July 20, 2012

Free falling

You know what it is?  I fell in love.  That's all it is.  Now I understand why they say it's like falling...

because I didn't realize it,
but I'd suddenly slipped into friendship...
friendship that was the best I've ever had...

because I didn't realize it again,
but I'd suddenly slipped into love...
love that nudged me closer to joy and forgiveness and transformation every day.

I'm free falling.  Every day.  Oh, this ache...my head feels ready to split.  I miss this friendship, and I want nothing more and nothing less than to get all of that back.  He told me, "God is bigger," but I don't believe God cares right now.

In her blog, Emily P. Freeman writes about why it's important to know what makes you cry:

"So what?"  Why does it matter what makes you cry or tear up?  Maybe it just means you're overly emotional, sappy, too sensitive.  Maybe.  Or maybe our tears are tiny messengers, secret keepers of the most vulnerable kind, sent to deliver a most important message: Here is where your heart beats strong.  Here is a hint to your design.  Here is a gift from your inner life, sent to remind you about those things that make you come alive."

So the violence of these tears, the depth of this awful alone-ness and the place it lands me, I suppose, all reveal how viscerally I care, and how fiercely I love...and how that care, that love...it makes me come alive.

July 19, 2012

Captive

I should be working right now...

Instead, this disease holds me captive.  And my heart has never ached like this before.  I need to vent, and I'll do it here because I'm pretty sure no one's reading...which is just fine with me.  Plus, there's no one I can talk to about any of this except D and S and I'm terribly afraid of overburdening them.  What if I'm too much and they decide I'm not worth dealing with anymore?

It's hard to imagine that I could be happy - really, deeply happy - anytime before January.  And I don't even know what's going to happen in January...how that transition will happen.  I know that this time is supposed to provide healing, but it feels like punishment and I'm broken and alone and it hurts to breathe.  So I cry and let this disease control me.  I focus on the cramps because that's pain I can control.  On June 24th (which is when this new hell began), S called it an addiction.  I've only ever thought of it as a coping mechanism, or a control issue...but in a way, her redefinition made sense.  I don't feel able to live any other way.  Is that addiction?

I almost wish I could be angry with him, so that I wouldn't have to be sad...but I care too much about him to even consider such a thing.  Instead, I walk around campus and remember and remember and remember some more.  Everywhere I walk, a memory lies in wait to knock the breath out of me all over again.  B has her reminder in me, and I have my reminders all over this home away from home.  I guess that's fair (what a bitter thought)...but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

Two days ago, S called to see how I was doing.  Among some other well-intentioned and gentler things, she told me that this particular friendship is just not going to come back, and that it would be better (for me) to just acknowledge the truth in that.  She's not wrong; I understand her in my head (as opposed to understanding it in my heart).  It was just way more direct than I could handle.  She apologized, too, and I said, "It's fine; don't worry about it," out of politeness.  She's only known me for four months, after all.  How can I ask her not to be direct when that's the kind of person she is, and she's only known me for four months, and she's only trying to help?

But I ended up crying, alone, all night...it was the same as usual.  It was acrid and breathless and desperate.  It made me physically sick.  I woke with puffy eyes and a tightness over my temples, yet had to spend the day working in my lab and being cheery.  All I really wanted to do was go back to my room and turtle so I could sleep off the headache.  Pretending to be happy is exhausting.  Deceiving (most of) my friends makes me feel more alone than I should have to feel.  There are very few people that I want to be around right now, but if any one of them were, I might have some motivation to move.

July 18, 2012

3 gifts musical

3 gifts musical (I chose 4, because it made sense: "You are My All in All,", "He Knows My Name", each new song (and a beloved music teacher who encouraged me to write them).

This brings me to the 225th of 1000 gifts.  This past May, I found this blog written by a woman named Ann Voskamp, who's written a book called One Thousand Gifts.  Ironically, my first response to reading about her passion for living with gratitude was not to buy and read her book.  Of course, I will do that at some point, but for now, I'm content to take her challenge: in one year, to count one thousand blessings in my life.  It's a humbling daily goal, because I find that I'm quicker to see the things going wrong in my life than I am to see the things that are going right.  I'm quicker to blame and petition God because of what I don't have than I am to thank Him for what He's already given.  Living mindfully, I gather, involves not only recognizing where you've erred and need forgiveness (whether from people or from God), but also recognizing where life is beautiful and satisfying.

Voskamp publishes a "JoyDare" on her blog each month (here's the one for July), which is a calendar that gives a different "theme" of blessings to look for in each day.  Today, I had to come up with three gifts that had to do with music.  Only three? I thought.  I could write about my guitar and its story...and how I've been blessed with a voice to sing...about how I sing everywhere from the grocery store to the bathroom.  Do I think about lyrics?  Songs?  My own songs?  The situations surrounding particular songs?  People I've written about?  Situations I've written about?  The person a particular song reminds me of?  Oh, the possibilities.  I limited myself to the four gifts above and, as I've already noted, was humbled to realize that I have too many gifts related to music to count, or to fit into one post on Facebook (which is where I'm keeping track of the gifts, in hopes that I will spur some of my friends to take on this challenge, too).

I feel like I'll be able to talk to people more concretely and articulately about this whole experience once I've actually read the book in question.  I suppose a trip to half.com is in order...

July 17, 2012

Internal processing

I'm an internal processor, which means that I'm hardly ever as articulate in conversation as I am in writing.  I can put on my professional, talking-to-adults hat and read like I'm thirty, but when it comes to the conversations that bring out five-year-old me, I actually have to prepare.  I need to think about what I'm going to say and anticipate potential reactions.  Is this a weakness?  Is it dishonest?  I used to think so, but these days, I've been growing into an acceptance of this being the way I operate.  The people who really matter in my life accept it, so why shouldn't I?


Ps. 56 is on my mind today, particularly v. 3: "When I am afraid, I will put my trust in you".  I've been saying this to myself all day long...trying to internalize it, hold it, believe it.  I woke with puffy eyes and a throbbing head that reminded me of how last night racked me, wrecked me...and a few random passersby, including the kindly woman at the campus center near the coffee, have told me that I look "really tired" today.  (I wish I knew her name - names are so important.)  You bet I'm tired...but it's not your fault that you've only gotten part of the answer right.  There are only a few people, after all, who can recognize this look as the she-cried-all-night look.  The important people know...and one of those important people is gone, gone, gone.  So, no, I don't want to be cheery with the other two students in my lab, or play with fruit flies, or move, or talk to anyone except those important people.  What I want to do is sleep off this headache in the arms of the people who matter.  I should be running to God, because when I am afraid, I ought to put my trust in Him.  I wonder how long it will be before I'm brave enough to be honest with Him and pray.

Oddly enough, I'm learning something in this: that trusting Him might involve being patient with more than just my circumstances.  It seems to involve being patient with myself, too.