2010 was good to me. See the picture; see my boys? Was it good to you? Life was out of balance, but full, vibrant, meaty, and dynamic. I met amazing people. Work and time with family has been very textured; I feel saturated. Writing and maintaining this blog has ultimately caused me to pause and think about medicine, and my choices, quite a bit more than I used to. I chew on the things people say in comments and in response to what I write over and over again. I’ve learned a lot.
I’m indebted to many. Primarily, to my husband, who has read e-v-e-r-y-s-i-n-g-l-e-p-o-s-t. And for all but about 5 of them, he’s read them prior to them being published. It turns out he is incredibly committed to communicating about pediatric health as well, but goes about things quietly. Clearly, we’re very different (thank goodness). I remain so thankful that someone believes in what I say like he does. My mom also reads nearly every post. She’s been known to scold me about typos and grammatical errors yet ultimately keeps me in check. When an older relative watched a television interview I did recently on obesity, he said, “Well, she speaks too quickly.” My mom apparently responded, “You need to learn to listen more rapidly.” So genuine support abounds at home and at work. I’m entirely indebted to those with whom I work at Children’s, my peers, and my friends in medicine. You’ve all bolstered me this past year. As I said in an interview today, “I am just so lucky to partner with an organization that believes in innovation.” Thank you, all.
So a quick greatest hits. Here’s a breakdown, strictly by the data (pageviews), of the posts that were read most frequently in 2010. Read full post »
I’m not trying to ruin your holidays (or your appetite). I really couldn’t and wouldn’t make this stuff up. But yes, we have had a lice infestation for the holidays. Last Thursday we flew to California to be with family for Christmas. Before that, I was in the midst of typical holiday madness, but I also felt this year, in particular, I’d managed not to get stressed. While in clinic on Wednesday, I made a conscious decision that I wasn’t going to stress about the to-do list awaiting me at home. The perspective I get while seeing patients often helps me frame my own stress. Compared to a broken arm or a bout of RSV, a packing list is really nothing. My husband was on call on Wednesday, so when I returned home from clinic around 6:30pm, the to-do list was mine alone. I needed to pack the family for the holiday, finish off some writing, wrap some gifts, and find something for dinner while completing the Christmas cards. I had about 12 hours before we needed to leave for the airport. But this is the life of nearly every parent at one time or another, particularly around the holidays. Then it hit.
Getting is an important part of our holiday tradition, too, even though most of us over age 18 naturally subscribe to the insight that, “We get far more when giving than when getting gifts.” Children feel differently, of course; when you’re young, holidays and celebrations are all about the getting. Part innocence, part their time and space, part their developmental stage (it’s normal for preschoolers to believe everything is about them); the recipe for being a child includes wanting more toys. But using Santa (or his elves) as a behavioral tool is never going to work. Naughty or nice is a total hoax.
I’ve been slightly dented by the bad news I’ve heard this year. In 2010, more parents have told me about losing their jobs, having a hard time paying the bills, losing their health insurance (this makes me insane/incensed!!), and losing their homes while I’ve been in clinic than I ever imagined. I’ve always had the fortune of financial support, either from my family as a child and young adult, or through loans for college and med school. My entire life, I’ve always had a place to sleep. In this down market, I’ve thought more about my good luck than ever before. I still have plenty of educational debt (like most doctors), but previously while living on educational loans or in medical training, I lived paycheck to paycheck. Therefore I didn’t have the luxury to give to charity. Or I didn’t choose to (that’s another way to look at it). Now as I get farther away from my training, I have more opportunity to give.
Speaking of cribs, I started this post on November 17th. I quickly abandoned it for no good reason. I realized tonight it was due to an unbelievable heap of procrastination. No, I wasn’t procrastinating about the writing. It was the act of moving O from crib to toddler bed. We’ve done this before, about 2 years ago. It wasn’t pretty. F had climbed out of the crib one day during his nap and greeted our nanny. I was on strict bed-rest with O. 3 weeks later I delivered and we had a newborn at home in concert with daily 2 hour stand-offs with F at bedtime. Staying in bed wasn’t his plan. He’d empty his entire closet, climb on top the chairs, look out the window, ask for water. Sing his repertoire of songs. Repeat his repertoire of songs. Consequently, for about 6 months we agonized in the reality that we’d moved F to a “big” boy bed prior to him transitioning into a “big” boy. Toddler-two’s-torture. Crib jail had been so nice.
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I’ve been struck by the death of Elizabeth Edwards. I keep coming back to thoughts about her. Like most Americans, on Monday I learned she was advancing to hospice care. After a long day in clinic on Tuesday, spent, I listened to NPR in the car on my commute home. It was dumping rain in Seattle, it was dark, the cars were moving slowly. NPR announced she’d passed away. What? Pause. Swallow. Take a right turn at the light…
Recently I saw a patient for his 7 year old well child check. He was in the office with his entire family for an evening appointment. My medical assistant got his weight, height, blood pressure, and completed his screening exams. In the hall, she mentioned to me that he said he was going to be a scientist when he grew up. She was charmed (clearly) and I was weak in the knees when I entered the exam room. I mean, endearing and sweet, robust and proactive, his dreams exceeded the typical 7 year old. I suppose I thought this partly because of my path in life (science-y and full of many years of science education). Of course there is nothing ultimately graded about dreaming to be a scientist when compared to dreaming to be an astronaut, a carpenter, a designer, a gardener, a botanist, an artist, or a teacher (this list goes on and on). What we want for children is far wider than their title–what we want is contentment and enjoyment in their career. Most of us often love when people tell us they want to be “us” when they grow up. It’s affirming, right? One reason you have to be careful from whom you seek career advice. For most, it will often sound a lot like a transcript of what they have done. I’ve been thinking about this since the visit because of what happened next… 