This post is an amalgam. Not the kind that fits in your back molar, but the kind that exists in my head. I’m trusting you have this type of overlapping-quilt-like-consuming-idea-thread that resides in your head at times and ultimately becomes thematic. How one event in life opens a new window into others and then suddenly there is sense and commonality in different spaces and experiences. You know what I mean? Evolving wisdom or simply experience, I don’t know. But I mean how something persists in your every-moment and helps you define meaning with each new space and time. I’ll explain…
On Monday, a blog post of mine from last summer was published on Dr Kevin Pho’s blog, KevinMD. The post detailed my mom finishing her chemo and 5 words that her oncologist spoke one sunny afternoon: “You’re the picture of health.” The post is about the power of a physician’s words and how words spoken in the exam room linger in our life. In this post, I spoke about words we hear as patients (and caregivers) and how it’s essential that doctors detail wellness when they see it (rather than always focusing on illness). But reading the post again brought me back to last summer. More than once this week (let’s be honest, maybe like 6 times) I’d think about the post and well-up with tears. Maybe it’s the reality that we all face mortality or that I’ve been ushered into a new moment with my mom in her current remission where I am not filled with worry every day. Or maybe it brought me back to the emotion that was in the exam room that day, too. The same emotion I’ve typically divorced myself from. But,
It got me thinking, how was it I was starting a blog, helping my mom through chemo, moving to a new home, and caring for two little boys while caring for a panel of patients during that time? Why wasn’t I in a puddle of tears? Well…see…we do this. Parents (and children) do this ALL THE TIME. They muster incredible courage. Parents face fears. They exceed expectations and bust through boundaries for their children. For example, in the exam room, I tell parents we’re admitting their child to the hospital and then they listen, they thank me, they discuss. They rise up to what is asked of them without their heart falling out of their chest and landing on the floor. They endure. They “keep it together,” they advocate. They share. Yes, they break down sometimes, too. Yes, they tremble. But they always do what they need to. They endure.
Which got me thinking, we really can be the balogne in the generational sandwich. Read full post »