I feel really connected to my medical assistant at clinic. The most incredible thing about her is she just “gets it.” She gets the pace of parenthood, the pace necessary to keep patient care moving in clinic, and the pace of my patient–even the very little ones and the big ones. She’s compassionate. She’s invested in being kind. She really treats children like children. When, for example, she doesn’t trust her gut on how a child is completing their screening vision exam, she’ll wait until end of the visit and repeat it. She’ll switch out letters for pictures, she’ll grab stickers to incentivize. This week, she was solving problems before I even noticed they were slowing us down.
She remembers patients like I do. The details, some health related, and some not. Glittery shoes, a nickname, a chronic ear infection, a mother’s need for extra time, a worry that a parent repeats. She says things like, “Did you hear about Angela’s CT at Children’s”" randomly on a Thursday two weeks after we last saw Angela.
She worries like a mom. She performs like a professional. She calls children by their name.
Not everyone in health care delivery is invested in what matters most. Unfortunately, it can be very easy to lose sight of patients in health care, however bizarre and inane that sounds. And so it’s an utter privilege to work with my MA. But more, it’s just so nice to have such an incredible partner. It’s, of course, teams of people that care for patients, not just doctors and the nurses you see. But teams of receptionists, labs techs, schedulers, assistants, insurers, leadership, specialists, nurses, generalists, and so many more.
Teams are good. But sincere, tactile partnerships change everything. Sometimes I feel very alone in my work–right now thanks to my MA, I don’t. To you, Katie, I say thank you so much for making 2011 far better and for all of the hope you bring to 2012…

Five things I say in Clinic (in no particular order). After reading this, you’ll be all set for Family Feud when the category is Things Pediatricians Say.
I had coffee with Dr Doug Opel last week to discuss his 
I think about ways to improve our translation of research for our patients all the time. And I think telling stories really helps. But I didn’t begin that post about heart disease with a story. Although there are many.
I was in a cab yesterday afternoon. I’m at another conference this week and as I made my way to San Diego, I had to count on many people to keep me safe. From the pilot to the air traffic controller to the cab driver. We do this all of the time, of course–step into a moving vehicle, sit down, inform another person where we’d like to go and then just trust. Trust that they know how to drive, that they’ll take care of us, that they’ll do their best to remain aware, responsive, and agile in the face of unexpected events. We trust that they’ll keep us alive and return us to our children. We do this at the clinic and at the hospital, too.
I called my doctor today. Well, I called her office, of course. I needed an appointment to see her this week. First available appointment was next Friday (11 days). “Okay,” I thought, settling, “That will do.”
Recently, I started asking a standard question, exactly the same way, to children during their 3 to 10 year old check-ups. This wasn’t premeditated. Like all physicians, I go through phases of what I ask kids to elicit their experiences and beliefs, listen to their language and observe their development. I learn a lot about my patients from what they choose to answer. Both in their receptive language skills (how they understand me) and their expressive skills (how they speak–fluidly, articulately, with sentences) to their cognition (how they understand concepts and theories). No one talks as much when in the exam room as they do at home. Pediatricians know this (of course!), but these questions are a great way to learn a lot about a child’s wellness and get to know my patients. It’s also the part of the day I enjoy the most.
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…