October 2022
Broadway Bound
Ever since his adolescent years, my son and I have had an ongoing conversation (you might call it an argument) about my habit of speaking too frankly when sharing my opinions, which I do frequently.
Or, as he puts it, I have a big mouth.
Listen
When I hear the stories of your mother–her brilliance, sense of humor, activism–I feel that I knew her on some level. After all, I know her daughter, taught well by this woman I never met. A great listener, but also one to share, trade stories, talk it out; throw around ideas like playing catch in the yard, bare-handed, because that’s what friends do. Catching words like a ball, bare-handed, stings a little, but we still do it.
Lipo
My patient inquires about one final issue during her appointment. After wavering for years, she’s decided to travel to Florida for liposuction. She has saved portions of her paycheck over the past year to pay her airfare, hotel, and surgical fee. The surgeon requires X-rays, an EKG, bloodwork, and preoperative clearance. And I am asked to provide them.
Often patients unhappy with their weight—and physical appearance—dream of a quick fix. With an internet recommendation of a surgeon and a few Zoom calls, the surgery is booked.
The Gift of a Botched Surgery
When I was fifteen, I attended a summer music camp with my cello. One evening, during a capture-the-flag game, the boy I was chasing fell. I tripped over him, breaking my tibia and bending my fibula. Two surgeries later at a small community hospital in Maine (external reductions to avoid scars), my shin was dented. To this day, my left leg is shorter than my right, and I walk on the outside of my left foot with a limp.
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And Then the Dog Died
Muscle memory. It’s an amazing thing. It’s what keeps my fingers playing Für Elise on the piano long after I’ve stopped taking lessons. It’s the pressure I sense in the crook of my elbow from linking arms with my late husband. It’s why every time I go for a walk I feel the pull of the leash from my dog Elvis, even though he too is gone.
Muscle memory holds on to real memories. And each time my muscle memory kicks in, I want to link arms with my husband, play Beethoven on the piano and walk my dog.
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Waiting Rooms
My dad, an ob-gyn, hated to be late. If traveling, he insisted on arriving at airports hours early, in the days before TSA screenings necessitated it, resulting in long waits in boarding areas. I’d sigh and fidget in protest. Now, I’ve learned it’s wise to allow time for the unexpected.
Dad ran his office like clockwork. “Don’t be late for a doctor appointment,” he emphasized. “It throws their whole schedule off and keeps others waiting.” Yet he always made time to talk with his patients, to listen to their concerns, to help them through a rough patch.
Scars
I held my breath as the medical assistant cut through the last layer of gauze and began to peel off the bandage. This would be my first view of my left foot since surgery two weeks earlier to correct a bunion and hammer toe.
My big toe and fourth toe were deeply bruised; a jagged, three-inch incision ran atop my bunion onto my big toe; another puckered incision snaked from the top of my foot onto my first toe, which was red and swollen.
Carved Like a Pumpkin
It’s a few weeks before Halloween, that time of year when perfectly intact pumpkins are evident everywhere. I feel great empathy for their plight: “You have no idea what is going to happen next, buddy,” I think. “Someone is going to take a knife to you, and you have no idea how your beautiful, smooth face is about to transform.”
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You Need A Pacemaker
A line of medical professionals awaited me in the ED and worked me up for a complete heart block. A day later, my cardiac surgeon walked in and said, “You need a pacemaker.”
My heart rate had gone down to 28, it turns out, compared to a usual rate of between 60 and 100 beats a minutes. I met with a myriad of professionals on my team; each one explained their role and what I should expect from my impending surgery. I woke up in my room with a pacemaker rep, discussing my pacemaker.
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Pain
I am a PT with 38 years of clinical experience. Though I have many interests, the human experience of pain, especially where physical pain intersects with emotional pain, has been a patient-care focus of mine for some time now. I am also a mom of two, one of whom I lost to the disease of addiction six years ago. And recently, I have been an orthopedic patient, having had a partial knee replacement two months ago.