fostering the humanistic practice of medicine publishing personal accounts of illness and healing encouraging health care advocacy

fostering the humanistic practice of medicine publishing personal accounts of illness and healing encouraging health care advocacy

February 2025

“I Know You Don’t Want to Be Here…”

It’s been an interesting year. Eight months after having a large kidney stone removed, I was diagnosed with very early stage cancer—small, low grade, etc. The treatment (surgery) would very likely cure the cancer. The specter of cancer meant that I found this surgery physically easier, but emotionally much harder.

The aftermath of the surgery was interesting in unexpected ways, too.

Six months after surgery, at one of my periodic follow-up visits, I was sitting awkwardly at the end of the exam table, dressed in the standard patient gown and sheet, and waiting to see Becky, the nurse practitioner I’d been assigned to that day.

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Adventures in Fun Dining

At the independent-living facility, we take pleasure in our meals. And, the ingenuity of those who prepare them!

At this morning’s breakfast, for example, it was yesterday’s ham chopped and hidden in buttered egg whites. Those of us who remembered the menu smiled and ate, pleased with Amanda’s maneuvering leftovers. But tonight, it’s watermelon strawberry soup, something we’ve never had before. Served cold in little bowls.

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From Darkness To Light

It often begins subtly, almost sweetly. The extra attention feels like a warm embrace that draws you in, making you feel cherished and unique. You revel in the connection, in the moments where the world fades away, and it’s just you two. Their genuine interest in your thoughts and dreams ignites a sense of belonging.

But then, in an unexpected flash, the first inappropriate touch shatters that comforting illusion, leaving you frozen in confusion. The initial hope lingers, whispering that perhaps it was just a momentary lapse. You cling to the belief that you can still retain that special bond and navigate this new terrain unscathed.

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Remarkable Lady

My aunt was a one-of-a-kind lady. Her laugh was infectious, and she gave the warmest hugs. I miss that laugh. And those hugs.

Every holiday was special. She made sure every one of her nieces and nephews had the perfect gift and spent the same on each of us, I mean to the cent! We all felt her love and knew she was proud of every single one of us. The saying, “to know her, was to love her,” could not be more fitting.

When she was diagnosed with cancer, she put on a brave face and acted as if she had something minor, like a hangnail. Being a healthcare professional, I knew better.

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Not on Our Watch

In February 1979, new regulations went into effect that were designed to protect women and ensure appropriate consent prior to sterilization of patients receiving federal funds. The waiting period was extended to thirty days for giving permission in advance of the procedure and could not be obtained while in labor. It fairly quickly was adopted as a standard, including where I was a student and resident.

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Playing the Odds

“The odds of anything going sideways are less than one in a hundred,” the cardiologist said.

I was only half listening—too busy signing the papers indemnifying the Medical Colossus against any undue outcomes from my pending cardiac catheterization and probable stent placement.

“Less than one in a hundred,” he repeated.

No problem, I thought.

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Election Day

The elderly farmer in faded overalls leaned on his cane as he struggled to enter the room. We ushered him to a nearby table, gave him his ballot and left him to complete it. Back at my voter greeting spot, I noticed him struggling with his glasses, peering closely at the form.

I had never worked the polls before. As an academic family physician, I had taken a six-month sabbatical in part to recover from the exhaustion of leading a department of family medicine during the COVID-19 pandemic. Getting outside my usual day-to-day experience was one way to recover. Serving as a poll worker and Spanish interpreter was a good way to get out into the community.

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Snow Day

I wake up to a miracle.

Snow, in Texas: real snow, not merely a listless splatter of ice and sleet. There must be two inches now, at the least.

Normally, I would be meeting patients, straining to hear narrowed valves and weakened lungs through the prim aluminum of my stethoscope. First, I would make a painless remark to help smooth the shift to the paper-lined examination table; something about the weather, probably. There’s always something to say about the weather.

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Letting Go

I have never been a brave person. As a little girl, the monster under my bed—a creature I knew was real—prevented me from sleeping or gave me nightmares when I managed to drift off. That monster morphed into peers who intimidated me with their confidence, their ability to flirt with boys, their freedom to jitterbug on the dance floor. Heights, reptiles and bridges over water continue to frighten me. I guess I am a weak person wrapped in a tall, seemingly strong frame.

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