What Do I Do on the 31st Day?

I stare at the prescription bottle with instructions: Take once a day. Pill count-30. Refill until this date, the following year. I have a heart condition, Hypertrophic Obstructive Cardiomyopathy (HOCM), and I need the pills to decrease the blood pressure to and from my heart.

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Firing My Doctor

I didn’t decide to “fire” my doctor on the spot.

During my last appointment with her, I’d filled Dr. Green in on the details of my mastectomy. I happily reported that the surgeon had declared me “cured”–the tumor’s margins were clear and my nodes were negative. Because I had large breasts and wanted to avoid wearing a heavy prosthesis, I’d had a reduction on my healthy breast at the same time. A routine biopsy of that tissue had showed dysplasia–abnormal cells. As a nurse, I’d researched this finding and found scant evidence that it would develop into cancer. My

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Losing Touch

I worry that in the future, doctors won’t touch patients. When I put my hand on the foot of a dying patient–and feel that it is still warm and offer measured encouragement–I am doing the work of this profession.

Telemedicine, on the other hand, is part of another world; I don’t wish it to go away, but that it coexist with the tactile, earthy, demanding, inconvenient reality of patients’ bodies.  

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Lessons from the Judge

My co-worker in the intensive care unit said, “Hey, that looks like Burl Ives,” as we came out of the change-of-shift report.
The charge nurse replied, “No, that’s Mr. Jones, a federal judge. Everybody’s scared of him.”
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A Mother’s Worry

How does a mother not worry when her son is a heroin addict? Yet, counterintuitively, it was letting go of my worry that allowed me to survive. 

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Ten Days and Counting

We were waiting anxiously for a surgery to correct a stricture in our newborn son Ethan’s aorta, just four days following another procedure, to repair defects in his throat. After Ethan was prepped for surgery, the cardiovascular surgeon called us aside. 

“Our first surgery,” he said, “took much longer than we anticipated. We are all a little tired. If you feel strongly that we should go ahead with the operation, we will do it as scheduled. But we would rather wait until Monday.”   

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See What’s Left

The other day I asked my husband, “How many times a day do you worry about your body or your health?” His reply, “one or two,” shocked me. My answer: At least fifty.
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Pain: A Source of Worry

Ten years ago, I had my first jaw surgery; this past December I had my fifth. The latest surgery also came with radiation to–hopefully–prevent heterotopic bone from regrowing over the prosthetic device in my jaw and from causing me 24/7 pain. And worry.

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