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Latest Voices
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
Keeping a Stiff Upper Lip
Medicine presents many opportunities for bravery. Years ago, I was at a medical imaging facility, where a child was getting a CAT scan. The mom said to her offspring, “Be brave.” Sometimes, bravery is going into a burning building to save a kid, and sometimes bravery is a kid going into a small tunnel of a CAT scanner.
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.
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.
February More Voices: Bravery
Dear Readers,
It’s winter of my senior year of college. I’m returning to my dorm one afternoon and am startled to see its three-story brick edifice almost hidden beneath a blizzard of bedsheets, banners and placards. Is this some kind of celebration?
Drawing closer, I make out the bold letters on these makeshift signs: “NO CO-EDS IN SAGE,” “KEEP CO-HOGS OUT.”
This isn’t a party; it’s a protest.
Choosing to Live
“Would you do it again?” my husband’s friend asked. Gesturing to indicate the weight of the decision, Dan held out a hand and said, “On the one hand, I needed 10 liters of oxygen 24/7 and probably wouldn’t last six months.” Then he held out his other hand and said, “Or a double-lung transplant. I chose to live.”
Dan had lived with scleroderma for 20 years, dealing with daily pain and countless medical procedures, while the autoimmune disorder gradually destroyed his lungs. But he loved life and was determined to keep going.
Another Trip to the ER
Another trip to the ER. I am exhausted and worried and afraid. Fighting for doctor’s appointments, transportation, medications. No one listens or cares how hard it is.
“How does anyone do this?” I cry frantically into the nurse’s shoulder. She’s understanding and very nice, but she can’t make it all go away. She does what she can, knowing there’s nothing she can do once I take my daughter home.
Strength Beyond Limits
There is a saying that mind over matter comes from using mental willpower to overcome challenges. However, for people with disabilities who have lost bodily function, it means something much more profound: a victory over the terror of disability, a celebration of the resilience it takes to face intense struggles.
My Thyroid Thoughts
I have a hormone-related chronic disease, so I need seven pills per day. I have a hormone-related chronic disease, so I feel alone most of the time. I have a hormone-related chronic disease, so I cannot run or jump. I have a hormone-related chronic disease, so I harass myself most of the time. I have a hormone-related chronic disease, so I get mad with those I love.
