It feels like wading into cold ocean water. A bit of a shock, and then so refreshing. I step hesitantly out of my office, and then amble down the hallway toward the exam room to see my patient. Both of us will be unmasked. The natural state now requires getting used to all over again.
My routine clinic day was interrupted by a startling message. During a moment of extreme stress, a long-term patient of mine left a threatening voicemail on my colleague’s phone. The target of her anger was me. It was difficult to discern her garbled speech in the recording of her screaming, but I heard loud and clear that she intended to find me at my clinic and physically hurt me – or worse.
Everything’s gone silent
as though a group of doctors has entered
the children’s ward.
Drone of water vehicles stowed,
a couple strolls the long edge of conversation.
Waves, like fear, have subsided—
only their small breaths remain.
Lake Michigan Sunset Read More »
I had just returned from my parish of ministry. Little did I think I would not be returning to my office. Visiting the homebound in person was to become a way of the past. COVID-19 had raised its ugly head and my life would never be the same.
I Took My Routine for Granted Read More »
The year 2020 was a lot of things for a lot of people. Chaotic, exhausting, heartbreaking, hopeful. It was a year in which my immense privilege—as a healthy, educated white woman—protected me from much of the pain born by others.
And while it was many of those things (especially chaotic) for me, it was also the year I started medical school. The year I moved from LA to Austin, driving across California, Utah and Texas in the process. The year I read fifty-four fiction books to escape the monotony of lockdown.
And it was the year my dad died.
During my psychiatry clerkship, I encountered a patient with his first primary psychotic episode. He was an African-American immigrant, and his story hit many of my buttons. I connected with him as his journey brought back memories, and I was moved to read up on various studies surrounding his case. I found an article that hypothesized that immigrants from underdeveloped countries had a higher chance of mental illness due to “dysregulated immunoregulation.”
A Soul-Stealing Belief Read More »
“Your love makes me feel alive,” she says, eyes on the floor, blank faced, looking anything but alive.
This once bubbly girl with a jazzy soul and a voice bursting in major chords, weeping over the beauty in Chopin’s Preludes, as lights soared beneath her slender fingers moving across ivory keys. Who attended college until her senior year only to suddenly withdraw with a forest fire burning through her mind.
When Alma first felt a lump in her right breast, she assumed it was a meaningless skin lesion. But it grew, ultimately taking over the breast. Then her skin blistered, thickened, and turned red. Alma knew it was breast cancer—she’d looked up online images of advanced disease but abruptly closed the web pages. She told herself that “cancer doesn’t happen to me.” Though in her 40s, she was her father’s “mini-me,” adored and indulged.
I entered the world as a rag doll—so poorly sewn together that one pull on a single thread could cause me to unravel. And throughout my more than seven decades of life, many threads have been pulled. Whether I’m receiving exceptionally good news or dealing with inconveniences that I magnify into tragedies, I all too easily become undone and succumb to a tsunami of tears.
Dear Pulse readers,
In my work as a physician, I sometimes see patients whose bodies have come undone. It happens. But in truth, I spend far more time reassuring patients that their bodies have not come undone.
That lump is not a cancer.
Your headache is not a brain tumor.
May More Voices: Coming Undone Read More »
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