missing home

Its in the moments where I'm alone in the quiet that the gnawing, pulling ache sets in. That desire to be far away. In all the chaos that was India, there was some strange quiet and peace to my life there... a peace and rest that I can't remember experiencing in my childhood, and most certainly haven't obtained in medical school. When the world is swirling around me and people are everywhere and I'm constantly having to be "on", I'm fully engaged in my life here.

But it's nights like tonight, where it's just me, that I crave that home. That little room that I shared with two dear friends on that campus that always felt safe, in that city that was busy in a way in which no one was really in a hurry to get anywhere.

Thank you for remembering that I'm a person too

Patients desire their healthcare workers to treat them like humans. I am the first to understand this importance. My family was blessed with incredible doctors, nurses and others who took care of my brother and our family, who explained and who sympathized and who treated our family like human beings.

But there's something to be said for patients treating their healthcare professionals like humans too. I didn't realize it until I was taking care of this gentleman with end stage lung cancer. Our team almost fought over who got to see him. He might be the only patient on our service who had every one of the residents come and visit him in the morning. I tried to explain it later that day, and the only way I could, was to say that this man and his wife treated us like people. There was no fast interview. Before I could get any questions out about shortness of breath, they were asking questions about me and how I was doing. It was actually awkward at first. He was so active and at peace with where he was in life. His goal was to maintain mobility. His wife's goal was to love him and surround him by family. They were realistic and didn't expect us to be miracle workers. As selfish as it sounds, they invested in us and it was profound.