Morning Drama

I had to go in to work this morning to round and, while I was glad to have the rest of the day off, it is still unhappy to wake up before dawn, pry yourself out of your warm bed, and go bother people who also don't want to be awake. This particular morning was even harder to walk out the door, as the kids woke up just as I was getting ready to leave, making my departure even more annoying and traumatic for everyone. So I rushed to work, rounded as fast as possible, and jet out of the hospital. I will admit to being less than my usual Joy of Work self, and I probably didn't give people the emotional connection the deserve. Regardless, people were cared for and I was heading out.

I rounded a turn in the hall near the main entrance and was thinking about something completely mundane, like how I wish I'd grabbed a thicker coat or planning what to have for breakfast, when I found myself walking directly between two people in a heated conversation. A man and a woman, each of them crying, talking to each other 25 feet apart.

MAN

We can still make it work! It's never too late!

WOMAN

It is too late! I can't go back to the way it was! I just can't! But I still love you so much!

MAN 

Then what is the problem? I can't understand what's going on with us! Please, come back to me!

WOMAN

Oh, you know it can't be! (sob sob) It just can't!

I discovered that I had stopped, right in the middle of them, and was watching the exchange like a tennis match. And I wasn't the only one - several other people, employees, patients, random strangers - all entranced by this Hospital Soap Opera scene playing for us, the couple themselves completely oblivious to the audience. Finally, the two lovers separated, never coming any closer to each other than they had been at the start, and the crowd looked at each other. I wanted to applaud, another woman dabbed a tissue at her eye. Everyone was a little amused and touched and bewildered by the whole thing.

I personally don't think a hospital hallway is the place to break up, but I have also been in relationships and situations where that ugly, messy, raw emotional stuff just spills out and there isn't any way to stop it. Once, I had a horrible fight with my sister over the phone while I was Christmas shopping in a fancy mall. I was crying and cursing and it was completely inappropriate for public viewing and I vaguely remember people staring at me but, again, that's where it happened and there was no stopping it once it got going.

 I felt guilty for blowing off my patients this morning. Stopping to watch the personal drama of two people reminded me of my own patients upstairs, having just added to or started their families, and of their stories unfolding in front of me. I was too distracted to try to connect with them this morning, sit with them and admire their babies, listen to their concerns, allay their fears. Sure, they were fine, and I heard the "important" things, like that they hadn't developed a fever or bleeding or anything bad. But I didn't listen to how their nights went, how their babies are today, how they're adjusting to this new family.

I know that I can't be everything for everyone, and that no one blames me for trying to get home to my family on my day off. But that's part of being a doctor: expecting yourself to always be a doctor to your patients, whatever that means to you. Today, I didn't do so well. I'll do better tomorrow. And try to be even better the next day.

Dear Colin

Dear Colin,

Your life has been completely turned upside down the last six months and while I'm not going to apologize for it, I do want to applaud you and tell you that you are a peach. You handled all the turmoil and stress of a new baby as if you were expecting this all along, just waiting for her to show up. You continue to deal with your parents both working all hours of the day and night, and you and your sister floating back and forth between various friends and family members, like you scheduled this whole thing yourself. With the exception of brushing your teeth before bed, you conduct your life with such grace and poise and exuberant joy that I find myself envious. Where did you learn to be this put together? I doubt it was from me, and I know for a fact it wasn't from your father.

The reason I'm not going to apologize for doing this to you and your sister is complicated. You and I talk a lot about how important words are, and how to choose the right ones, so I'm going to try to do that now.

You and Caroline are the highlight of my day, the brightest, happiest parts of my life. Your dad feels the same way. The littlest details of your lives are of the utmost interest and importance to us, and we clamor to hear them when we convene over dinner. But even though you and Caroline are the most important things to us, your daddy and I both need other things in our lives, too. We need to work, which is a concept you are starting to play with. You often tell me, "Mommy, I'm going to work now! I'm going to have a great day at work today!" and I hope you say that because that is the impression that your daddy and I give you about our work. We work to make ourselves better, to make other people better, to make each other better. And, hopefully, to make you and Caroline better too. We work so that we can buy food and clothes and toy cars, of course, but we also love our work. We love the people at work and what we do at work and we love to be at work. That is true, but I don't want you or Caroline to ever think that because we love to be at work means that we don't love to be with you. We LOVE to be with you, too, and it's okay to love both.

Most days, you are excited to go to school. Your friends are there and you know your way around the games and the books. You have a routine that makes you comfortable and a chair with your name on the back. "C O L I N," you tell me proudly and you point out the letters. You have learned so much there, and you feel like you belong. I hope you can always find a place that pushes you to grow, to learn, to become more than what you were when you got there. A place where you feel you belong. I want you to have that away from our home and family, and then to leave that place, come home and embrace your family, eager to share what you've learned and to love each other in your home.

It isn't always easy, and sometimes things fall apart a little bit. The last few weeks have been really busy for our family. While I've tried to keep things as relaxed and joyful at home as usual, I don't think it was successful, and you started having accidents at school. I took this as a personal, secret message that I needed to pay attention, to step it up, to make sure you and Caroline knew how much you are adored around here. I don't know if that is really what's going on, but thanks for the reminder anyway. It won't be that last time you'll have to set me straight in all likelihood, but know that I'll be listening when you do.

Today I dropped you off at school and reminded you to use the potty. You wrapped your not-so-little arms around my neck and said, "I will, Mommy. I'm going to make you so happy!" Having no words, I buried my face in your hair and squeezed you until you complained and wriggled away from me to build a tower out of blocks and change the world.

You make my heart sing, little man.

With love,
Mommy

New Year

Happy New Year! Guess what one of my resolutions is this year?

Residency is trucking along relentlessly and so does everything else. The kids are getting older by the second, holidays have come and gone, and I am living and breathing work. I can't believe how different I feel in just a few months, though I don't know if my confidence is premature and based only on blind hope that I am doing the right thing (likely). Tomorrow starts my first off-service rotation (emergency room medicine), which means that it's unlikely I'll see a pregnant patient again for more than a month. I am thrilled at how sad this makes me. I worried that I would tire of obstetrics, but I just find it more and more fascinating and challenging as I get deeper into it.

That being said, ER should be fun. If nothing else, there are shifts that are 7am-4pm. SEVEN TO FOUR. I've usually seen ten patients by 7am, and leaving at 4pm seems like a crime, no matter what time you start the day. It's going to be great.

I was so lucky to have a few days off for the holidays, and even more lucky that those days included Christmas. We did a good bit of local traveling, but saw family and friends that, during a busy month in residency, might as well live on the moon. We are still paying for how hard we pushed the kids - poor things, we tried to convince them to nap in the car everyday, since we were constantly running from one place to another. They made up for it in the tremendous love they encountered at every turn (not to mention loot, spoiled rotten children).

COLIN

Have I told you? HE POOPS IN THE POTTY. Thank the stars, he just up and decided to do it one day and has never looked back. Not an accident, sleeping in Big Kid Underwear, the whole deal, can you believe it? It's the best Christmas gift ever. He did it first at school, a day I happened to pick him up. Normally, when I ask how his day was, he tosses a "Fine" over his shoulder and I have to tackle him to the ground to get anything out of him. This day, however, he says, still nonchalantly, "I pooped in the potty today." In fact I thought I had misheard, that my wildest hope had manifested as hearing things. But then he sent up to me the proudest, most quietly excited look, his eyes squinty with the breadth of his smile. I made a complete scene, I'll have you know. The whole building knew what had happened that day.



Interestingly, all the bribes I offered in my desperation were not at all lost on him, and he reminded me of his promised winnings as we walked to the car that night. "I get my MaiMai back, and a giant truck, and a cupcake, and a pack of stickers..." It was a good lesson about bribery (for both of us, unfortunately).



Colin was thoroughly confused by Santa this year. He was completely into the idea of getting presents, but many of the details were lost on him. At one point, I was informed that Santa rides flying dogs to people's houses, as well as that Santa would come every day until Colin's birthday came around again. This confusion was likely not aided by Patrick, who was equally puzzled. One day, in front of our children as well as our two nephews, said, "Wait, who does the stockings? Us or Santa?" He's lucky to be alive, I think. The Baby Mama is a fierce defender of Santa. Anyway, I don't know what I'll do with the two of them.







Luckily, Santa did visit our house, and left all kinds of goodies for everyone. Colin cleaned up the most, but he was most helpful in opening everyone else's presents as well. Caroline especially, given that she is mostly unable to coordinate tearing the paper off the package. The natural disaster left behind Christmas  morning reminded me of so many Christmas mornings growing up, when my sisters and I raced down the steps and dove into a pile of presents. Colin barely stopped to look at his gifts, there were so many to get to. There were a few that stopped him in his tracks, though. 





After Christmas at our house, we traveled south to a cabin on a farm to celebrate with my mother, sisters, and our nephews. Food, games, snuggles, and love. Exploring in the chilly weather and back in for hot chocolate and a nap. What else could you ask for, really.







However the real scene stealer was Angry Birds. All the  kids are obsessed with it and play at every opportunity. In fact, Colin insisted on getting an Angry Birds dog toy set for the pups for Christmas, which, incidentally, look a lot like the set that we gave to our nephew. Hm.



CAROLINE

Caroline is beautiful and sweet and serious, very observant and curious. She cracks up at anything her brother does to get her attention, but anyone else has to work for a smile. She has this incredible intensity about her, still playful but with a more reserved sense than Colin ever did. I love the closeness she demands, though it does get a little claustrophobic at 3am.



Christmas for Caroline was mostly about the wrapping paper. She did flips over it, reaching and scooting and screaming for wrapping, mostly unconcerned with the actual gift. Typical 6 month old, am I right? The paper was the gift for her, which makes her a really cheap date on Christmas.









v







It was a very Merry Christmas indeed. I hope you can say the same.

Bad Mommy

We've been told by Colin's teachers that he is an exceptionally bright boy, eager to learn and quick to master new challenges. He demonstrates, we are further informed, a love of learning that "makes teaching him a joy", a quality that makes my heart sing with pride.

This eagerness and quick mastery, however, has not yet extended to potty training. The joy certainly does not.

We were pretty close before Caroline was born, but that event threw a large, awkwardly-shaped wrench into our collective potty training efforts. Not so unexpected, we sighed, he'll catch on when he's ready. And along we went, gently encouraging him, loudly praising and quietly correcting, operating under the assumption that it is unlikely that he will have to attend his high school graduation in a pull up. And it largely worked, for the peeing part anyway. He picked it up just before his birthday and has been relatively reliable since then. We still celebrate and offer treats for his good "choice" to pee in the potty, but it is completely expected behavior now.

We have never, ever, not once managed to get him to poo in the potty. Not once, in the many months we've been at this, have we even come close. The only mild success was the other day when he announced in an alarmed voice, "Mommy! I'm pooping! I'll try to hold it in!" and then proceeded to visibly suck in everything he could. He didn't quite make it and the event still necessitated a complete costume change, but it was the best attempt he's had so far. Every other day is as follows:

Colin do you need to poo? No, Mommy. Colin how about now? Any poo for the potty? No, Mommy. Colin how are you doing? Any poo? NO MOMMY!

What's that smell?

Mommy, I pooped in my pants! 

We have tried everything. We've tried incentives, you wouldn't believe the things we've promised him. Candy and cupcakes and trips to the park and new trains. We've tried the Ick Factor, forcing him to clean himself up afterwards, which has thus far only resulted in delighted squeals from the bathtub. Peer pressure, shame, sticker charts, and throwing away treasured Big Boy Underwear - nothing has even made him blink. He is impervious to my bribes and pleas and threats and promises.

Until last night, when I did the unthinkable.

I took away his MaiMai.

I immediately regretted it, truly. What was I thinking? It's his comfort source, his beloved ball of knotted yarn (formerly a blanket), that to which he clings and snuggles and seeks out when he is upset. And so we proceeded through our evening. Three straight hours of screaming for the MaiMai. If it wasn't about that it was something else ("I need a bear! I'm thirsty! MY BELLY HURTS!") but it was all really about the MaiMai because he'd lost his ability to deal with things, to take a step back and breathe while snuggling with something treasured and safe. Awful, awful, awful.

The worst part is that I have now doomed anyone taking care of him to the same fate, since I clearly told him that he can't have it back until he poos in the potty. So Patrick, poor post call Patrick, will have to deal with him tonight. Our beloved neighbors this weekend. Of course, maybe this will be enough, this will be it, this will work. Maybe. Or maybe he'll go to high school in pull ups and be in therapy forever because his mother stole away his MaiMai. Too early to tell.

I am such a mean, mean mommy.

 

Distance

About a week ago, I got home while it was still daylight and got out of my car to find the kids at my neighbor's house. Colin was running joyfully around the backyard, in a furious lightsaber battle with the older boys. Caroline was carrying on a very deep conversation with my neighbor, telling all about her day. I sat down and scooped Caroline up into my arms, breathing in her sweet baby smell. She smiled and laughed before spitting up all over me.

"Katie! You didn't tell me that Caroline could roll over already!" My neighbor looked at me expectantly, but was visibly shocked when my eyes welled up and tears spilled over.

"I didn't know, actually."

I just finished an incredibly demanding rotation. The hours were greuling and the work was constant. It was incredible learning and the people I worked with were wonderful, but I never saw my kids. I left hours before they woke up and came home only in time to put them to bed (on a good day). Patrick did 90% of the parenting for more than a month. The other night, when Colin woke up a feverish, sweaty mess, he cried for his Daddy. I put him in our bed and he and Patrick snuggled, Colin with his thumb and his MaiMai, while I laid in Colin's bed, trying to get Caroline back to sleep after all the wailing.

This morning, I happened to have a late day, and I took the kids to school. As I walked in, I realized that I had never taken Caroline to school. Ever, in her now eleven weeks of attending school. Colin has changed classrooms since the last time I was there, and I didn't even know which one was his. I didn't know where his coat hung, how to sign him in for the day. He looked at me curiously and said, "It's okay for you to go now, Mommy."

It was the first time I questioned my choices.

Why was I even in medicine? It wasn't what I started out to do, so how did I end up here? Why am I a mother to two perfect children if I'm not going to be with them? Who am I to give advice to pregnant women about being a mother when my own son calls for someone else when he's sick?

This post is not going to end with a shocker about how I'm dropping out of residency. Not even close. I love this work and look forward to coming to the hospital every day. I am unbelievably grateful for the opportunities I have been given to participate in the care of women.

But this post also isn't going to end with a happy story about how we all snuggled on the couch and giggled until we fell asleep. I didn't know Caroline was rolling over because I never put her down once I get home, instead holding her close to me and breathing in her sweetness like a drug. I quiz Colin incessantly about his day and his new classroom. Who are your friends? What color is Your Spot? Do you like the potties there? How awesome is your new, big playground?

By the time the kids are fed, washed, and asleep, I have nothing left. Patrick gets the absolute worst of me, the part that is left over after everything else has been taken during the day. If we're lucky, we  will swap stories from the day and pow-wow about the plan for the next day while we pass out in bed, but most nights I am asleep within an hour of putting the kids down.

I haven't figured this out yet. I don't want to wish away my life, live for tomorrow. My kids and my husband and my life is here now, and that deserves my attention and so much more. I give everything I have left to them and tell them a thousand times in that hour or two how much I adore them, cherish their every breath. I kiss them enough times to make their skin red and chapped, but it still feels inadequate, too distant. I expect that this pain will dull, but I can't imagine that this ever gets easier.

My Loves

Every night, usually between dinner and bath time, we have the following exchange.

COLIN

Okay! It's time for me to go to work!

KATIE!

Colin, we just finished dinner! Let's play for a bit and take a bath.

COLIN

I'm sorry, Mommy I have to work! I love you though! Can you help me find my keys?

He tools around searching for his plastic Lightning McQueen keys, puts his shoes on, and then makes the rounds, kissing everyone, spending an extra moment with Baby Caroline, and heads out the door.

"Bye, Mommy and Daddy! Bye Baby Caroline! I'm going to work!"

Friends, residency is HARD. Yesterday was Colin's third birthday and also my first day off in a while. We threw together a fun party at the last minute, with our family and neighbors (aka extended family), but no long planned shindig like we have done before. I just couldn't swing it. I can't swing much of anything these days. It's a miracle my kids even still respond to me at all.

In fact, Colin calls for his Daddy when he wakes up or when he is hurt. Caroline smiles indiscriminately, but she lights up for Patrick and is merely politely cheerful for me. The dogs greet me like a stranger, and I sometimes feel like a stranger coming home. The kids have already eaten, having had a full day and ready for bed. I'm watching from the outside, wanting desperately to be a part of their day but only catching the very last bit.

Patrick and I are nothing more than ships passing in the night, quite literally. He's been working evening and night shifts, where I have to be asleep by 9:30 to be functional and at work before 5am. He drops off and picks up the kids, I try to remember to pick out clothes for them the night before. He does all the shopping, cooking, and laundry, I try to pick up the house before passing out in bed. He asks about my day and listens and I stumble through my stories, trying to stay awake long enough to connect with him, and mostly failing.

Work itself is going well, I love my job and I feel so honored to be involved in the care of women at one of the most memorable times in their lives. I am learning so much so fast, and I am so grateful to be able to do this work. But I miss my people. I miss my own life and the lives of my kids so much that it hurts.

Trainable Idiot

Today, I started residency. I put on my long white coat, walked into several patients' rooms, and said, "Hi, there! I'm a doctor, as you can see by the length of my coat. You can tell I'm an intern by the way my hands tremble and by the sweat stains on my shirt. My goodness, is it hot in here?"

That's not entirely true. Actually, I mostly stuttered today. I tripped all over my words when I talked to patients. I clammed up when asked by an attending about anatomy. I mentally stumbled in my to-do list, resulting in several minor but annoying mistakes. And let's not even talk about the dictation that I had to do today, instead saying a prayer for the poor, poor transcriptionist.

I think that the day was largely successful and that I should go back again tomorrow. The morning rounds were the worst, either because of the early, early, OMG early hour or because I am so rusty. Regardless, it can only get better tomorrow, now that I know where the computers are and how to log into them. I am fortunate to be on an intense but incredibly supportive team, which will mean that I will learn a ton and have fun doing it. Things look good.

Today was also Caroline's first day at "school". In the future, I think, I will probably count it as a success that I only broke down into tears four times throughout the day, and then only when people directly asked how I was doing being away from her. I kept it together the rest of the time, which is something I think should be applauded. Maybe. I don't know, maybe not. I can't decide if I'm a complete puddle of mess because I weep at the mention of our separation or if I'm a callous jerk of a mother because at all other times I am happy to be at work and feel that she is well cared for. Probably, this means that I am normal, but this is not a conclusion that I can reach on my own just yet.

Colin apparently refused to leave his sister's side this morning until he had been repeatedly assured that she would be fine and loved in her new room. That kid warms my heart, y'all.

Tomorrow, I get to go to the OR! Scrub-a-dub-dub!