WWBD

Overheard:

“What would Batman do?”

Dad to 4 year old before vaccinations.

Thank you ping pong

I did something nice for a fellow doctor. He’s a family practice physician who has given up all of his hospital priviledges. Dr. M chooses to focus on his outpatient practice until an admission comes along. Our hospitalist service usually covers his adult admissions, but when he has a rare pediatric admission, he turns to me.  My partners are not keen on the extra work, but I believe in pay it forward.

Did I say I didn’t grumble?  I did.  About all the questions the family had for me.  About the child’s slower than normal recovery. About the armchair quarterbacking from the Dr. M.  Yes.  I did moan. Some.

So the awesome thank-you basket from my favorite bakery kind of brought tears of humility to my eyes.  He didn’t have to do that, but it was darn nice that he did.

I wasn’t sure what to do next.  Do I thank him for the appreciation?  My Southern upbringing has gotten a little carried away with the rules and regulations of acknowledging generosity.  When my first son came along, I was still writing the customary thank yous for china and candlesticks from my wedding.  Six months had elapsed between the two events (do the math – I got pregnant after the engagement and before the wedding).  My hormone addled brain finally got them all finished when Eldest’s first birthday rolled around. 

Now with a public persona – albeit small town public persona – the rules of society drop off and leave me hanging.  I’m never sure if I need to recognize every flower, fruit basket and meal that I receive.  If these gifts are given in appreciation, do I need to thank the thanker? In an ideal world, I would love to jot a short note on my personal stationary to all  who support me.

Topic Day

Come on over to Mothers in Medicine! We’re having topic day, and our theme this time is about our mentors.  Come see what we’ve said about those who inspire us.

Chunky Monkey

Barf trickled down Youngest’s arm at midnight. He looked bewildered and on the verge of tears.
“Honey, what happened? Did something upset your stomach?” Nods yes.
“Is it in your bed, too?” Another nod.
“’C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” I said as I wrestled with my physician urge to “just peak” in his throat to see if he had strep.
All tucked into my bed, he looks fragile, not terribly sick, just the look that needs some Mommy TLC. I headed for his room to see what I needed to clean up. Yup – his bed was out of commission for the rest of the night. He missed his beloved stuffed penguin, Magel, but pretty much covered Hum-Hum, the Webkinz hummingbird.
Was it the chicken pie? No we all ate it and we’re fine. What about the strawberries? They were a day old. No I ate those, too. Maybe it was the sugar on the strawberries.
Husband is doing late night paper work at the office – payroll and insurance corrections that need his undivided attention. I call to divide it anyway.
“Youngest got sick, and I can’t figure out why.”
“Oh. Is he ok?”
“He’s in our bed, and says he doesn’t think he’ll get sick again. His bed’s a mess. I’m getting ready to throw it in the machine.”
“I can do it when I get home.”
“It’s got chunky monkey all over.”
“Chunky Monkey stays chunky monkey & then I just have to clean it out of the washer afterwards. Just leave it and I’ll hose it down outside.”
“Ok.” I say as a wave of giggles hits me. “Thanks.” I’ll never be able to eat that version of Ben & Jerry’s again. Ugh.