I almost failed Organic Chemistry (read I almost got a B+) and now I am a doctor

From an early age, I was heavily praised for being bright and precocious. I was generally obedient and craved deeply my parents love and affection, which perhaps too often went hand-in-hand with a good report card. I recognize they were doing their best, as we all are, just trying to do the right thing day in and day out while putting a roof over our heads and food on the table. 

I strove for perfection, vigorously treading water to please my parents and to maintain an aura of success and competence. I learned very little about failure until I reached college and this article ( Campus Suicide and the Pressure of Perfection http://nyti.ms/1VIuROq) in the NY Times struck a cord with me today. 

Societal and academic pressure has been around for ages and I think the majority of what is said here is already well know. Parental pressure can be debilitating, and one billion Asian teens can tell you that story over and over. The Tiger Helicopter mom is our bread and butter. I was pressured into memorizing my multiplication tables in the dark with three grains of rice while all other children had a proper childhood with cable television and on-brand fruit roll ups and frolicked in the woods carrying Barbie dolls. Or so I thought.

I had a somewhat delusional vision of everyone else's all-American, stress-free homes. Everyone else's life was my fantasy. I dreamed up that faux-reality even without the aid of a perfect Insta-filtered world of swans and bikinis floating in aquatic backyards. I mean, have you seen some of these adolescent Insta accounts?! hashtags with #bae? Goddammit everything is #on fleek. I barely know if the vocab is even in the English language. Merriam Webster be damned! I really do enjoy Facebook and Instagram. I can catch up on old friends and their babies, sneakily investigate a new friend's husband's name that I forgot and I am a member of some Mom groups that tell me what day to recycle my milk cartons. But I feel Insta-pressure from other postpartum moms who look like Greek goddesses in their bikinis after 4 kids, and I am a grown up! How on earth are my kids supposed to grow up in this era of Photoshopped-life and not feel that need to keep up? 

I guess the answer lies with me and my husband. We can be human reminders that perhaps a picture is worth a thousand words, but those words may just be a good work of fiction. I'll start the trend. Lets post real life. The good and the bad. No filter, failures welcome.

Xo,

m 

Hoodies, no makeup, no filter. 

#deliveryroom selfies ?!@!&

A disturbing item came up in my googlenews feed this morning. A Venezuela-based medical student had posted a selfie with a woman giving birth in the background. Along with some crude remarks about female anatomy, there was a brash and disgusting disregard for perhaps the most vulnerable moment in a woman's life. The article detailed that this is actually not a rarity and that many health care professionals use the delivery room hashtag to post similarly offensive Instagrams. As an obstetrician who routinely leaves my husband and two small children in order to spend sometimes over 24 hours supporting women during their labor, I found myself more than a little miffed. I make that difficult choice to not be with my family, to ensure safe passage of a new life into this world and to care for women during a moment that is literally life-threatening. How dare someone make light of that? How dare a medical professional disgrace what I consider to be my life's work? 

I usually use this blog to talk about parenting moments and avoid the shop-talk of my career. I never want to be preachy about the birth experience because it is such a personal choice, so many polarizing opinions about epidurals, elective cesareans, skin-to-skin, boppies, birthing balls, breastfeeding and feminism. A universal truth, though....It is NOT a public social media moment.

I battle daily against public misperceptions about what happens on the labor floor. Patients fear that we make rash decisions about their deliveries based on office hours, money, imaginary cocktail parties. That fear has lead many to become distrustful of obstetricians, vilifying us as crude manipulators of a natural process.

My husband, who is perhaps my greatest  cheerleader, knows what I go through in order to help women have a safe and nurturing birth experience. It is not easy to be married to me. I make these sacrifices in my personal life because I know what can go wrong during childbirth, and I am fortunate enough to have the skills and experience to make a difference in those moments. 

How far we have come as a civilized society, gay marriage and transgender equality shout out in the headlines, but how Neanderthal our views on childbirth and maternity leave. I am so lucky to have women who trust me to care for them during what can be a scary and foreign moment. I am so sorry that there are members of the medical community with such poor judgement. 

Sandwiched

My dad recently mentioned a phrase I hadn't heard before, the Sandwich generation. That is, being sandwiched between caring for your young kids and ailing parents. While it primarily refers to financial burden, it's an emotional challenge more than anything else.

I haven't posted much in this last year since my mom passed and as the anniversary of her death approaches, I find myself faced with my father's mortality as well. Recently diagnosed with lymphoma, he began his chemo story yesterday. I have not been able to be as supportive as I would like, but I am trying my best. Aren't we all?

He is surprisingly chipper; he's prepared in a way most people aren't. After all, he walked this road for seven years with my mom. He knows it all, the ins and outs of nausea, hair loss and fatigue. He got a smart buzz cut earlier this week, dropped by with gifts for my daughter's third birthday before his treatment, stocked up on soft, palatable foods. He is admirably rational and practical about the whole thing. It's a task, just like any other. In some ways I think he feels closer to my mom now that he is sharing an experience with her. He doesn't pity himself. He is just standing tall and marching on. 

I am sitting in the dark, considering my own pity party, and after a brisk GET OVER IT moment, I am thinking about what it means to be a parent, a wife and a daughter. I should probably be asleep but as is typical for me, a bit of font on the page is soothing and cathartic. I'm sandwiched but life is meaningful in a way that feels good and tense at the same time. 

The meat of life. The push of blood through my arteries, it matters. I wanted to collapse from the emotional burden of it all, but I look instead and see opportunity. To do this well. To be the best thirty six-year old me that I can be.

How many people face adversity and crumble, how many rise and learn to be better?

I saw it with my mom. My how cancer transformed her and made her more graceful and kind. I see the same with my father. I don't want my children and family to remember these times as fraught with illness and loss. There are so many fresh wonderful experiences to be had, made that much sweeter by a gentle reminder of our mortality and how fleeting and precious this gift of life is.

My daughter's new school has a lovely quote by the Dalai Lama in the entranceway, "We are visitors on this planet. We are here for one hundred years at the very most. During that period we must try to do something good, something useful, with our lives. if you contribute to other people's happiness, you will find the true meaning of life."

It is so poignant to me now. Worrying about fitting into my old jeans, whether I can still be interesting in suburbia (I can!) or how rude some stranger was to me on the train. It's all such a waste of time...all that worrying over minutiae. THROW IT ALL AWAY! That worry, it means nothing. Doing this well now is all that matters and handling the gritty pulp of life with grace and optimism is everything.

I am sandwich'd. And it's good. I am wedged between people who I love and who love me. I have a chance to be useful. I shan't waste it.

Xo,

M 

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