Pagers and phantom cries

The last time I had to carry a pager was in residency. We each had our personal pager, each inpatient team had a pager, and the code team had pagers, so that, at any given time, one person could have up to 4 pagers they were responsible for answering. At the beginning of the shift, those of us neurotic enough to do so would change the ring tone of each pager so that we knew which one was going off without having to pull the pager out. The benefit of this was paramount if you were carrying the code pager. The code pager going off meant you started running for the stairwell before you even read the page to know which room you were headed for. All the other ringtones could wait for you to finish whatever you were in the middle of before responding. I so dreaded being on the code team, and it got to the point that I dreaded the sound of the code pager going off. So much so that if I ever forgot to change the team pager ringtone and it was the same as the code pager, I would suffer a minor panic attack the first time it went off during my shift. And then I would immediately change it. The code pager ring tone gave me so much anxiety. I would think about it going off and my world would get small, my breath would get short, and my stomach would start doing flip flops. It got to the point that I would hear phantom code pager tones as I tried to go to sleep.

Now I no longer carry a pager. Instead, I have a newborn. And the anxiety of waiting for the other shoe to drop is even worse. As I lay her down and tiptoe out of the room, I cringe every time I hear a noise. Is she awake? Is she crying? Have I lost my 25 minutes of peace? (Because that's how long every. single. one. of her naps are right now.) I turn the shower on, or lay down for a nap, or start cooking dinner, and I start to hear phantom cries. I even hear them in the car when I know I've left her at home with Daddy. I'm always on high alert, trying to listen for her. And I can feel my cortisol spiking. It's the same claustrophobia, the same shortness of breath, the same sense of dread. But this time, there's no end of shift coming when I can pass the code pagers off. There's no end of the rotation, or even end of residency. Parenthood doesn't have days off. And I think that's why it's even more stressful. Even if she does stay blissfully asleep until I'm ready for bed, there's no telling when she will get up in the middle of the night. And even if she doesn't get up (much) in the middle of the night, there's always the crappy napping tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day.

Yet just like in residency, I can't control when the interruptions will come. I would rather lay down and be woken up than sit up all night waiting for the pager to chime or the baby to cry. I tell myself it is just a phase, that someday, hopefully, I can get more than 25 minutes to myself during the day, or get more than 3 hours of sleep in a row at night. But I may not. And that's the lifestyle I've chosen. Truthfully, it's the life I've been blessed with. And I wouldn't trade it for all the sleep in the world.

Wait, is that an option?

Mom of the year

I think every mother, at some point, feels inadequate. I'm pretty sure for many mothers, it's a frequent occurrence. Like I should be reading my daughter stories instead of blogging. Or I should have just bought a nail file instead of clipping her fingertip a second time while trying to trim her nails. Or I should be able to get her to nap without throwing her in the car seat and letting the rhythm of the ride work its magic. I get the sense these are pretty normal.

This week though, I took a new foray into inadequacy. And I feel ashamed. But the ever popular Brene Brown says that "shame cannot survive being spoken" and that one way to beat shame is to tell your story. So in the interest of beating shame, here it is: I was careless. And because of it, my daughter got hurt. Thankfully, everything turned out to be fine. Except my psyche. I relive the injury over and over in my head, which makes me nauseated. I think over and over if I had just done things a little differently, it wouldn't have happened. I wonder if there will be any long-term consequences. I doubt myself as a mom. I want to cry.  I feel like I shouldn't be allowed to be a mom or a pediatrician. I am awash in shame. I hate it. I hate thinking about it. I hate writing about it.

I told some co-workers what happened, and the first thing that happened? One of them shared a similar story that happened to her daughter. Everyone nodded understanding. No one judged. No one tried to revoke my motherhood. And I felt a little of the weight lift. Maybe in a few decades, I'll even be able to joke about it.

Shame is a lie. And I know the truth, even if I don't feel it. The truth is I am a good mom. The truth is good moms make mistakes. The truth is I can't control everything. And the truth is that I have a God, a husband, and friends and family that love me no matter what. And I am exceedingly grateful. And the next time I have to put her to sleep by driving, I don't think I'm going to feel quite so inadequate.

Milk musings

Our baby girl is down to usually six feeds a day, sometimes seven, depending on how long she sleeps at night, which means that most days I have about 90 minutes of captivity--stuck on the couch with my thoughts and lots of funny noises coming from this tiny miracle. It's my time to reflect, to take a deep breath, and since I got the Nook (and the library app) figured out, time to read. It's my me time, my intellectual time. While I nurse, I think a lot about this crazy journey of motherhood. And one of these days, I'm going to get back into blogging about it. Not because I think the world needs another mommy blog, or because I think my insights are particularly unique. Mostly because I want to write (maybe even need to write), you write what you know, and--right now--this is what I know. I know that I couldn't have understood, even if someone could have explained, how it's possible to love a tiny person so much that it feels like my heart will explode. I couldn't have believed that I could survive on so little sleep, that I had this much of myself to give, that it would be so hard to get one load of laundry folded. I couldn't have known how natural yet miraculous motherhood feels, because I, Laura, was made for it. But here it all is, in a 13 pound package. Right now, we're in a catnapping phase, which severely limits my time to write (or do anything else). But I'm hoping that some of these breastfeeding musings will make it to the page (screen?). Thanks for reading.

On Prayer

Recently, I found myself praying for a particular thing that I pray for often, but this time I felt a particular fervency. As I finished, like with many of my prayers, I followed up my request with “But Thy will be done.” Then something interesting happened. Probably the Holy Spirit--He’s funny that way. I thought, instead of just asking for something, maybe I’ll talk to God about it. So that’s what I did. “Hey God, here’s what’s on my heart and why I’m asking. I know You know better than I do, and I know You ultimately want good for Your children.” He of course already knew all of this, but for me it felt more like talking to a friend than rubbing the magic lamp. And I realized that’s what God wants our prayer to be all the time. May not seem like a big revelation, or maybe you’ve already thought of it, but for me, it was pretty striking. Instead of listing my requests with varying urgency, I can just share my heart with a Father who loves me and will listen. And then rather than feeling like the efficacy of my prayer is based on results, I can know that my prayer is building a relationship, is changing me. Because that’s the whole point anyway.

I pray because I can’t help myself. I pray because I’m helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time, waking and sleeping. It doesn’t change God, it changes me. -CS Lewis

Motherhood

It's amazing how quickly a tiny three-pound baby can change one's identity so irrevocably.*

When I graduated medical school, I had to practice--out-loud--saying that I was a doctor, because that wasn't just a switch I could flip in my brain and suddenly identify as a physician. Same thing with "girlfriend", "fiance", and "wife." It took time to hear those things being said about me without doing a double take. Yet, from the moment that little blue line showed up, I've been a mother, and in many ways it hasn't taken any getting-used-to at all (as A says, "almost as if this is what you were made for." He's pretty smart).

At the end of Mass this past weekend, the priest invited all mothers to kneel for a blessing. Kneeling there, belly right up against the book rack of the pew in front of me, head bowed, it struck me that not only was this my first Mother's Day, but that, no matter what happened from here on out, I would always be a mother. Always. Whether I am blessed to carry this baby girl to term and watch her live a long life with many happy memories, whether I go on to bear many more children, or whether we tragically lose her even before she is born and never have another child. Or anything in between. No matter what, she has changed me.

My identity as a mother was sealed at her conception, even though I didn't know it at the time. It's a daunting title to have, given the example of our Blessed Mother, as well as the many amazing mothers that I know. And while I don't know what all this role holds for me, I know that it will require a gift of myself unlike anything I have experienced thus far in my life, even in marriage. I know that alone, I am not up to the task. Thankfully, God has created me for exactly this role, given me a wonderful, supportive, and patient husband, and a loving community, and He knows far better than I do what He's doing.

So for now I'll just keep relishing her little kicks, tolerating the frequent bathroom trips, offering up the ligament pain, and praying for her every day, grateful for this baby girl who has forever made me a mother.

*baby's average weight at 31 weeks, where I was for Mother's Day

Priorities

"I just don't have time..."

How many times have we all uttered those words, or thought those words, lamented those words?

And yet, how much time do we spend (dare I say waste?) doing things that, at the end of the day/week/year, don't really get us any closer to our goals?

Turns out there are such people in the world as time-management experts. Though this particular one, through her own admission, is not always on time, doesn't have any super powers, and instead mostly studies those who are better at using their time. In her TED talk, she reveals that it's not so much about saving time by shaving seconds off of daily tasks, but by redefining our priorities. (Just listen to the talk; I'm not going to rehash the whole thing here...not a priority.)

So, as someone who often feels like my day has been wasted, or like I'm not doing the things I want to do, the things that make me thrive, I decided to take her advice to heart. She suggests picturing your next annual review at work or family Christmas letter and listing what things should be there to have made it a successful year. Then, break those goals into manageable steps and get started. Easy, right?

I imagine most of next year's Christmas letter (for us, New Year's) will be filled with tales and gratuitous pictures of our new little one, and that certainly will be a monumental success. Beyond that, I want to hike more (and once my center of gravity is back to semi-normal, bike more) and write more. I live in one of the most beautiful places on earth, and I spend more time lamenting that I don't get out more than I do getting out. Also, since my writing class a few years ago, I haven't written nearly as much as I'd have liked. Not that I have an urgent story to tell, but I enjoy it. So those two things will become priorities for me.

Switching to the work camp, at my last annual review, I came in a bit short on two things--spending enough time with families (I'm efficient, what can I say?), and billing appropriately (I tend to undervalue/underbill my services, largely due to lack of understanding of billing criteria, and some general laziness). The latter of these is unglamorous, albeit important, but it's the first one that I feel will really make me feel more successful and fulfilled as a doctor. 

I tend to pride myself on said efficiency, seeing more patients and getting them out faster than my colleagues. After all, it is "urgent" care, right? If you don't need to be here, go home. Yet, I've realized two important things in this job that stand in the face of that mentality. First, each family that comes in to the urgent care needs something. Sometimes that something is just reassurance, or a listening ear, or yes, a popsicle and a sticker. But if I don't take the time to figure out what that something is, they may be back tomorrow, or go somewhere else next time, and they certainly aren't going to trust my recommendations. Secondly, when I take the time to sit down, to get to know my patients as people, to interact with their humanity and not just their physiology, I feel more fulfilled, they are more willing to hear what I have to say, and I don't get quite as burned out. Seems like that might be worth letting the next patient wait two extra minutes.

If I make these my priorities, if I choose to spend time on these things, then at the end of a year, I'm hopeful that I won't have spent so much time saying "I don't have time" and instead will have become a better wife, mother, doctor, and human.

Breaking the chains

I've spent the last 46 days (because this year I determined that it would behoove me more to include Sundays in my Lenten penance) disconnected from facebook (minus one, and only one, foray to retrieve a cell phone number that I had nowhere else...and I didn't even look at my wall).

It has been painful at times. Mindlessly scrolling through the apps on my phone looking for that blue and white logo even though I deleted the app because I didn't trust my self-control (clearly a wise choice), taking a picture to post before I remembered that I couldn't post it anywhere, collecting ridiculous hashtags to share with no one in particular, wondering what was going on in the lives of those people that I only connect with on facebook.

In other ways, it's been freeing. My husband says he notices me present more often. I have read more for pleasure during Lent than I normally do. I was able to commit to prayer time more faithfully, often before the end of day, so that it wasn't the last thing I did as I pulled the sheets up. I learned that I can indeed survive without it.

But I also realized that I am an addict. As I mentioned, my fingers are so used to pulling up the app on my phone that I kept looking for it even though I knew I had deleted it. I felt the urge to get on at multiple times throughout the day. I am still looking forward to getting on tomorrow and seeing what all I've missed in the last seven weeks (I also realized I get most of my news stories from facebook--depressing and embarrassing--because I missed such major things as a doctor getting dragged off a plane, and the US bombing ISIS). And so I want something to change. I don't want this Lent to have been a 46 day interlude that holds no lasting effect.

So I've been thinking about what I actually enjoy about facebook. I do like keeping in touch with more people, people that it's not feasible to talk to or text all the time, but who I still want in my life. I like being able to share articles, pictures, milestones, etc. And I've been thinking about what I don't like. The comparison of my own very real life to the facades that I measure up against, the mindless trolling that wastes so much time, the resentment that creeps in when my "friends" post inflammatory rants or memes.

I think the internet and social media can be a force for goodness, truth, and beauty. So that will be my new goal. I want to share God as much in that venue as I strive to in my personal life. I want people to see my page as a reflection of me, not a sarcastic or attention-seeking version, but an authentic one. It will probably mean I'm on a lot less often, and that's okay. In fact, I hope that's the case. Maybe it will give me more time to write and blog, which I've been wanting to get back to anyways (I can use the same goals for this venture, I suppose).

And here's hoping that next year, I will have achieved a balance so that I can move on to a different Lenten sacrifice. And here's also hoping that I (and you) can use social media to our purposes, rather than being slaves to it.