Most Thanksgivings, I drop a note on gratitude, and I wanted to do the same in 2024.
(I know I am a few days late this year. This past week every time I had opportunity to post this blog, I instead actively chose that available moment to interact/ engage/ hang out with my mom, my dad, my sister, my husband, or one of my kids. I may often feel pressure to produce or work, but I am trying to follow through on living according to my priorities.)
Sometimes we forget the many dimensions of the casual acquaintance sitting next to us. We have the tendency to label a person based upon the role they play in our interactions with them – “the anxious mom,” “the standoffish colleague,” or “the nice nurse.”
My roles are likely as diverse as yours – mom, wife, close friend, casual work colleague, employee, sister, daughter, daughter-in-law – and my reserves of patience and grace, level of humor, ability to act confidently in uncertain or awkward situations, need for control, expectations of reciprocated acts of assistance or appreciation, and coping mechanisms may significantly differ depending on what role I am taking on at that time.
One day, the residents (physicians-in-training) rotating on our palliative care service commented, “I can’t imagine you ever yelling, Dr. Lee” and “You’re so calm and patient.”
I proudly mentioned this to my elementary and middle school aged children, and they replied, “But you’re so anxious!” and “You yell all the time.”
When people in a social setting learn that I work as a palliative care physician (read Post 1: What Exactly Does a Palliative Care Specialist Do?), assumptions are made that I am a “good” person - “That’s such selfless work” and “That must be tough. You’re probably very giving” and “You must be so patient!”
When I hear these comments, I often experience imposter syndrome at being a "good" person because I do not believe that I have net “good” versus “bad” qualities as a person. (And this judgment should especially not be based solely on one's occupation.) I am really just a human being trying my best to have more moments I can be proud of as opposed to moment I regret.
I used to feel nervous approaching certain family meetings because of preconceived notions about the patient or family member (based upon reported interactions with nurses and reported demands of the medical team).
Then I gradually realized that regardless of social, financial, or educational background, every patient and family member are also just human beings whose “difficult” interactions are not a reflection of who they are and rather a reflection of their (temporary) emotional state, especially at a time when their reserves may be lowest. I am grateful that this acknowledgement allows me to draw deeper into my reserves to practice patience and grace as a palliative care physician.
And just as importantly, I am grateful that I myself am given grace by the people who know me best when my reserves are at their lowest. As my then six year old son once reassured me, “Mommy, I’ll still love you when you yell. You’re not even a grandma yet. You still have time to practice and be better.”
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