Silent Night

Silent Night

by | Dec 21, 2021 | Motherhood, Writings

It’s Monday, December 20, and I am exhausted. My youngest child, 17 months old, is snuggled tightly against my breast while I rock her and sing to her before laying her in her crib to sleep.

Because it is near Christmas, I decide to sing “Silent Night.” She places her tiny hand on my throat to feel the vibrations of the notes as they leave my vocal cords. As an alto (though my college voice professor would disagree) the range is my most comfortable. I sing a few verses, then start over because I don’t know any more.

As I reprise the first verse, tears creep to the edges of my eyes. It will be the last Christmas I’ll rock one of my babies. Next year, the baby I’m now rocking will be 2.5, and given her fierce independence, I doubt by then she’ll let me.

I lend my focus to the words of the carol.

Silent night, holy night. 

All is calm, all is bright. 

This rocking chair is the place where I rocked my very first baby five years ago, where I struggled and settled my way into motherhood. Its worn, nubby fabric cradled me in the hundreds of sacred hours of feeding, comforting, and bonding with the tiny soul I had created.  

Round yon virgin, mother and child. 

Holy infant, so tender and mild. 

My first baby grew, and then came the second. Same chair, different house; same motions, a few new songs, a more seasoned mother. Then he, too, grew. I can’t believe after all that time, I couldn’t tell you the last day I rocked each of the boys. Maybe I wasn’t focused on it because I knew (hoped) we’d have one more.

And finally the third, our daughter. We haven’t had our final rock together yet, though I know it, too, will come. In the midst of sleep deprivation from teething, the stress of the holidays, and other things happening in our lives, I have often found myself longing for this last baby to be a bit older, just so I could rest at night a bit more.

And then, this night of December 20 whispered tenderly: Dear Mother, these might not be silent nights, but they are holy nights.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Sleep in heavenly peace. 

 

 

 

 

Feet in the Grass

Feet in the Grass

by | Oct 19, 2021 | Perspectives, Writings

When I feel as if the world might pull me under, I put my feet in the grass. And since I live on a barrier island on the Gulf Coast, I can do this pretty much year round. 

If I have shoes or socks on, I take them off. I find a green spot in the sun and I engage in full-on mountain pose right in that very spot. I wiggle my toes down so they can grip the earth, finding traction among the blades of grass. My efforts to ground myself never feel quite grippy enough – I wish the soles of my feet could sprout roots – but I do my best to dig my heels into the dirt below and find my place.

I don’t quite remember when I started this ritual as a way to keep from losing my ever-loving mind, but it has become one to which I cling tightly. I do recall as a child loving the feeling of cool grass on my bare feet, but the connection between the soles of my soul and the scalp of the earth began as an adult.

These past few years have been … hard. Even though I’m trying to stop doing this, I’ll qualify that “hard” with all the gratitude I have for everything and everyone in my life. I am in the throes of small children who need me and depend on me in a very physical and emotional way 24/7, my spouse is in medical training, and as a highly intellectual being living a decidedly un-intellectual life, my truest self seems to mostly float just out of reach.

So when I’m losing my shit, I go outside, to the ground, and the grass.

When I find my sunny patch and shimmy my toes as close as I can get to Mother Earth, I start to feel my soul awaken. I have literal solid ground on which to stand when everything around me whirls by, or else lands with a sharp thud on my mind or my heart.

In this position, sometimes my mind wanders to what chemicals my skin might be absorbing, or if I’m standing in ants, or if one of my children has left the yard entirely. But usually, for at least a few breaths, I am reminded that I am still here on the earth, my body is held by my feet, my shoulders are stacked on my hips, and my mind is balanced over my heart.

I’m whole. I’m here.

I belong on the earth, under the sun, in the dust from whence I rose, and to which at my death I shall return. And in the interim: a little earth, water, and sunlight empower me to love, breathe, grow, and live.

 

6 Resources for Resident Physician Families

6 Resources for Resident Physician Families

by | Sep 3, 2021 | Medical Family, Writings

When my husband began medical school, I had no idea what it would mean for me, our marriage, and our family. These are some of the resources I have found helpful, and that I wish I had found sooner on our medical training journey. If you have others you love, please let me know in the comments! And if your program doesn’t have a HouseStaff Alliance or Resident Family Support Group, perhaps consider starting one. Getting involved in our program’s group has been the single best thing we have done during residency. 

1. Married to Doctors podcast, coaching, and free resources

2. White Coat Investor book and podcast

3. Lives of Doctors Wives Facebook group and affiliated groups

4. The FlipSide Life Facebook group and other resources

5. Physician Family magazine

6. Your residency program’s HouseStaff Alliance or Resident Family Support Group

 

15 Tips for Resident Physician families

15 Tips for Resident Physician families

by | Sep 2, 2021 | Medical Family, Writings

1. Expect that they will not, for the most part, be available. They will not be at home very much. If they are at home, they will likely be working, studying, sleeping, or thinking about doing one of those things.

2. Make your own plans. If you want to do something for yourself or for the family, do not wait until they are available. Hire your own babysitter. Go with friends. Don’t wait.

3. Keep a running list of tasks for your resident spouse to do when they *are* at home. This might mean they have certain tasks they complete every time they have a two-day weekend, or maybe a list of tasks they complete on a post-call day, or a list of tasks for them to do when they have a vacation week, etc. Having a plan and everything written down helps alleviate anxiety and resentment.

4. It’s ok to say no to whatever you want to say no to. It is ok to say no to more things than you normally would during medical training: family gatherings, weddings, birthday parties, playdates, ANYTHING.  Money, childcare, and physical, mental, and emotional energy are going to be scarce. Conserve your energy when you need to. You will not have to say no to things forever. Not everyone will understand this. That’s ok.

5. Don’t expect people who are not in the medical field or married to the medical field to understand it. It’s ok that they don’t. It’s a very unique experience and the only ones who will really get it are the ones who have also experienced it.

6. Make friends with other medical spouses and families. These people WILL understand you what you are living and breathing. They are likely to help you feel understood and less alone. It is the most worthwhile time investment I can think of. Be sure to check if your program has a resident-spouse-family alliance or support group.

7. Have a call-night plan. Easy dinners, leftovers, or takeout if you can afford it. Eat picnic-style with the kids on the living room floor in front of a show or movie if you need to. If you have children, do not bathe them, or at least all of them, unless absolutely necessary. Save your energy for other things. If it’s just you, plan something fun for yourself.

8. Do not even attempt to keep the kids quiet while they sleep while post-call or on nights. It will not work. Tell them to get good earplugs and an eye mask. And wish them luck.

9. Have an emergency call list. One of your first priorities when you arrive in your residency city is to find 2-3 people you can call in an emergency when your spouse is at work overnight, on night float, or has some other awful schedule. You need someone who can come to your rescue in the middle of the night if needed. “We are new and don’t have any family in the area. Would you mind giving me your phone number in case of an emergency? I’d love to support you in an emergency, too. Here’s mine.”

10. Simplify all celebrations of birthdays and holidays. Simple, homemade, and/or inexpensive store-bought are all fine. TOSS THAT GUILT OUT THE WINDOW RIGHT NOW.

11. You do not have to plan vacation weeks around large events. Having vacation to be able to attend events can be fun, and trips for a change a scenery are definitely worth it now and then. It’s also ok to plan nothing and just enjoy having your partner around for one whole blessed week. Or, plan relaxing and fun things as a family, date nights, etc. Medical training is rough. Consider giving yourselves the gift of down time together. 

12. Have a monthly date night. I don’t care if you have to trade babysitting with a neighbor and order a $5 pizza and eat it at the city park. It may quite literally be the only time each month when you can really check in with each other, have an uninterrupted conversation, and remember why you like each other.

13. Don’t participate in the Misery Olympics. You will both be maxed out, overextended, exhausted, lonely, and feeling like your personal fulfillment bucket is empty. This will make you want to participate in the Misery Olympics. Don’t. It’s not fun and everyone loses. Instead: communicate how you are feeling, what you need to make it to bedtime, and work together to get each other’s buckets filled. 

14. Get help. You and your resident spouse are both going to be giving 200% during medical training. When you are feeling overwhelmed, get help. This might mean medication and/or therapy. It might mean organizing a break for yourself for an hour each week. It might mean hiring help with things for the house, if you can scrape it together. When someone offers to help you, say YES, PLEASE. This will be hard at first. It will become more natural. Keep practicing.

15. Make time for your own creative and intellectual pursuits. Your spouse has gotten their dream job. Your job, at home or otherwise, may or may not feel that way. If you feel your professional dreams fading into oblivion because of The Match, I cannot encourage you enough to make time for your own interests and creative and intellectual pursuits. Find the Thing That Makes You Excited About Life and do that in your spare time. You might feel like you are shitty at it or that no one will like it or that you may never get paid for it and what’s the point. I promise it’s worth it. It will make you feel human, and you never know where it could lead. 

Snails

Snails

by | Aug 10, 2021 | Perspectives, Writings

It had rained, and the snails were out. 

I noticed them as I walked along the damp sidewalk to load the kids in the car. Maybe a dozen snails lined the path from the back door to the vehicle, all different sizes. 

I told the boys to look out for them when we got home from preschool pickup, to make sure they didn’t crunch them as they bolted from the car to the house. We bent down close to the ground to inspect each one, noticing their size and how slow or “fast” they were moving. 

My eldest caught on quickly as far as remembering to walk carefully as he went to the house, to be on the lookout for the tiny visitors. My younger son, still a bit less spatially aware, had to be prodded side to side and forward and backward to make sure he didn’t annihilate an unsuspecting gastropod on his way inside. 

The rain went away for a day or two, and so did the snails. Then, it rained again, and the snails returned. Again, we all tiptoed delicately to get in the car to go to preschool.

That afternoon, as we tried to all get out of the car and into the house, I was getting annoyed with one child’s glacial pace and another’s tired and hungry screams, and there was a lot to carry inside and it was hot and there were mosquitos. I hurriedly loaded bags onto my shoulders and lugged one of the kids inside. 

My son screeched in horror: “Mommy! Did you look out for the snails?! You might have crunched them!” 

I had forgotten. Luckily, when I retraced my steps, I was able to confirm that all our miniature garden friends were alive and well, shells and soft slimy bodies intact. I had gotten so frustrated with the tasks at hand, so laser-focused on Just. Getting. Inside. that I had forgotten to look out for the fragile little creatures underfoot.

The interaction with my son struck me.

I want to be focused, as much as possible, on what is most important and urgent. The snails said:

Are we about to go chew your perennials to pieces? Probably. Just maybe remember to look out for the vulnerable living beings that might line – or pave – the path in front of you. 

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