A Profound Influence
My mother was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis at the age of 21. The disease and its treatments ravaged her body and left her with grossly swollen, deformed, and painful joints.
That is not what my mother was known for. She was known for her smile, for a warm, caring person who could be counted on to be there for those who needed her. Her smile distracted those around her from her suffering, including me.
For 35 years chronic pain was right in front of me. I did not see it. I did not see how my father sacrificed to be there for her, to advocate for her, to get her the treatments she needed.
I did not see how, in 1959, he designed our entire house in anticipation of her expected disabilities. I did not see how important it was for my mother to have the same rheumatologist managing her care for over three decades.
It was my A-ha moment. I realized that everything I had learned about pain and its management, I had learned from my mom and dad. I wondered if all my professional paths actually led me back to what I knew all along? Did I see my mother’s suffering through her smile? Did I seek to find a way to eliminate her suffering? I certainly learned from her how to relate to my patients.
That is why I love pain management. It is a struggle. To be there for someone in their struggles and not abandon them as they learn to adapt, is both a challenge and a blessing.
My skill as a physician is a culmination of study, experience and personal interaction. I have learned as much from professionals as I have from the homeless.
When you close your heart or mind to anyone, you lose. I have learned more from my patients than I ever learned from my professors. I have learned more from those close to me than I can ever really articulate.
I begin every talk, every patient encounter, thinking of my mom and dad. They are gone now, but they will always be a part of everything I do. For their example, I am forever grateful. Thanks Mom and Dad.
My mother was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis at the age of 21. The disease and its treatments ravaged her body and left her with grossly swollen, deformed, and painful joints.
That is not what my mother was known for. She was known for her smile, for a warm, caring person who could be counted on to be there for those who needed her. Her smile distracted those around her from her suffering, including me.
For 35 years chronic pain was right in front of me. I did not see it. I did not see how my father sacrificed to be there for her, to advocate for her, to get her the treatments she needed.
I did not see how, in 1959, he designed our entire house in anticipation of her expected disabilities. I did not see how important it was for my mother to have the same rheumatologist managing her care for over three decades.
It was my A-ha moment. I realized that everything I had learned about pain and its management, I had learned from my mom and dad. I wondered if all my professional paths actually led me back to what I knew all along? Did I see my mother’s suffering through her smile? Did I seek to find a way to eliminate her suffering? I certainly learned from her how to relate to my patients.
That is why I love pain management. It is a struggle. To be there for someone in their struggles and not abandon them as they learn to adapt, is both a challenge and a blessing.
My skill as a physician is a culmination of study, experience and personal interaction. I have learned as much from professionals as I have from the homeless.
When you close your heart or mind to anyone, you lose. I have learned more from my patients than I ever learned from my professors. I have learned more from those close to me than I can ever really articulate.
I begin every talk, every patient encounter, thinking of my mom and dad. They are gone now, but they will always be a part of everything I do. For their example, I am forever grateful. Thanks Mom and Dad.