Such a beautiful essay — the world needs doctors with poetic souls. I hear your mom’s cadence and sweet depth in your writing. What a credit you are in intellect, heart and sheer grit to your family. I love that your great grandma’s seeds and Ms. B’s are joyously lighting up the neighborhood.
Well said, Dr. Deshpande. I, too, love to play in the dirt - there is much healing therein. Emerson once wrote "Beauty is God's Handwriting, a wayside sacrament. Welcome it in every fair face, every fair flower, and fair sunset as a cup of blessing."
I'm also a nurse. When working in a PICU (a long time ago), it was our practice to tape photos of our patients - pictures that showed them as happy children before the horrific incident that landed them in the ICU. Rounding with a physician friend he once remarked "I hate those pictures, they remind me this is not just an interesting case to be solved - it is someone's child. I was surprised, because I loved those pictures for the very same reason. I greatly respected my colleague, and I also understood. My response to him was that when we forget that, we should quit, because we are no longer practicing medicine. He thought for a moment, then agreed. It is hard, what we do - but it is our calling. I am grateful there are still people who choose to do that which is hard, and those same people also choose beauty.
Thank you for your comment. I remember my first experience seeing photos of a patient while shadowing as an undergraduate. It was very jarring for me, seeing pictures next to the ICU bed of a teenager just a few years younger than me who'd just been at prom. The experience left a big impression on me, and I came to a similar conclusion as you about the importance of such reminders despite their weight.
It's nice to know that at least some physicians - or future physicians- maintain their sense of humanity and connection. And it's nice that you shared how you are able to do this -hopefully so other budding doctors can learn from you.
You write; I hear my father. He would have been 91 this year. I, now 68, was born when he was in med school and accompanied him on house calls and rounds in the glorious pre HIPPA days when a visiting curly haired cutie was a good deal of the medicine he had to offer in mountain mill towns. I also help/interfered with him the garden from the early hard scrabble years in the hills to the fecund gentleman farmer of the mid-South years. It was, always, "because they live, dammit", in one iteration or another. He was a complicated man, but that drive to nurture and celebrate the things that live was one of his most reliable and often self revelatory traits. When I was about 8, patient of whom I was quite fond died pretty unexpectedly while we were with her; I believe he and I planted about a quarter of an acre of peas that weekend, talking about living and dying - separating the real and the sentimental.
Ha, certainly no secondary agendas, although I think my plants sometimes argue. Always, though, it's always because I'm doing something wrong! What a humbling experience it is to figure out what. In Chicago, that often means ruminating and reflecting all winter until my next chance in the spring. It's an excellent exercise in patience...
Ditto all below. That did what all writing should do---I felt it, I saw it, I could even smell it. I cried a little and then remembered all the plants Ive neglected in my big back yard, and the peaceful moments I could have had instead my tribulations of late. Beautifully done.
Beautiful essay. If you decide that medicine is not really for you, I think that pursuing a career in writing would definitely be a perfect fit. But truly, you have the “right stuff “to be excellent at both!!
I love this. I was just thinking this morning how technology keeps moving us in the wrong direction(after reading that the tech giants want to eliminate the smartphone with brain implants, glasses or digital tattoos). We need to become more organic, more physical, more connected to the earth and soil. It is very much a mental health stabilizer.
I'm crying :(
Such a beautiful essay — the world needs doctors with poetic souls. I hear your mom’s cadence and sweet depth in your writing. What a credit you are in intellect, heart and sheer grit to your family. I love that your great grandma’s seeds and Ms. B’s are joyously lighting up the neighborhood.
Thank you, Sally
Well said, Dr. Deshpande. I, too, love to play in the dirt - there is much healing therein. Emerson once wrote "Beauty is God's Handwriting, a wayside sacrament. Welcome it in every fair face, every fair flower, and fair sunset as a cup of blessing."
I'm also a nurse. When working in a PICU (a long time ago), it was our practice to tape photos of our patients - pictures that showed them as happy children before the horrific incident that landed them in the ICU. Rounding with a physician friend he once remarked "I hate those pictures, they remind me this is not just an interesting case to be solved - it is someone's child. I was surprised, because I loved those pictures for the very same reason. I greatly respected my colleague, and I also understood. My response to him was that when we forget that, we should quit, because we are no longer practicing medicine. He thought for a moment, then agreed. It is hard, what we do - but it is our calling. I am grateful there are still people who choose to do that which is hard, and those same people also choose beauty.
Thank you for your comment. I remember my first experience seeing photos of a patient while shadowing as an undergraduate. It was very jarring for me, seeing pictures next to the ICU bed of a teenager just a few years younger than me who'd just been at prom. The experience left a big impression on me, and I came to a similar conclusion as you about the importance of such reminders despite their weight.
It's nice to know that at least some physicians - or future physicians- maintain their sense of humanity and connection. And it's nice that you shared how you are able to do this -hopefully so other budding doctors can learn from you.
Thank you, my friend - you are a gifted writer.
You write; I hear my father. He would have been 91 this year. I, now 68, was born when he was in med school and accompanied him on house calls and rounds in the glorious pre HIPPA days when a visiting curly haired cutie was a good deal of the medicine he had to offer in mountain mill towns. I also help/interfered with him the garden from the early hard scrabble years in the hills to the fecund gentleman farmer of the mid-South years. It was, always, "because they live, dammit", in one iteration or another. He was a complicated man, but that drive to nurture and celebrate the things that live was one of his most reliable and often self revelatory traits. When I was about 8, patient of whom I was quite fond died pretty unexpectedly while we were with her; I believe he and I planted about a quarter of an acre of peas that weekend, talking about living and dying - separating the real and the sentimental.
This is incredible. Thank you for sharing these beautiful memories.
I garden because no tree or flower ever argues, or has any secondary agenda. They just want to grow. Thank God for that!
Ha, certainly no secondary agendas, although I think my plants sometimes argue. Always, though, it's always because I'm doing something wrong! What a humbling experience it is to figure out what. In Chicago, that often means ruminating and reflecting all winter until my next chance in the spring. It's an excellent exercise in patience...
In 30+ years of practice, not once did a tree complain about it’s scar!
Love that!
Thank you, Dr. Deshpande for bringing that bit of beauty to Chicago and to all of us. Many zinnias to Ms B.
Ditto all below. That did what all writing should do---I felt it, I saw it, I could even smell it. I cried a little and then remembered all the plants Ive neglected in my big back yard, and the peaceful moments I could have had instead my tribulations of late. Beautifully done.
Thank you for your lovely comment - your plants will be happy to see you, even just for a moment.
Absolutely beautiful! Thank you for sharing.
Simply gorgeous. Perfect way to start my day. Thank you.
I knew it would turn out to be Chicago. How little things have changed in 50 years since I was in medical school. My zinnias are up this year.
Beautiful essay. If you decide that medicine is not really for you, I think that pursuing a career in writing would definitely be a perfect fit. But truly, you have the “right stuff “to be excellent at both!!
I love this. I was just thinking this morning how technology keeps moving us in the wrong direction(after reading that the tech giants want to eliminate the smartphone with brain implants, glasses or digital tattoos). We need to become more organic, more physical, more connected to the earth and soil. It is very much a mental health stabilizer.
Absolutely!
Beautiful.
Crying, not crying. ❤️