The Music: Naci Orishas, by Orishas. What "Nothin' But Net" sounds like. Seeing them live is on my Bucket List, and apparently, that will have to be accomplished in Rio. Well, a woman has to do what a woman has to do.
I'm sure you've heard of it, maybe you have even experienced it yourself: when you go to see your health care provider, your heart rate goes up. Perhaps you begin to sweat more than usual. Your mouth goes dry. You begin to breath a little faster. You feel nervous, uncomfortable. You don't know exactly what is going to happen to you, and perhaps you feel vaguely worried and a little anxious. You might even feel very worried, extremely anxious, and like you are not in control of the situation.
This is called White Coat Syndrome, and it happens to many people with every medical appointment. This is why we speak in soothing voices, reassuring tones, and tell you everything that is happening as it happens. "You're going to feel my hands...okay, breathe out for me...this might feel a little cold/hot/sharp/tingly/uncomfortable...please tell me if you need to slow down/stop/sit down/lie down/vomit/pee/phone a friend..."
I thought a lot today about how it produces the opposite feeling for me, the health care provider. When I put on a white lab coat, I feel instantly calm, prepared, knowledgeable and equal to anything that is thrown at me. Instantly, I am able to go to that interior place I have always gone in deep thought, study and contemplation: that late night or early morning when everyone is asleep, and my desk lamp casts a small focused pool of light on my desk, on my book, dictionaries open, twirling my mechanical pencil between my fingers, a stack of 3x5 cards at the ready, hot Lemon Lift or Earl Gray fragrant, window open, winter or summer.
The night is large, learning is forever, I rise and fall on my own effort and merit and work. It calms me, this interior place, and my white lab coat is proof of that preparedness. In my doctoral program, we started our clinical education with a White Coat ceremony, we ended with a hooding ceremony. On stressful days, it is still a very comfortable place for me to go; I know who I am, where I've been, where I'm going and what is expected of me. I can carry pocket cards of lab values, machine settings, review cards of my syndromes-of-the-week, ticklers of hallmark symptoms, schedules, peppermints for patients to suck after vestibular testing (soothes nausea) and yes, lollipops and a red ball nose brings laughs on smiles in pediatrics AND geriatrics.
Day 2: Nothin' but net. The morning's rush as my receptionist comes in, hands me my patient files and helps me get into yet another computerized medical charting program as I sip a little tea, line up my equipment and review plans of care. She is a wonder, already we are women who respect each other, work steadily and quietly like a smoothly oiled machine, high-fives after the last patient of the day is seen safely out of the clinic. Hours later, my tea is cold, but I am grateful for it, hours of treating patients back to back has left me parched. I hang up my stethoscope and my white lab coat, and I am at home again.
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xk4drq_orishas-naci-orishas-en-rock-in-rio-madrid-04-07-2008_music?ralg=meta2-only#from=playrelon
ReplyDeletehttp://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1t8cv_orishas-naci-orishas-rock-in-rio-li_music#rel-page-3
ReplyDeleteOkay, gotta check out any music that can make a person "suffer" going to Rio.
ReplyDeleteWhen I worked at Univ. of Texas M. D. Anderson Cancer Center I was required to wear a white lab coat. The idea was to not disturb the patients--instead of being quite obviously the guy working on the equipment they were supposed to think I was health care staff. It did help in many cases, but often it felt dishonest, even though I really was concerned for their best medical care. As often as not the white coat put me off-balance rather than in the zone. As long as it helps the patients I'm all for it. :)
Re Orishas: Right? I plan to join them on stage for that little dance they do :D LOVE those guys.
ReplyDeleteSometimes the white coat helps, sometimes it doesn't, sometimes it's only practical. It's a badge, it's self definition, it's a shield, it's a symbol, it's a place to catch your breath, it's permission, it's responsibility, it's the buck that stops here, it's a warm blankie, it keeps projectile vomiting off your blouse and covers up the spagetti and coffee stains that you got trying to chart and eat because you only have 10 minutes and feel lucky to sit down. Not very helpful in pediatrics, very helpful (in my experience) treating military, former military officers, older patients, conservative patients, other men and women doctors and professors of any stripe. Particularly for women clinicians, that first handshake is crucial, that and what you say and how solidly you say it sets the tone and has a big influence on whether someone listens to you and adheres to their plan of care. Even if it's just hanging on the door (which is where I often leave mine) it assures the patient that you aren't just some Susie off the street, just like the doctoral diplomas and professional affiliations, awards and certificates hanging on the wall. Children and special needs folks, of course, could care less, which is why they are so much fun. :)