38. Becca
DECEMBER
From: [email protected]
Subject: Following up
Rebecca,
It was great hearing from you. Jordan has told me a lot about you, all favorable. To answer a few of your questions, I did my residency in family medicine here in Elmira, which is a great program for you to consider. I knew I wanted to do exclusively outpatient medicine, and during my training, I had a few patients that really stuck with me; Jordan was one of them, in fact. Those experiences led me to focus my practice on being an expert for kids and adults with Down Syndrome. It didn’t require any additional training, more so just marketing myself in that niche. It’s led to a very fulfilling career thus far.
As you consider your elective rotations, I’d welcome you to rotate with us for a month and see exactly what we do here. If it happens to tickle your fancy, I’ll throw in a plug here that my current partner plans to retire in about five years, so I’ll be looking for a new partner to replace her.
Good luck in school, and keep in touch!
Adam Chen, MD
Elmira Family Medicine
* * *
It’s only been a week, but it’s love.
I slide my messenger bag off my shoulder and tuck it under a desk in the work room. I never imagined that I’d like family medicine this much, and I went into this rotation with some skepticism. But one week has opened my eyes: I think this is what I want to do with my life.
So much so that I got Dr. Chen’s contact information from Jordan, via Miller, and sent him an email to see how he managed to set up a practice specializing in Down Syndrome.
I pick up the list of patients for the day from the desk while I wait for Dr. Abrams, my preceptor for the rotation, to come in. Taking a moment, I scan it to see what patients are coming in this morning.
An infant doing a weight check.
A forty-year-old diabetic coming in for a medication check.
A teenager looking for birth control.
A fifty-two-year-old with back pain.
A six-year-old with an earache.
I grin at the variety, and the mostly benign complaints. It’s not impossible that we’d find a cancer or other serious disease among the complaints, but unlike in the hospital setting, most of the patients we see are out there living their lives.
They’re not sick and suffering. They’re thriving, and we get to help them.
This is the magic my dad talked about, I realize. He’s told me so many stories of his first day in the operating room: how he saw the surgeons and what they were doing and realized, I want to do that, too.
I figured that was something that was specific to surgeons, and when I didn’t feel the same spark when I walked into the OR, I was worried that something was missing.
But now I know. That’s the spark when you find your soulmate, the one you want to be with for the rest of your life. For me, it’s family medicine. I can do this every day and be happy. And this month, I’m learning that I’m pretty darn good at it.
Not perfect by any means, and for the first time in my life, I’m okay with that. Because I can learn and get better, and I’m enjoying the journey. And because even when I’m not perfect, I’m still making a difference.
“Hey, Becca,” Dr. Abrams greets, tossing his coat on a chair. “Do you want to see the baby or the diabetic?”
“Morning!” I say brightly, turning in the swivel chair to face him. “Either one is fine. Maybe the baby? I haven’t seen an infant in a while.”
“You got it,” he says with a nod, taking a sip from his travel mug. “Ah, that’s the good stuff.”
“Coffee?” I raise a brow.
“Hot chocolate with two shots of espresso.” He grins. “Best of both worlds.”
* * *
“That’s a wrap,” Dr. Abrams says, setting a chart on the pile of completed ones with a dramatic flair. “Nice work today.”
I look up from where I’m writing in a patient’s chart. “That’s it for today?” How did time fly like that? On my inpatient rotations, it seems to drag, each minute feeling like an hour. Here, the end of the day seems to arrive before I can blink.
“Indeed.” He sits back in his chair. “How do you feel like the rotation is going?”
It must be Friday, if he’s giving me feedback. “I feel like it’s going well,” I answer honestly. “I’m really enjoying the mix of patients. I think this is what I want to do with my life.”
A smile spreads across his face as he leans back, folding his hands behind his head. “I’m glad to hear it. You’re doing a fantastic job. I’m looking forward to working with you more over the month, but even based on the last week, if you want a letter of recommendation, just say the word.”
My stomach leaps. This has been the first week since I started my third year that I see potential for me actually liking a specialty, and I’ve already fallen in love.
With the feedback from Dr. Abrams, I feel like I can see my future taking form for the first time.
“Thank you,” I say. I want to jump up and down and clap my hands, but I cross my legs at the ankles instead. More doctor-like, or something. “I think I’ll take you up on that, but I’ll let you know at the end of the rotation, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course.” He stands from his chair. “I’ll see you Monday, okay?”
I’m alone in the workroom when he leaves. I don’t feel the need to get out of the office the way I do when I’m in the hospital. I double check my work on the last chart before I place it in the pile.
My phone bumps against my hip when I pull my jacket on to leave. I pull it out, ready to tell Miller all about my day. He’s the one I want to tell when something good happens, I realize. And he’s the one whose shoulder I want to cry on when I need to get something off my chest. It’s too bad he lives so far away, making a real relationship impossible.
Miller
How’s the new rotation?
Amazing, actually. I think this is it.
You found what you want to do?
Yeah. Family medicine is exactly what I was looking for.
Proud of you, Becs.
I stare at the phone so long my vision starts to blur. When Miller tells me he’s proud of me, I get a warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. What do you call that?
As I consider, my heart squeezes at another thought. My parents. Miller might be proud of me, but what about them?
I walk through the empty hallway as I type out a text, delete it, then type another one and stare at it. How exactly do I explain this? Sorry, guys, I don’t want to be a surgeon.
Finally, I settle on a noncontroversial opening.
Mom
Hi Mom, hope everything is going well. I’d love to tell you about the rotation I’m on now.
I’m so excited for you, Rebecca! Can I call you? Maybe even FaceTime, with Dad?
Sure. Can I text you when I get back to my apartment?
*thumbs up emoji* Can’t wait to hear all about it.
Once I’ve made it back to my place, I’ve fortified my resolve with a glass of red wine and reminded myself that it doesn’t actually matter what they think about the specialty I choose. I need to make this decision for myself.
I keep my phone in front of me as I cook dinner: spaghetti with jarred marinara sauce tonight. With the frozen garlic bread that’s heating up in the oven, this seems like a step up from macaroni and cheese. And a nice merlot—nice meaning it wasn’t from the $5 shelf—classes it up even more.
A ringing sound vibrates through the air. I set the wooden spoon down and swipe to open the video call, smiling as my parents’ faces come into view.
“Rebecca! It’s so good to see you,” Mom says, leaning toward the camera, her dark hair falling over her face. This close, I can see the gray of her roots growing in. She’s never quite gotten used to the idea that you don’t have to speak directly into the phone when you’re on a video call. “How are you doing?”
I smile as I wipe my hands on a towel. “I’m good. Really good, actually. How are you guys?”
My dad shifts in his seat, unlacing his fingers before folding them back together. “We are good as well. Have you done your surgery rotation yet?”
I shake my head, happy that I didn’t cringe in front of them. I’m not exactly looking forward to it after experiencing the OR during my OB rotation. “I have that one right after Christmas.”
My dad doesn’t really care about Christmas, being Hindu, but we celebrated while I was growing up, because my mom is Catholic. She also convinced my dad that I should be baptized Catholic. I think that means she won.
“What rotation are you on now, love?” Mom asks with interest. “Do you like it?”
I take a deep breath. Moment of truth. “I’m on family medicine, and actually… I love it.” I pause and take another breath. “I think this is what I’m going to do with my life.”
I wait, holding my breath.
Then a smile spreads over my dad’s face, and my mom’s, too.
“That’s great, sweetheart!” my mom says, leaning into the camera again to make sure I don’t miss her words.
“That is wonderful, Rebecca,” Dad says. His posture doesn’t deviate from his perfect straight spine, but then again, it rarely does. “That is a wonderful specialty.”
I open my mouth, ready to defend myself, then close it. Because they’re not giving me a hard time. If anything, they’re… supportive. “I… thank you,” I finally manage.
“Where are you thinking about doing your residency?” my dad asks. Because he can’t have a conversation that doesn’t prompt some amount of stress in me.
I pick up the spoon and stir the Prego that’s starting to bubble in its saucepan. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know where I’m applying so you have a good idea before the Match.”
The Match, with a capital M. The one day that determines the lives of so many medical students. We interview for positions, then rank the programs we want to train at; the programs rank the applicants they want, and all of it goes into a computer that spits out the matches, which are ceremoniously passed out one at a time on Match Day in early spring when we find out where we’re going to spend the next three to seven years of our lives. And which are binding, at least for that first year.
No pressure or anything.
“You just find a program where you will be happy,” Dad says, nodding somberly. “We will come and visit you anywhere. If you match in New York City, you can live with us, too.”
Over my dead body. I love them, but I’m not moving back in with my parents in my late twenties. My mother would probably iron my work clothes the way she irons Dad’s scrubs.
“I’ll let you know,” I promise.
With that, I end the call, marveling at the exchange that just happened. Are they really not going to try to talk me into surgery or, at the very least, anesthesia? The idea that they’ll support me in whatever I want to do is exhilarating.
The excitement carries me through dinner and an hour of studying, making sure I’m as ready for Monday as I can be.
I’m about to go to sleep when my phone buzzes with a text.
Miller
I have some news. Can I come see you?