Do You Hear What I Hear?

Years ago, my oncologist arranged for me to have a Q & A session with a colleague of his at Seattle Children's Hospital, to discuss qualifications for med school, admission, and sage wisdom in general. I remember almost nothing about this conversation now--at least 5 years later--except one quote:

"My best friend and I did pediatrics rotations together in med school. When we were done, I was so energized and I just knew peds was for me. My friend scoffed at me, demanding, 'How could you possibly like this? All I hear are crying babies.' When I reflected on this, I realized that I heard babies--who were crying--not crying babies. You see the difference."

So his advice to me was that I should pay attention to which side of the noun the verb is on. And after two weeks on peds rotation, the verdict is in.

I hear crying babies. All day. Every day. And I want to flee.

You ask, Come on now, how is this really any different than OB? All I know is that the only time I typically heard babies cry was right when they emerged. And it was a happy sound because it meant that all was generally well. Then the baby would get whisked away and attended to. Long term, I typically only heard babies crying from a distance, either in the nursery or in mom's room.

But in pediatrics, you are the great usurper. You undress the baby. You touch and poke and prod the baby. You pry its tiny eyes open and shine lights into them. You touch them with cold metal objects (like stethoscopes), and what do they do? They cry. They scream. Then when they're older and they have an earache or colic or are just coming in for a well-child check, you do the same things. Then you give them bitter medicines and shots--and that typically doesn't go over well. They don't like me, and I do not like them. So we have an arrangement, you see.

And I swear that I watch the minute hand on the office clock go backwards. Here's the rip-off: when I catch myself in the mirror, I don't look any younger.

I'm sorry. I really am. I wanted to like pediatrics. It was part of my plan. Part of growing up to be like Dr. Wolff. Part of my life coming full circle as a peds cancer survivor. And if (when) I loved pediatrics, I could (would) neatly wrap up my life and accent it with a hand-tied bow, and it would be so perfect.

But, brutha, that just ain't gonna happen.

Author's note: when this is all said and done, I would like it said that I would be happy and certified to attend to your baby in some scary situation that may require either basic- or advanced cardiac-life support. However, one should not ask/make me babysit for any length of time. If you ask me to babysit, know that odds are approximately 203:1 that you will return home to find said baby sleeping on its tummy, in a bassinet loaded with extra blankets, a lit cigarette in one hand, peanut butter & honey sandwich in the other, having just returned from joyriding shotgun, in a front-facing car seat. Sorry in advance. (but totally trust me on that life support stuff!)