Subway Sandwiches, Goodness, and Mercy

I caught a glimpse of a beautifully-crafted, ultra-fresh, veggie-filled Subway sandwich on the television in a patient’s room today. My mouth began to water. And I dreamed of the possibility of indulging in such a delicacy at the next free moment. Rounds finished. Patient duties were mostly done. My stomach was beginning to growl. I was on call, but surely I could make the approximately 1 mile journey away from the hospital cafeteria grease and mush, down the block to where freshness lives and dwells. I carefully calculated my escape, power-walked with unprecedented determination, reached for the Subway door handle with great victory in my heart, and crossed the threshold into the smell of oven-fresh bread. Instantly, my pocket began to echo with the all too familiar ear-splitting siren clamor of the trauma surgery pager. Code 3 trauma. Life flight. Estimated time of arrival: 2 minutes. Greattttt. The last time I ran a 2 minute mile and crossed the finish line sweat-less and not panting like a puppy was a few summers back when I was being chasing by a cheetah in the jungle. It was really no big deal.

I swiftly exited the sweet aromas with great defeat in my heart and blazed down the street praying I wouldn’t become the next trauma of the evening as an auto-pedestrian accident. I arrived in the ER dripping from the brow with a pulse and blood pressure that possibly could have classified me as a Code 3. I tried to hide my winded-ness and reach for something productive to do, pretending as if I had been there all along. The whole thing was a wash and my team was ripping off their gowns before I could even get mine on. My resident nodded, patted me on the back, and we all went on our separate ways. My mind quickly raced back to that sandwich. Was it worth chancing again? You betcha.

With more determination than before I raced back down the street to Subway. I grabbed the door handle with slightly more caution than previously, looking down at the black box attached to my pants and giving it the “you behave, now” glare. As the fresh bread was sliced and the veggies were placed, my heart swelled with victory. Now, if only I could make it back and have a moment to savor the victory before the pager siren roared again.

A grand total of 4 miles for the God-blessed thing—a mere Subway sandwich never tasted so good. As I savored my dinner I was amazed at the length I went to just for a rather extraordinarily ordinary sandwich. Past the fresh bread and perfectly sliced tomatoes, my heart was quickly drawn to and captured by the last verse in Psalm 23--Surely His goodness and mercy shall chase me all the days of my life. I replayed my small and petty pursuit over the last hour. The entire hour had been dominated by a quest to bound every obstacle between me and Subway. And I was amazed that the God of the universe would chase me, pursue me, bound every obstacle with His goodness and mercy…not just for one hour but for all the days of my life! Conclusion: I must be worth far more than a Subway sandwich.

I am grateful for the tail end of that verse—and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever (where I am sure things far greater than fresh sandwiches abound).

Praise be to a Good Shepherd Who never leaves us in want, Who brings us to green pastures and quiet waters, Who restores our souls, Who leads us on right paths, Who is near in the valley, Who comforts, Who prepares a table for us even in adversity, Who anoints, Who overflows our cups, Who chases us with goodness and mercy ALL the days of our lives, and Who ultimately brings us to dwell in His house forever.

The Most Glorious, Trying, Beautiful, Exhausting, Frustrating, Exciting Day Ever- AKA LBJ Day Uno

There is a code to the bathroom door. Who would have ever thought? I asked for it once. The second time I was embarrassed to have forgotten. Was is 2-5-6-1? 3-5-6-1? Or maybe 5-2-6-1? Crap. Can’t even seem to get the dad-gum bathroom code right today. I asked the nurse again and got that same O you poor, stupid med student, your life will never amount to much look I had been getting from every direction, so it seemed, for the majority of the morning. First it was the gauze I couldn’t find that happened to be in every room just under my nose, then the wrong speculum I picked from the closet, followed by a completely off-the-wall totally-wrong diagnosis and the shower of gloves I spilled in the exam room.

LBJ hospital is quite the place. It is exquisite. Truly. Maybe not my first thought walking in the door the first time, honestly, but really. The people are beautiful. I mean, some of them have about the IQ of a rock, but others really surprise you. Getting to serve them is a privilege. Whether talking to them is about as useful as talking to a barn or not, I love it. They are made in the imago dei and they are beautiful.

In true fashion, my first shift in the Pedi EC today was quite the experience. It was surely no different from any other day there, maybe even more calm than usual, who knows, but it made an impression on me already. It was the most glorious, difficult, trying, exciting, rewarding, fun, exhausting day ever.

There was one patient in particular that stands above all the rest, maybe because she was the only one all day I never had to fill out paperwork on or present to someone on the totem pole above me and inevitably feel like the dumbest person alive having overlooked some part of the exam (those of you in my shoes know exactly what I mean :0). I never knew her name—I probably never will. The sight of her precious face made my eyes well with tears, which I quickly choked back knowing that was not the professional, grown-up doctor-type thing to do, or something to that effect.

I knew excitement was coming when someone ran into the EC shouting stuff I could only partially understand. I had no idea what was up but I ran outside with the best of them. As I passed the gloves on the wall I thought I ought grab a pair but not wanting to break suit or be over-zealous I followed everyone else gloveless. I felt like I was in a scene from Grey’s Anatomy, if only for a moment—you know when they run out to the ambulance dock and something crazy, wild happens just as they cut to a commercial break? I just knew I would see Katherine Heigl out there talking to Denny or McDreamy glowing in the sunshine in all his hotness or something bizarre. Ha. Anyhow….

There was quite the crew of folks gathered around the vehicle parked just outside. I stood on my tippy toes to see what all the excitement was about and before I knew it a baby was handed out of the car. Someone called out the time. I noted it in my mind. 3:21. I have no idea why out of the 20 or so medical personnel types gathered around they thought I looked like the appropriate person to hand a fresh child to, but nonetheless, next thing I knew the baby was handed to me. I gladly accepted, gloveless and all. (Though my attending sure didn’t miss the opportunity to fuss me—dang, if only the thought counted!)

I heard her precious cries. She opened her eyes and I felt like she looked straight at me. Welcome to the world, sweet one.

The scene was chaos. Mom was in pain and still needed to deliver the placenta. No one could seem to find the appropriate wrist bands. But I was in my own world with a beautiful baby girl in my arms. O bliss.

I carried her around for what seemed like forever as things were sorted out. I thought of names for her and wondered at what she would be when she grew up. I thought of running as fast as I could and taking her home to be mine!—just kidding. Don’t tell anyone. They will never let me around small children again!

For all the moments I felt like a retard, unable to even open the bathroom door, dropping all my stuff on the floor during a pelvic exam, and answering even the simple questions 100% wrong, there were the moments of tickling cute little kids, having real-life talks with teenagers, and of course, delivering babies in the parking lot. Exhausted? Check. Fulfilled? Double check.

Bring it, day 2!