Reminded

**If you are Tiny, you Dance your terrible, no good, very bad days away**

Yesterday was a terrible, no good, very bad kind of work day. It was the kind of day where I got so frustrated at, you know, the system (just to clarify, not my patients), that a sense of defeat crept in. And sometimes when I feel defeated, it's easy to think in a fit of frustration, "I'm done! Done, I tell you!" Because I know the universe doesn't mind my moment of melodrama. :)

And then I offered up a harried prayer. "Remind me why I am doing this."

I arrived back at work today a little worse for the wear. Then due to a scheduling snafu, the morning got a little crazy. So when lunch came around, I slumped down into my desk, and sighed. My work was feeling a lot like a job and less so like a calling.

I tried to figure out how to best use the few minutes of lunch time that I had, and decided that I would call the mother of a patient I'd seen two days ago rather than wait until the end of the day.

The patient is a teenager who I saw for sore throat two days ago. After we'd discussed the intial complaint, the mom said, "I promise I never ask about more than one problem at the doctor, but would you mind taking a look at his arm?" They'd been to a specialist that morning who had brushed some swelling off as a sunburn or mild sports injury. But when I looked at it, I thought it looked like neither of those things. I ordered an ultrasound that revealed a serious clot, which led to a CT scan, which led to the discovery of more serious, potentially life threatning clots and a referral to a different specialist.

So, as you might imagine, this has been an emotional week for them.

And as Mom and I talked today, she got pretty tearful. I can imagine that being so directly confronted with your child's mortality would do that to you.

And in the course of the conversation, she said to me, "I want you to know how grateful I am that you ordered that test." And I'm thinking, 'But it's what anyone would have done!' Then she started crying harder, "And I want you to know that I know that God sent you to us that day so that we could find this."

Quite suddenly, my work felt like a calling again. Whether or not she was right (and because of my faith and past experience, I believe that God pays attention to such things), my efforts meant to something someone.

Theirs wasn't the only prayer answered this week.

Most days, I actively enjoy the busy rhythm--work and play--of my days. But sometimes the grind, the frustrations, the fatigue of life will get me down. I yell at the sky, "I. AM. DONE!"

But, I've learned that when I ask to be reminded why I'm doing what I'm doing, reminded I will be.

So often, at the point when I feel most discouraged, there comes a rejuvenating moment. One well-placed comment, one toddler who finally shares with a friend, one jubilant 'you're the best mommy in the world'. And that one moment casts all the other moments in a completely different light.

So today I am grateful for the mix of bitter and sweet. For the frustration that paints in bold relief the beauty of discovering why I do what I do in all aspects of my life. And for the gentle reminders and answers to prayer along the way.

Work

**Teething is hard work.**

I remember once being told that I would have to work long and hard in the pursuit of my goals.

And tonight, when I sit here in front of my computer, letting my mind wander over a day that has been a day, I think:
Yep, long and hard.

But you know what? That's not a complaint. It's a satisfied exhalation.


**Sometimes a mother's work is putting on a wedding party.**

My Poppa (mom's dad) is a great philosopher. Growing up, he was always stretching our minds with thought-provoking questions. One time he asked a bunch of us cousins what we were afraid of. He was most impressed, appropriately so, with my cousin Lindsay's answer.

She said that she was afraid of going to bed at night and realizing that she hadn't accomplished anything with her day. Given that she was about 13 at the time, it was a pretty sophisticated reply.





I've thought a lot about that reply, and I've realized that working hard grants me immunity to that feeling. Working hard makes me feel spent, yes, but also full in the best kind of way. Whether it's a day at the office, or a day (night?) of taking care of Tiny and Drummer, a day of work gives me a sense of progressing.

I've read all the recent studies about how adults without children are supposedly more happy than those who slave away changing diapers and driving to soccer practices. They postulate that without all the responsibilities of childrearing, there is more time for relaxation and self-care. Well, sure. And I can certainly testify that kids do bring about a steady stream of work. But without pointing out the numerous flaws in such studies (a post for another day!), and without pointing out the incredibly joys of parenting that are hard to quantify, I just have to say this:

The more effort I put into worthy causes, the more joy I seem to reap. We all need regular breaks and relaxation. Of course.
But in general, I am willing to put in more labor for better fruits.





I am willing to work hard taking care of my precious kids and my patients, if I can have the sweetness that comes when I sit down on the couch at the end of the day, and savor a well-earned rest. I am willing to push through fatigue and inertia to find a better, more selfless, more experienced version of myself.

When I work hard, I feel like I am laying the groundwork for great things, whatever they may be.

When I work hard--emotionally or physically--I can lay my head down on my pillow, and know that though while my efforts were surely imperfect, efforts they were. And many times, I think that's exactly what matters.


**Our royal wedding party cake**