Pay Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

My preschooler has a new obsession with The Wizard of Oz. Saturday mornings are movie time at our house, and our TV-hungry child (I maintain strict television-viewing rules during the week) is always eager to choose a movie to enjoy. For the past few weekends, she’s wanted to watch Dorothy explore the wonderful world of Oz. She’s even decided she wants to be Dorothy for Halloween (she’s recruited her baby sister to be Toto).

I enjoy the classic movie, too, and the other day something struck me. When I heard the faux wizard command, “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,” I couldn’t help but think of my husband.

Sometimes I want to say just the opposite: Pay attention to the man in the white coat. He’s not a wizard. He’s a human being. He has a family at home, including two, little girls who miss him terribly. He is committed to being a physician, but there’s more to his life than his work.

Oz’s great wizard wants Dorothy and her gang to see him as all-powerful, a superhuman. But I want people to see my husband and all physicians – even when he’s in his scrubs or in a pristine white coat – as a person, not some omnipotent, omniscient god.

I know some doctors might not seem compassionate or caring. I’ve had a few of my own, but I’ve also had great doctors. And I know my husband is one of them.

As a wife of a budding doctor (we have two more years of residency plus a fellowship remaining before he will be out in the real world practicing), one of my greatest challenges is to be understanding when my husband calls while we’re sitting around a set table with the dinner staying warm in the oven waiting for him to come home so we can eat as a family. “Go ahead and eat without me. Something’s come up. I’ll be late.”

I turn to my 3-year-old and relay the disappointing news. Her face drops. She misses her daddy. I miss him, too. But people are depending on him – not only patients but other physicians and health care providers. He’s a real team player, and I’m always so proud when we go to social functions and people come up to me and say that my husband is one of their favorite people to work with, that he’s not only bright but dedicated.

Still, the unpredictability of his schedule (and we’re lucky because radiology happens to be a much more family-friendly specialty than many others) can be tough on a family.

I share this because the next time you or a family member sees a physician (I may be preaching to the choir here, but I think even spouses of doctors need to be reminded of this) remember that he or she is not only serving you or a loved one, but he or she may have a family waiting for their mommy or daddy to return home.

And don’t forget: As much as we’d like them to be, especially when we’re hurting or watching a loved one suffer, doctors aren’t wizards.  My husband tells me over and over that despite all the advancements and cutting edge technologies, medicine is often not an exact science. Just like people in all professions, doctors make mistakes.

I recently saw the following headline for an article: “Should You Trust Your Mammogram? “It went on to say that even good doctors make mistakes, and I thought, “Of course they do,” but when their mistake means they miss cancer, people get angry and want to point their finger at someone. I don’t blame them,  but the truth is mammograms can be very difficult to read, especially if doctors don’t have a baseline image to compare it to. Believe me, they don’t want to miss cancer. They want to save lives first and foremost, and they’d rather not get sued.

But the bottom line is that yes, good, even excellent doctors do make mistakes. And even good doctors may seem distracted at times (maybe their wife just called to say they were having contractions five weeks before their due date; I made such a phone call when I was pregnant with my second child).

As a wife to a doctor, all I ask is that you pay attention to the man or women behind that curtain of medical professionalism. When you strip that doctor of his white coat, scrubs, scalpel, stethoscope, etc., he’s just like the rest of us – human.

 

Can’t believe I’m saying this. . .

I have recently found myself praying for the state of our economy, our well-being, our upcoming election, our nation as a whole.  These things jump to the forefront when you go two and a half weeks without being able to get gas.  Really, we have not been able to get gas in my city for over two weeks!  It’s a result of panic and greed among the citizens of this area, but none the less, we have no gas.  Being born in the late 70’s, this was a shocking experience for me.  I’ve always lived in a “you want it, you got it” era.  

Back to the point.  As the price of everything (except my pre-buyout purchase of Wachovia stock) goes up, I find myself being thankful for some things that I really never imagined I would be.  Could I ever have imagined that I would be thankful for:

• A husband who had to spend a lot of our pre-children days studying?
• A penny-pinching budget that felt more like a slap in the face every time my husband worked a 100 hour work week?
• Lonely nights that come along with call and lonely days that come along with post-call?
• Moving to a different state every few years?  And on that note, losing friends and having to make new ones so frequently?
• Being married to someone who has a whole brain-full of info that I know very little about?
• Trying to go out for supper as a family and having two or three people interrupt us to get my husband’s medical advice?

No, I didn’t think I would ever be thankful for these things.  But, the reality is that I am so very thankful that my husband is a doctor.  I am so thankful that he can provide for us even as our economy comes crashing down further every day.  I am so thankful that my husband has a job that can’t be outsourced.  I am so thankful that my husband put in long, sleepless nights hitting the books so he would be prepared for long, sleepless nights caring for others.  I am so thankful that my husband gets up early most mornings to head off to a profession that he loves.  I am so thankful that I can still afford gas when it goes over $4/gallon (even if I can’t find any to buy).  Being thankful for these things, I in turn have to be thankful for the things I never thought I would be.  I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I am so thankful that I have to share my husband with his tireless pursuit to practice good medicine.  Some girls have all the luck!   

Seeking a Second Opinion

Preschooler, as she colors a picture of a rabbit with one floppy ear: Mommy, this rabbit’s ear is broken.

Mommy: I don’t think so.

Preschooler: Why not?

Mommy: Well, some rabbits just have floppy ears. Besides, I don’t think rabbit ears have bones in them, so they can’t be broken.

Preschooler: Why? 

Mommy: Ears have cartilage, and you need a bone in something to break it.

Preschooler: Oh.

A long pause…

Preschooler: I’ll have to check with Daddy. He’s a doctor, and he knows more about bones than you.

Four-Cheese Stuffed Shells with Smoky Marinara

This is a great dish that can go from freezer to oven with no thawing required.  This recipe makes enough for two casserole dishes which is perfect making one for your family, giving one away to a new mom or putting the second one in your freezer. Oh yes and did I mention that one serving is 470 calories. Not bad if you ask me! Add a green salad and some garlic bread and dinner is done!

Yield

2 casseroles, 5 servings per dish (serving size: about 4 stuffed shells and about 1/2 cup smoky marinara)

Ingredients

• 1  pound  jumbo shell pasta (40 shells)
• Cooking spray
• 1  (12-ounce) carton 1% low-fat cottage cheese
• 1  (15-ounce) carton ricotta cheese
• 1  cup  (4 ounces) shredded Asiago cheese
• 3/4  cup  (3 ounces) grated fresh Parmesan cheese
• 2  tablespoons  chopped fresh chives
• 2  tablespoons  chopped fresh parsley- I used Italian parsley (flat leaf not curly)
• 1/4  teaspoon  black pepper
• 1/4  teaspoon  salt
• 1  (10-ounce) package frozen chopped spinach, thawed and drained-(you could use fresh baby spinach too)
• 6  cups  Smokey Marinara (recipe to follow)
• 1  cup  (4 ounces) shredded part-skim mozzarella cheese, divided

Preparation

Cook pasta according to package directions, omitting salt and fat. Drain and set aside.

Preheat oven to 375°.

Coat 2 (13 x 9-inch) baking dishes with cooking spray; set aside.

Place cottage cheese and ricotta cheese in a food processor; process until smooth. Combine cottage cheese mixture, Asiago, and next 6 ingredients (Asiago through spinach).

Spoon or pipe 1 tablespoon cheese mixture into each shell. Arrange half of stuffed shells, seam sides up, in one prepared dish. Pour 3 cups Smoky Marinara over stuffed shells. Sprinkle with 1/2 cup mozzarella. Repeat procedure with remaining stuffed shells, Smoky Marinara, and mozzarella in remaining prepared dish.

Cover with foil. Bake at 375° for 30 minutes or until thoroughly heated.

To freeze unbaked casserole: Prepare through Step 5. Cover with plastic wrap, pressing to remove as much air as possible. Wrap with heavy-duty foil. Store in freezer for up to 2 months.

To prepare frozen unbaked casserole: Preheat oven to 375º. Remove foil; reserve foil. Remove plastic wrap; discard wrap. Cover frozen casserole with reserved foil; bake at 375º for 1 hour and 10 minutes or until the shells are thoroughly heated.

Smoky Marinara

Yield

6 cups (serving size: 1/2 cup)

Ingredients

• 1  tablespoon  olive oil
• 3  garlic cloves, minced
• 1/4  cup  chopped fresh basil
• 2  tablespoons  chopped fresh parsley
• 2  tablespoons  chopped fresh or 2 teaspoons dried oregano
• 2  teaspoons  balsamic vinegar
• 1/8  teaspoon  salt
• 1/8  teaspoon  pepper
• 1  (28-ounce) can crushed fire-roasted tomatoes, undrained
• 1  (28-ounce) can crushed tomatoes, undrained

Preparation

Heat oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add garlic, basil, parsley, and oregano; sauté 1 minute, stirring frequently. Stir in vinegar and remaining ingredients. Reduce heat, and simmer 10 minutes.

Recipe courtesy of Cooking Light

Will you be my friend? Check Yes or No.

I have been reflecting on my  journey with my husband in medical school and residency and thinking of the fears I had in moving to a new place. I must admit that I was very fearful of moving to a new place and the possibility of never making a friend. Those who know me would probably say that these fears are unfounded given my love of people and making new friends. None the less, I was afraid and uncertain.

The move we made for medical school was an hour and half away from our home town and it might as well have been on the other side of the globe. I was panicked at the idea of being away from all that was familiar. In my hometown I was very comfortable within my existing circle of friends. When we moved for medical school I was in a city where I knew my husband and maybe three other people. I was lonely and unsure of my role in my husbands life as a medical student.

The first few months of medical school I made lots of trips up the turnpike to my hometown excusing myself from the loneliness of another Friday night with no friends to hang out with. It became clear that my weekend get-aways were getting me nowhere in the friend department and it was time to step out of my comfort zone and make some friends. My husband and I went to a Med-Student social and I met lots of other spouses that were just like me. Their spouses were cramming for test-blocks and dissecting the human anatomy just like my husband.  I then  discovered the Medical Student Spouse Alliance chapter of my husband’s institution and there was to be a dinner for the spouses at one of the physician’s homes.  It was this rainy evening that I went on to meet more medical wives, one that stands out in particular is my now dear friend Tiffany. We hit it off instantly and laughed our way through the uncomfortable evening. We even got elected to be the President of the Medical Student Spouse Alliance. A job that we weren’t sure we were qualified for but we took the job probably due to the amount of wine we consumed at dinner.  After the dinner was over we stood outside on the wet neighborhood streets and chatted. It was then that Tiffany asked me a question that I have yet to ever forget. “Will you be my friend?” she said. I was dumbfounded as I hadn’t ever been asked that question ever or at least since grade school.  Tiffany went on to explain that this was a question a old friend had asked her and now was a question that she asked of people that she wanted to be-friend. Still dumbfounded, I said, “Yes”. Could a lasting friendship be started on the premise of grade school antics? I wasn’t sure but my heart was happy to have a friend to laugh with and share the ups and downs of medical school.

Medical School proved to be not only a time of growth for my husband but for myself as well. I was growing not only in the aspect of living in a new city, or a new job  but also spiritually. In our second year of medical school, Tiffany invited me to a Bible study with some other medical student spouses. It was here that I grew spiritually in ways that I had never imagined and made friends that have lasted well beyond medical school and still to this day are my closest friends. These women were strong, loving, and encouraging. This was just what I needed to make it through the tough years of medical school and really what prepared my heart for residency.

The first year of residency was easy relatively speaking, we moved an hour and half up the turnpike to our hometown and I was relieved to get a year to spend with my family and old friends considering we were about to move 800 miles from our home state of Oklahoma so my husband could finish his residency in Anesthesia. The year flew by and it was time to move again. This move was not as easy as the previous two moves. I was really leaving a lot behind. Family, Friends, and Security. I could not escape up the turnpike like I had done just 4 years ago. I was more afraid than ever because this time I had a small child and I was pregnant. A mom and an expectant one at that; two factors that called for lots of support. I knew that I would have to take the task of making friends head on!  While in Oklahoma, I had heard a networking sites like “Meet Up” and some other sites that catered to the stay at home mom crowd. Upon arriving to our new city, I quickly got unpacked and plugged in literally. Within the first month, I was going on “blind friend dates” and meeting perfect strangers for play dates. My friends and family back home thought I had lost my mind in this 800 mile move. I knew I had to do something to make friends in this city of 4 million people. This would be my version of Tiffany’s question, Will you be my friend? Sure enough within a few months I had met friends. I had regular play dates for my daughter. I had even met some resident spouses through these random “meet ups”. I found a church and a fabulous small group of people to grow with spiritually.  My life was not what I had feared. I was not alone and I was able to make friends. I had stretched my self beyond my comfort zone once again and it payed off with genuine friendship and companionship in this time of long call nights, even longer post call days, and living on a shoestring.

It is hard to move. It is even harder to step outside of what is comfortable and make yourself vulnerable to the possiblities of new friendships and experiences.  However, you never know what friendships you might miss out on if you don’t take that first step and ask the question, Will you be my friend?

You don’t act like a doctor’s wife. . .

This is the most frequent “compliment” I receive.  Within a few short weeks of my husband starting residency I discovered that I was part of a stereotype that I didn’t even know existed.  I was now supposed to be rich, snooty and out of touch with reality.  I was supposed to hire a nanny and spend my days shopping for designer labels, working out with my personal trainer and staying current with my Botox injections.  I should be unapproachable, have no understanding of a “paycheck-to-paycheck” lifestyle, live in a huge house and drive something along the lines of an Escalade.  I didn’t know that I was supposed to be filling this image for people, so I dared to walk around being friendly, anxious to make new friends.  I was open about the fact that my husband was a doctor and all of the hard work he did to get there.  I was excited to be able to afford a mortgage payment, to go out to eat for something other than mexican food, and to have a husband raking in a $37,000 salary for 80 hour work weeks.  We had hit the big-time!  

Unfortunately, my excitement seemed to only be shared by those in the same position.  I found myself relating easily to other “doctors’ wives” and to those I knew before I was a doctor’s wife.  I eventually became very guarded about my husband’s profession.  I wanted to keep that “secret” for as long as possible when I met someone new.  All of my husband’s hard work had almost become a burden on me.    

Fast forward five years later.  Family Man is in an established practice.  The salary, the location, and the number of children has changed, but the stereotype has not.  The first person I met at our new location approached me after finding out my daughter’s last name.  Our girls were in dance together.  She asked me if I knew Dr. Family Man.  I said “Yes, he’s my husband.”  A look of shock came over her face.  I will never forget the next thing that came out of her mouth.  ”The doctor is your husband?  You don’t act like a doctor’s wife!”  I gave a half-smile and said “Well, I am!”  We started talking as we would pass dropping our kids off at dance.  We sat together and talked at the recital rehearsal.  She would introduce me to her friends (she’s lived in this area her whole life) and she would tell them that I was married to Dr. Family Man, but that I don’t act like a doctor’s wife.  One day I asked her what she thinks doctors’ wives are supposed to act like.  She told me they are usually “awful.”  I told her I had met quite a few awful people and very few of them were married to doctors.  

Today I sit here hoping that someday the profession of being a doctor will regain the respect that it carried as few as 10 years ago.  Along with that I hope that those who are married to doctors are seen for the people they are, not the stereotype that they fall into.

Is there a doctor in the house?

The moment I married my husband is the moment that I officially became a hypochondriac.  Can anyone else relate to this?  Being that my husband is a doctor, I run to him for reassurance that the unexplained bruise on my leg is just that… a bruise.  I have a headache and I never get headaches… Could it be an aneurysm? 

He is forced to inspect anything I deem questionable, and I end up getting the same response every time.  “You’re fine.”   My husband has such a calming nature about him, and because he is a physician and tells me I am fine, then I can relax and believe him.  But in the back of my head I have the thought that he didn’t look at it closely enough and it could be a bigger deal than originally thought.  

Now, if I didn’t have access to this wealth of information 24/7, I think that I probably would be a lot calmer myself.  Since I tend to be just a little dramatic at times, I know it’s not as bad as I am making it out to be.  It’s not worth actually going to the doctor to see if it is anything, and I would probably just sleep on it and see if it goes away.  It’s not so easy to do these days now that any possible abnormality can be inspected at any given moment.  My poor husband.

I, along with several others, assume that since my husband is a doctor, he knows everything there is to know about medicine and can solve any medical mystery.  It is not abnormal for him to get a frantic phone call that a friend’s dog (who is 4,000 miles away) is trembling a little? “Do you thing he is dehydrated?  Is it his heart?”  

Now, we have to think in realistic terms here.  One, doctors choose specialties for a reason – to specialize in an area of medicine.  My husband has formed a default answer to such inquiries: “If you think it is something serious, go to the emergency room.”  Two, there is a lot more to know about your situation than the current status.  Maybe some medical history?  What occurred prior?  My husband is a genius, and he can pretty much hit the nail on the head every time regardless of the situation, but sometimes he ends up doing what we all do: Googling it.

Summer Cake Recipe

I’m pleasantly surprised at the drop in temperatures around here these days, but I can’t help but find myself looking back at the summer and saying: “Where in the world did my summer go?”  So I’ve decided to enjoy these last few weeks of true summer by doing all the things I meant to do this season.  You know, take my kids camping, grill out and have picnic, make homemade ice cream, create some beautiful sidewalk art with chalk, and (my personal favorite) make lemonade cake.

So grab your list, head to the grocery store, and have an end-of-summer party!  Now that hubster’s no longer a resident he might actually be able to spend the holiday with us!  (With his pager and cell phone close by, of course!)

1 package yellow cake
1(4 serving) package instant vanilla pudding
1/2 cup Country Time lemonade powder, divided
1 cup cold water
4 eggs
1/4 cup oil
3 TBsp warm water
1 cup powdered sugar

Preheat oven to 350°. Mix cake mix, pudding, 1/4 cup lemonade powder, 1 cup cold water, eggs and oil. Bake in Bundt pan for 50-55 minutes. While cake is baking, you can make the glaze: Mix 1/4 cup lemonade powder with powdered sugar, and mix in warm water. (You want it to be liquid-y, so if you do it too early and it gets “stiff” just pop it in the microwave for a few seconds!) After removing cake from oven, cool for 5 minutes and flip out onto serving platter. While the cake is still warm, use a fork or skewers to poke holes all over the cake. Pour glaze over cake. Cool and enjoy!

I.C.U (Not)

As August comes to a conclusion so does the second month of my husband’s ICU rotation and honestly folks, they should change the name of the rotation from I.C.U to I.C.U (not). The months of July and August have been filled with 16 overnight calls, 16 trips to the University Hospital Cafeteria to dine together as a family, and 16 post-call days where I try to keep the girls entertained and quiet in our two bedroom apartment so Gas Man can catch some ZZZ’s.

Needless to say, the call schedule has been brutal on everyone in our family. Gas Man gets at the most two hours of broken sleep while at the hospital, which makes post-call days more like a scene from one of those really bad zombie horror flicks. Most post-call days, I am just as exhausted as my hubby due to my role as single-mama while he’s at the hospital and the fact that I can hardly sleep while he’s gone overnight. This month has been challenging not only for myself but also for my 3 year old who has struggled with her Daddy’s absence and her behavior has been less than desirable at times. How can I blame her for throwing fits and flowing tears? I have felt like doing the same on many occasion these past two months.

Being married to a resident isn’t easy and having kids in residency is at times challenging. It’s hard to explain the demands of a physician to our children and why they live at the hospital most days. In our family, we make the most of our time together tired or not and take lots of trips to the hospital to visit our Dr. Daddy while he is away. I admire my hubby and his efforts to always put his family first. He is a great father to our girls and he always finds a way to muster up that last bit of energy to have a tea party or play princess. I know that residency is a short season in our life but the memory of tired days, family dinners in the hospital cafeteria, and the excitement of Dr. Daddy coming home will be long in our memories.

What have your toughest rotations been? How do you and your family cope with the long days and time apart?

Welcome to Mrs. MD!

I’m Mrs. MD, but please call me Rad Wife. I’m a journalist turned at-home mom who is married to a radiology resident. When we first started dating, he was a car salesman waiting to hear if he’d been accepted into medical school. When he received the big news that he was “in,” we celebrated. I love my husband who we will call Dr. McDreamy for whom he is, not what he does, but I do remember thinking, “Wow! I’m marrying a budding doctor! How dreamy.”

Foolish, foolish woman!

Truth is, my marriage has been dreamy in many ways. Dr. McDreamy is a great catch. He’s the man God wanted me to marry. But the whole doctor thing, well, I suppose it will one day be icing on the cake, but right now it’s just some eggs and flour and maybe some Splenda  (certainly not real sugar). And I had absolutely no idea what I was in for when I said “I do” to a budding doc.

In other words, it’s been a long journey.

Don’t get me wrong: I know there’s light at the end of the tunnel and that we are infinitely blessed to have a happy present (including two lovely, little girls and a mini van to boot) and an even brighter future. But that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes get impatient. After all, I married my dearly beloved after his first year of medical school more than six years ago and he is still training. 

 Since that fateful day when Dr. McDreamy started his journey to becoming a physician by tearing open his acceptance letter to med school, I’ve realized that marrying an aspiring physician was neither a glorious gamble or a dream turned reality. (Honestly, in my dreams I usually imagined myself marrying a musician. I always had a thing for musicians, not preppy guys strutting their stuff in white coats stained with blood, feces, and goodness knows what else.) I fell in love with my husband, not some brilliant doctor (although like most wives, I do think he is brilliant).

When I consider the big picture – our commitment to each other and our desire to have a big family – the initials behind his name make little difference. At the end of a long post-call day, I’m just an ordinary wife who happened to fall in love with someone who just happens to want to be a doctor.

Still, anyone who is married to a med student, resident, and/or practicing physician knows that a medical marriage presents us with a unique set of challenges – from the neverending training process to having a husband deal with life and death issues on a daily basis. Talk about job stress!

That’s why I started this blog and invited several other incredible women who also happen to be married to med students, residents, or doctors to share their insight. Our goal is to offer support to others living a medical marriage, to make you laugh when you want to cry, to remind us all how truly lucky we are to have hard-working husbands.

In addition, we wanted to provide a forum for all your questions about crazy things like the Match process, fellowships (to do or not to do?), the interview process for residency as well as jobs, what it’s like when you’re husband is finally a real (as in practicing) doctor, how to get gross stains out of gleaming white coats, and whatever else is on your mind. I also want to give others who aren’t in a medical marriage a glimpse into the lives of the women who support them. 

Please take a look at our contributors. Each has a different perspective to share, but what we all have in common is a love for our husbands – even when they have to work really long hours, leave dirty scrubs on the carpet, and our lives sometimes seem like they’re at the mercy of a pager.

We want this to be an interactive forum, so we’ll hope you’ll help spread the word about us to other medical wives you know and that you’ll consider dropping us a line. Leave a comment or email us at MrsMDblog@gmail.com. Share your wisdom, anecdotes, encouragement, and advice. And let us know what you’d like to see on this blog. 

Thanks for sharing your medical marriages with us!