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Sumam M Abraham, MD

Contributor's Note

Lights, camera, action -- That Day

Scene I: My role is as a primary care doctor managing patients, all comers--colds and coughs, pediatrics, suicidal ideation with cutting behavior. Focusing my energy on giving the best care to each patient. My day finally ends, of course, later than expected. As I drive home I look forward to my next role, mother to a young son.

Scene II: I was there to bear witness to the loss of my neighbor and all she represented: her quiet dignity, the passing on of Japanese culture to the next surviving generation. Being a second generation Asian American, I felt profound loss. One day I will be the one who continues the language, food, and culture of my parents. And I know the reality is it will become diluted and modified by my American culture.

My life as a doctor is not like a movie. There are no re-shoots for the perfect outcome. It is one of the roles of my life woven into who I am. To be allowed into patients' lives is truly an honor and a privilege. 

Her Heart, Her Flowers

Prose, Volume 5; Issue 1

Her tiny, frail body lay in the middle of the room. The EMTs were busy trying to save her. I had never been in my neighbor’s house and didn't know much about her apart from the fact that she was a second-generation Japanese woman who had been married to an African American man. He had passed away years ago. Her children were around, though I rarely saw them.

Every spring she would gather daisies from my garden to honor the dead. As she grew weaker she asked me to cut the daisies for her. The last two years she had not come out of her house.

I was the neighbor who happened to be the doctor. Now I found myself going between her daughter and the EMTs. I would explain what the EMTs were doing and then turn around to ask the lead EMT to call the code. The EMT reluctantly informed me that protocol had to be followed. I understood, but I still wanted to shout at the EMTs to stop trying to save her and let her die. I wanted to break down and cry as I imagined the pain her daughter was feeling.

Her daughter wanted me there as a doctor. I was her buffer between the ugliness of resuscitation and her heart, her flowers. 

Comments (1)

  • Monica

    Monica

    10 February 2017 at 15:52 |
    Beautiful!
    reply

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