The Freedom (To Make Mistakes)

I’ve had a long day. As I ride the bus home sitting amongst others, with their own long days--with that dizzying numb glare on most of our faces--this cherubic little boy with the most phenomenal set of blond curls I’ve ever seen, stomps onto the bus and stammers all the way to the back, his dad in tow, yelling, “I don’t worry, I don’t care, I’m not wearing underwear!”

And while most of us chuckle, I wonder what would happen if an adult stomped onto the bus and did the exact same thing? What is the real difference that allows this adorable child to get away with this in the first place?

The answer is simple: Freedom. The freedom to make mistakes. When we were young we made many. That was how we pushed boundaries, figured "right" from "wrong." I personally appreciated that the dad didn't scold the boy but instead smiled himself. Soon enough his son would learn to sit still, with a dazed face, after his own long day. 

Tomorrow marks the end of my 4-month family practice rotation and while I am ready to move forward and learn the next aspect of medicine, I’m going to miss the camaraderie of my clinic. The next time I set foot in a family practice clinic I may actually be the practitioner, and then the room for error narrows.

But right now, and throughout the last 4 months, I’ve had the luxury of making mistakes. Of yelling out a wrong answer, of asking for help (over and over) with a procedure, of backing up my provider’s entire schedule because I misheard a critical piece of information from a patient. That last one was a hard mistake to get over. 

I’ve nearly fainted during my first incision and drainage of an abscess, and felt fairly nauseas until the patient grabbed my hand to help keep me steady.

I’ve been so enthusiastic to see my first hemorrhoid that the patient probably thought I had some kind of fetish.

I've been so sleep deprived from staying up late studying that I’ve left my house at 6am, dressed for success, in a nice sweater and thick black stockings, only to realize several blocks from the bus stop that I forgot to put my skirt on over them.

And, best of all, there was a day not too long ago when the mother of several children--who's son happened to be my patient--told me I'm one of the best "doctors" she's ever seen. That was a huge compliment given that the mother also had a few scars and undoubtedly had seen her share of medical providers herself, not to mention all the docs she's seen for her kids. Thankfully, this glorious compliment was received several hours before I inadvertently ingested too much of a key ingredient in cough syrup and remained loopy, dizzy, and with somewhat of a cough syrup "hangover" for the rest of the day. I couldn't see patients on my own. One of my pupils became extremely dilated. I apologized a dozen times, giggled, and may have told a distasteful joke. I saw my preceptor roll her eyes...twice.

I guess my point is, I’ve made mistakes and all of the wonderful teachers around me for these last 4 months have let me. Soon after, they've helped me not make the mistake again, and assured me that they were once students too and overwhelmed and excited by medicine and some of those first procedures and patients. 

So when I saw that small child after my long day, without a care, singing about not caring, not worrying, and maybe not even wearing underwear (what does it even matter?), I was reminded of how so many of us are like children. We are always learning, falling, and hoping someone will catch us, help us up and give us another chance to do it right. And while in medicine there is little room for actual error, there should be room, always, for playfulness and humor, no matter how long the day has been.