Mother's Day.
I think I understand why its founder tried to take it back.
(brief bonus advice at end of recording)
This is my first post- from the fall of 2024. I’ve got hundreds of new subscribers since then- so thought this might be a good reintroduction. And it's got a Mother’s day thread.
Back in the day, a medical student’s first real exposure to sick people came in one’s third year, in hospital based rotations through Medical and Surgical services. The student arrives at the designated time and place and joins a team usually consisting of a resident and two interns. Without much ceremony, he or she is assigned a patient from the team’s list and told to “go find out everything about them and be prepared to present them in detail at 10 oclock”.
I can still picture the door to Clara’s room 40 years later. It was at the outer edge of the large rectangular medical unit, as far as it could be from the nurses’ station. Clutching her chart , I knocked on her door, paused, and entered. The blinds were drawn and the lights were off. There was a smell I did not recognize.
“Mrs Johnson?” I stammered, “good morning?”
There was no response. As I approached her bed in the dim light I made out the shape of a person huddled under the blanket. A pale, bald head was visible poking out above the covers.
“Mrs Johnson?” I repeated. I was pretty sure I was in the wrong room. I checked the room number on her chart. I was in the right room.
“Is it ok if I turn on the light?” I asked after a few seconds of silence. No answer. I turned on the room light and stood there confused. Clara was definitely alive, breathing, but she looked like those pictures you see of people that have frozen to death. Her head looked like it had just been pulled out of a freezer- frosted over.
I stared at her. Her skin was blotchy, and I realized she wasn’t bald but rather had a bristly white stubble. Eventually I spoke her name a little louder, and she stirred slightly. But that was it. I gently shook her shoulder. She groaned softly. I introduced myself and asked if I could visit with her and examine her. I don’t remember her response; only my general feeling of terror. Lacking her permission, I did little more than hold her hands, and pull up the bedclothes to reveal that she had no legs below her knees.
I arrived at the 10 am meeting prepared to be humiliated. I had completely failed. I must have recited some of the information I had gleaned from her chart, but I was overwhelmed. To my surprise the resident responded in a kind voice. I think now that resident was probably in her late twenties but she seemed infinitely old and wise to me.
“Clara is near the end. I wanted you to see her, because you may not see that again.”
“See what?”
“It’s called ‘uremic frost”- urea crystals that appear on the skin in severe renal failure. It’s really dramatic on Clara because of her albinism.”
“She’s an albino?”
“Yes. It’s not that uncommon in African Americans.”
“She’s black?”
At this point the rest of the team must have given up on me. I know I almost did. The first two years of medical school had been easy for me. Go to some lectures, take some notes, take a test. But in my first real test, with a real person, I was exposed for the ignorant person I was.
As I look back now, forty years later, I realize it was just a year after that day that I saw my mother, bald, near her end. I learned a lot in that first year, starting with Clara, and ending with the loss of my mom. The decades since have provided me with some wisdom, but that failed young student still dwells in me.
2026 Update:
Did you know that Ann Jarvis, the founder of Mother’s day, actively campaigned against it within 20 years of its founding? She was furious at the rampant commercialization of what was supposed to be a simple day of writing or speaking thanks to mothers.
Mother’s Day is tough, if you ask me. OF COURSE mothers (certainly the ones in my life) are under appreciated and deserve celebration. And it can be a very good day for many families. But for every good day, I suspect there are more bad ones. Days when a lost mother is grieved. When the inability to be a mother is made especially painful. When a mother who- for whatever reason has not been a good mother- when the damage she did is remembered and felt again.
As I think about this story, a part of me knows losing my mother at a young age made me a better doctor. I would rather have had a grandmother for my children.
And one more thing: My story refers to Mothe(r’s)Day. For a thoughtful take on Mother(s’) Day- check out Heather Cox Richardson.