Words on a Friday.

Well, hello.

Sorry I've been a delinquent blogger. But that's the last I'll say on that because I find it rather annoying when bloggers blog about not blogging.

Oh yawnity-yawn-yawn!

I've been in the throws of writing letters for medical students who are applying to residency programs. Deadlines are looming and I get pretty crazy over the letters since I know that a lot rides on my words. I'm never satisfied until I reread it and can say, "Damn! Now that's a good letter." Ha. Until I can, I just keep revising it.

Yep.

I heard from several of my favorite former medical students this week. One is named Zwade and he is now an anesthesiology trainee up at one of the Harvard hospitals. He sent me a text that told me he was working hard and remembering all of the things I told him in our final meeting. That day we sat and talked about his future and what it means to bring your 'A' game. We talked about leading and role modeling and owning the space around you. I told him I was proud of him and then I laughed and said, "You'd better not embarrass me." But he knew that I really meant that I just wanted him to always keep striving.

"You make me so, so proud," I texted.

"Your high expectations makes me try harder," he replied.

Sigh.

I also heard from Tony C-Q who is in his second year of otolaryngology residency in Michigan. He called me up on his way home and told me all about the things he was learning and doing. He then told me, "I sat with a patient and their family the other day and the patient was dying. My attending came to the bedside with me and we were really there for that family. It made me think of you. I felt like a real doctor."

And that made me cry because otolaryngology is not only super-competitive but super-high-techy and "sexy." It seems to me that the talking-to-people parts isn't what enamors most students with that field so I loved it that he recognized the importance of the humanistic parts. The sitting-with-a-patient-and-their-family parts.

"That's so good, Tony," I said. And I emphasized that word good because it deserved some emphasis.

"It was good, Dr. M. It really, really was."

Then we just held the phone in silence because it was warranted.

I wrote letters for Tony and Zwade when they were applying for residencies. I still remember hugging them tight on Match Day and destroying my mascara from weeping. Hearing from them this week came at a perfect time; it pushed me to put more heart into this new round of letters but also into my current learners.

Because this is the result.

They showed me that someone is listening and getting it. They are.

Yeah.

And lastly? Something completely unrelated.

This is what happens when your child gets a hold of your "photobooth" button on the MacBook while you're talking on the phone to a girlfriend.

I loved getting the surprise of these images in my library!

Anyways.

I looked at Isaiah this morning after awakening him. And you know? For some reason felt so much love in that moment that I thought my heart would explode.

"Good morning, my sweet Kofi," I whispered. "Aaaah. I love you so, so, so much, son." I looked him in his eyes and told him that. I wanted him to start his day knowing how I was feeling and believing that he is cherished. Because he is. And then I said, "You know? I love your eyes. They are such beautiful eyes."

They really are.

He looked at me all sleepy and then spoke words so simple yet moving. "That's because they're looking at my mom."

Gasp.

I am loving that kid exponentially today. Even more exponentially than my normal exponentially. I don't know. Maybe it's because today is Friday. I call him "Kofi" because he was "born on a Friday" and something about Fridays with Isaiah always feel special. Kofi. That's a Ghanaian name that I always loved. And whenever I call him Kofi, he seems to love it, too.

That's all I have for now. Random, I know. But such is life.

More to come soon, okay?

***
Happy Friday. From me and my Kofi.

Try not to dry heave off of the cheesiness of this song playing on my mental iPod. . . .