Lotus Elementals

I recently discovered that the most terrifying possible letter from a doctor contains those words. Until that point, I was smug. I was full of my own pursuit of health, of my certainty that the hard work I've done for decades in terms of eating well, stress management, exercise would render me bulletproof. It didn't. So when I read those dreaded words, my heart stopped. My blood pressure rose. My stomach felt like a giant hand had squeezed it hard and had no intention of letting go anytime soon. I catastrophized. Within a day of processing the message I had battled and lost to breast cancer. My children were motherless. My husband was without his wife. In one scenario I concocted late at night he had remarried, and seemed much happier than I had ever made him.   My imagination coupled with my medical knowledge did me no favors.  The emotional shit show that resulted during my reaction was ridiculous. Exhausting. In technicolor. Ruthless. One week after

I've been caught up in the process of establishing a practice, of working with our amazing medicine and gaining an appreciation for its wisdom and depth. Since my last missive, a few events have transpired: 1. I graduated from school, navigated the gauntlet of board exams, and became fully licensed and credentialed. And insured. (very important...) 2. I have established a private practice for family and friends only, and have worked in two clinics - one in Albuquerque, one in Bosque Farms. 3. For a time I was working in both the Albuquerque and Bosque Farms clinics;  I've now settled in the Bosque Farms location. The journey from graduating, credentialing, etc., to now, well it's been intense. And enlightening. And vexing, at times. Turns out full time patient care requires many skills, as we'd expect, and also the ability to distance onself from the patient and the outcome in order to remain objective, and, presumably, effective. The art of practicing an