Several posts ago, I wrote a little blurb about how the physician I’ve been paired with for the past five years is moving on to bigger ambitions at an out-of-state hospital. His name–Daniel Spratt, aka Dan. There was a virtual farewell for him via Zoom in which I was slotted to ‘give words’; however, I must confess, my shortcoming is public speaking. There, my secret is out. At one point years ago, my performance anxiety was so high I had to take Propranolol before I stepped on a stage. And yes, even on a Zoom call, where all eyes are on me (even if they weren’t physically in front of me), my nerves would not allow me to be great. So here in the comfort of my own space, my blog, I can sit, without my nerves trampling me, and give a proper farewell to him. And to refrain from an endless post of everything he has taught me, how he graciously stepped up to become my father’s physician, how super supportive he was in my autonomy as a nurse practitioner, and how grateful I am to have worked alongside him, I’ve narrowed it down to three crucial things he has shown me.
When you are confident, people become confident in you. Dan has a naturally confident manner. His Twitter handle is Dr. Spratticus, a clever play-off of ‘Spartacus.’ I presume it’s him implying his persona as a ‘gladiator’ in the world of medicine. That confidence in his ability, I think, in part, is what makes his patients feel so at ease in being cared for by him. Not to be mistaken with an arrogant or an over-promise but under-deliver disposition. People with real confidence are like people with real wealth; they tend to be unconcerned with showboating. True self-confidence really is a superpower. You are Spratticus!
If you spend too much time thinking about a thing, you’ll never get it done. Do it now and move on. Wasn’t it Picasso that said action is the foundational key to all success? Dan, you definitely have shown me this and made me a better nurse practitioner (and blogger) for it.
An ally is a verb, not a noun. And this is a big one. I’ve heard this before, and I’m not quite sure who to credit this line to. But last year, on a Saturday afternoon while visiting my parents and sister, we sat in the family room watching the news, sharing and discussing our feelings about the death of George Floyd and being black in America. In the middle of the conversation, I unexpectedly received a text from Dan, “How are you and your family doing? Our country is showing its true colors, and it is disgusting. I know it is not new, but I am sorry…” That text led to us having discussions about being actively anti-racist, acknowledging privilege, and what it looks like to consistently be committed to fighting against racism.
I am the only black advanced practice provider (i.e., nurse practitioner or physician assistant) in my department. Granted, there are only seven of us total, but still. Even out of the few handfuls of physicians, there currently stands one black woman amongst the crew. But presenting statistics of black providers at a university hospital is not my objective. No one in my department had reached out to me up until that point. No one had asked me how I was doing with any of it except him. His text was significant because every day, I went to work in the middle of a pinnacle of racial injustice to the black community, and no one queried my thoughts or seemed easily empathic with sharing theirs about it. Some days, I even questioned if anyone was actually watching the news because not much, if anything, was openly discussed about it. Every day was mostly business as usual. I’m not sure where it occurred in this timeline, but I do recall a physician (who holds a leadership position) asking me if my knotless braids were my “real hair.”
It was easy for me to dismiss the mass Black Lives Matter emails of empathy and unity as performative. Honestly, I never even read any of them in their entirety. And don’t mistake me; there is nothing about my personality that is overly emotional, easily offended, or ‘woe is me.’ In fact, I rebel against that thinking. Plus, I’m an introvert with absolutely no burning desire to hold superficial conversations. I’m just saying if you can ask me about my hair and that doesn’t seem absurd to you, then, well, you see where I’m going with this. (And as a perturbed side note, I’m sure he wasn’t going around asking my white counterparts if their hair highlights were their “real color.”)
Last week I saw a tweet from a black doctor, “I love how black people are supposed to pretend like it’s a normal day in the face of endless racial trauma. I have 26 patients on my schedule today.” Facts. Because how many times have I requoted stanzas from “We Wear the Mask”? It’s tragically one of my favorite poems from Paul Laurence Dunbar because though it was written before my existence, it perfectly expresses my present reality. With torn and bleeding hearts, we smile. …We smile, but oh great Christ, our cries.
Me sitting on a zoom meeting talking about dictation templates and performance metrics seemed annoyingly unimportant in scale to my anger and grief from seeing and hearing what was going on in this country to people who looked like me. It was increasingly fatiguing to “take care” of patients, some of whom I knew considered me inferior because of my skin color. One day in the middle of the protests, a patient and his wife came to an appointment, both wearing those atrocious MAGA hats.
But I totally digress. This narrative is in no way to degrade the day-to-day work I am accountable to or to diss those devoted people that I do it with. It’s just me acknowledging that even still, to this day, the only white colleague who ever personally asked me, genuinely asked, and openly discussed it, with absolutely no promptings, was Dan. So I concur that an ally is a verb, not a noun, and it is the only way to real change and build trust. During this time in our country, this has been one of the most important things you’ve shown me, Dan. Thank you.
So next week as a new month begins and thus your new venture, I wish you all the best. I know that you will continue to show everyone who has the privilege of working with you how to be confident, productive and what the real work of unity looks like. Now, this post is long enough, so for the rest of my adieu, I’ll just say what we often say to one another for brevity’s sake… blah, blah, blah.
Thank you for it all.
I am sure Dan learned even more from you and will miss you.
🙂