The Question That Keeps Coming Up

Throughout my life I’ve asked myself this following question. This question has come up multiple times throughout my life – especially throughout college, medical school and residency.

One time it has come was during an internal medicine rotation at the Jerry Pettis Memorial VA Hospital. My attending suggested I go into either neurology or pathology because I “didn’t have any personality.” This wasn’t the feedback I was looking for.

I pondered the question.

Another time I was sitting across one of the professors of a family medicine residency program. She told me the following: “I’m not sure what’s going on with you. I think you may have a personality disorder or something worse.”

You start hearing this feedback from more than one person and you begin to wonder about yourself.

Again, I pondered the question: Do I have what it takes?

The question would rear its head again in residency when I came inches to failing my inpatient pediatric rotation at Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles, or my obstetrics rotation at Cedar Sinai Medical Center or even my internal medicine rotation at Kaiser Permanente.

Do I have what it takes?

I did pass all my boards without a hitch. Those well-intentioned guardians of our profession ultimately gave me a nod to passing their course. I became a professional.

Even then I wondered the question. This question came up again for me, not only because I wanted to be a competent physician, but because I wanted to be an excellent one. Good enough wasn’t good enough. Making it by would leave me disappointed. I wanted to soar.

When I look back at the last 5 years, there’s nothing on the outside that says I achieved excellence. I didn’t come up with any groundbreaking research. No rewards were given to me. No public recognition.

However, in the process of saying good-bye to patients I have found something. I found patients were genuinely upset when they found out I was moving to Florida.

“Why are you moving to Florida?” They would ask. “It’s nothing but humid there.”

Another one told me, “Everything flows into Florida. And it’s not all good.”

I suspect those comments were less about my decision-making and more about what they were losing.

Most other patients expressed both grief and gratitude. On more than one occasion a patient has asked me after our final visit, “Doctor, can I give you a hug?”

Another patient expressed to me, “Doctor, you were the only doctor that actually listened to me. We’ll be at a loss but Florida is lucky to have you.”

Another patient said, “To me, you’re not just a doctor. You’re a friend.” I heard this last sentiment more than once. For some patients, we had developed something more than a physician-patient relationship. I even saw grown men shed tears with my departure.

The presents poured in, too. They gave me thank you cards, fruit, candy, home-made freeze-dried fruit. One patient gave me a painting of a rustic shed she had done herself. Another had burned my name onto wooden panels – though she was disabled with one arm she had perfected this labor of love through multiple attempts.

I added patients on Facebook, gave out my Florida address and cell number.

One particular patient stands out. She was a young mother under forty with 4 children on hospice. I sat on the edge of her bed as she expressed her emotions through tears. “Whatever you do, Dr. Roquiz, don’t change. You have such a gift. The fact that you pray for me makes me respect you so much.”

What was this gift? What was each patient’s feeling? I had felt a calling from God to do medicine. Yet what had He given me so I could practice medicine, not just with mere competence, but with excellence?

I suspect it was this: I had the gift to create a connection where patients felt secure, cared for and loved so God could make a transformation in their life.

Patients were grateful that I didn’t come to judge them. They appreciated the prayers offered up for them. They received the extra time spent on them as genuine compassion. They appreciated the education on the impact of lifestyle change.

I gave everything I had to every patient that walked through the door. And afterward I entrusted it to God to bring about transformation in their life.

When I first met Bobbie (not real name), she was disabled from a work accident. As a result she was in chronic pain and gained a significant amount of weight. It has taken years of meeting with her on a monthly basis to develop a treatment plan for her pain and facilitate her weight loss. Every appointment we had ended with a prayer. Just the other day, she told me she could actually look in the mirror and begin to feel good about herself. On our final appointment she gives me a hug and tells me through tears she’ll never forget me.

This is what I’ll remember about practicing in Idaho. This is what I won’t forget – the connectivity with patients.

So every time the question – Do I have what it takes? – comes up, I’ll be thinking of words of gratitude these patients whispered into my ear as they hugged me. I’ll think of the tears that flowed from their eyes to see me go. Then I’ll whisper a prayer: Thank you for my time here in Idaho. Thank you for the gift.