"Are you comfortable?", my aunt's friend asked me.
After a moment of silence, I replied with a hesitant "Yes".
I was 6 years old at that time, and I was always praised for my good English back then. So, it was expected of me, that my range of vocabulary would go beyond that of a little kid who speaks English as a second language. Nevertheless, I had no clue what "comfortable" meant. I tried to spell it in my head, and I broke it down to syllables with no luck.
We were crowded in a small car, so I was sitting on my aunt's friend's lap. She was sitting on the edge of her seat and I was sitting on the edge of her lap, with the front seat pressing against my knees. My legs had no room whatsoever and my knees kept bumping into each other with every turn. One of my feet was trapped between her foot and the front seat. The other one hung loosely at a very awkward angle making it pretty painful. It was supposed to be a half an hour ride, and as you can tell, I was very, very far away from being comfortable.
I did not want to swallow my pride and ask "what does comfortable mean?" but she noticed that I was seated very awkwardly so she kept asking the question of "Are you comfortable?" over and over again. and I replied with a safe "Yes" every time. Near the middle of our ride she told my aunt, "Look at how uncomfortable she looks. Her legs are so stuck together. Maybe she doesn't know what comfortable means." As if I was not just sitting there. My aunt replied, "Of course she knows what it means. It's Ruru!" Like it's only natural for me to know things. I was very proud at that moment. I would never let anything compromise that image she had of me. So I inferred from my aunt's friend's sentence that "comfortable" has to do with my position. So I told my self that next time she asks the question, I'll say "no" and see what happens. Unluckily for me, she never asked again. And I tolerated the pain until we reached our destination. Later that night, I ran into my room and opened up the dictionary to the word "comfortable" and there it was. At the end of the day, I was an arrogant kid with very painful knees but still learned the word: comfortable.
Ironically, It took me 20 years to find out that how I acted was completely wrong. Throughout my medical education, I made sure to go above and beyond what's expected so as not to put myself in a position where I have to say: "I don't know". I firmly believed that if you work hard enough and used your time wisely and efficiently, you will minimize your "I don't know" moments to a level that will make them go unnoticeable. As a student, this worked out pretty fine. Later on however, what's expected became so overwhelming that I couldn't catch up. I could not maintain my "one step ahead of everything" stance. And not admitting my ignorance was no longer painful for my knees. It was painful for my patients. Once a third party is added to the situation- and we are not talking about any third party, we are talking, the person you are supposed to "take care of"- It does not matter how much it hurts not to know. Your image is not even remotely important. And what's important is what's at stake. What's important is your patient and only your patient. Because from a single experience, your patient's pain exceeds by far, your pain of not knowing. In that setting, it's your duty and the patient's right as well to admit your ignorance and ask for help. It is not acceptable by no means, to put your fear in front of your patient's best interest. Stepping down is often not only the right thing to do, but the safe thing to do. Regardless, stepping down should be accompanied by your efforts to go up. If you keep stepping back without doubling your effort to go up, you'll stay stagnant. And from my point of view, stagnation is as bad as going downhill. So aim high -the highest you can- while still accepting the fact that there will be times where you will come short. As a wise man said: "Inflate your ambition, and deflate your ego".
After a moment of silence, I replied with a hesitant "Yes".
I was 6 years old at that time, and I was always praised for my good English back then. So, it was expected of me, that my range of vocabulary would go beyond that of a little kid who speaks English as a second language. Nevertheless, I had no clue what "comfortable" meant. I tried to spell it in my head, and I broke it down to syllables with no luck.
We were crowded in a small car, so I was sitting on my aunt's friend's lap. She was sitting on the edge of her seat and I was sitting on the edge of her lap, with the front seat pressing against my knees. My legs had no room whatsoever and my knees kept bumping into each other with every turn. One of my feet was trapped between her foot and the front seat. The other one hung loosely at a very awkward angle making it pretty painful. It was supposed to be a half an hour ride, and as you can tell, I was very, very far away from being comfortable.
I did not want to swallow my pride and ask "what does comfortable mean?" but she noticed that I was seated very awkwardly so she kept asking the question of "Are you comfortable?" over and over again. and I replied with a safe "Yes" every time. Near the middle of our ride she told my aunt, "Look at how uncomfortable she looks. Her legs are so stuck together. Maybe she doesn't know what comfortable means." As if I was not just sitting there. My aunt replied, "Of course she knows what it means. It's Ruru!" Like it's only natural for me to know things. I was very proud at that moment. I would never let anything compromise that image she had of me. So I inferred from my aunt's friend's sentence that "comfortable" has to do with my position. So I told my self that next time she asks the question, I'll say "no" and see what happens. Unluckily for me, she never asked again. And I tolerated the pain until we reached our destination. Later that night, I ran into my room and opened up the dictionary to the word "comfortable" and there it was. At the end of the day, I was an arrogant kid with very painful knees but still learned the word: comfortable.
Ironically, It took me 20 years to find out that how I acted was completely wrong. Throughout my medical education, I made sure to go above and beyond what's expected so as not to put myself in a position where I have to say: "I don't know". I firmly believed that if you work hard enough and used your time wisely and efficiently, you will minimize your "I don't know" moments to a level that will make them go unnoticeable. As a student, this worked out pretty fine. Later on however, what's expected became so overwhelming that I couldn't catch up. I could not maintain my "one step ahead of everything" stance. And not admitting my ignorance was no longer painful for my knees. It was painful for my patients. Once a third party is added to the situation- and we are not talking about any third party, we are talking, the person you are supposed to "take care of"- It does not matter how much it hurts not to know. Your image is not even remotely important. And what's important is what's at stake. What's important is your patient and only your patient. Because from a single experience, your patient's pain exceeds by far, your pain of not knowing. In that setting, it's your duty and the patient's right as well to admit your ignorance and ask for help. It is not acceptable by no means, to put your fear in front of your patient's best interest. Stepping down is often not only the right thing to do, but the safe thing to do. Regardless, stepping down should be accompanied by your efforts to go up. If you keep stepping back without doubling your effort to go up, you'll stay stagnant. And from my point of view, stagnation is as bad as going downhill. So aim high -the highest you can- while still accepting the fact that there will be times where you will come short. As a wise man said: "Inflate your ambition, and deflate your ego".
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