Work Mom

Here’s this week’s reflection. I hope it resonates with you and ask that, if you enjoyed, please comment and share on your social media. Heartfelt thanks for all your support!

Keeping the light on for you,

Carol

A younger colleague recently sent me the following screenshot, immediately thinking of me and adding a red heart emoji:

“Having a work wife/husband is cool but y’all ever had a work mom? That’s the real deal.” 

I laughed and texted back expressions of delight at such a sweet sentiment. In all my years in the vocation, associating me with something so comforting truly warmed my heart. This high praise prompted a retrospective look at what would become my personal marker of success. 

Once, when I changed hospitals, another younger peer wished me well and said she would greatly miss me; that on the days I was working she “always knew everything would be OK.” I was puzzled since we provided care in separate rooms, but this young woman felt that my presence, regardless of location within the department, was a calming influence and a voice of reason should things hit the fan. “You should see it from my side!” I joked, apparently hiding my own inner chaos with a good poker face.

Mentored early in my career, and then mentoring anesthesia trainees in patient situations both dire and stable throughout my 25-year clinical journey, has been a huge part of the equation.

A circular process, everyone wins in this never-ending cycle of practical and didactic informational trading. Newbies learn from those of us more seasoned as the experienced ones benefit from the knowledge review of those entering practice at the pinnacle of their board exam intelligence. Enduring and contributing to these growth trenches, and watching these future providers earn their wings of competency, has been a solid and worthy accomplishment. 

In the workplace, we are quasi-parental units, not seeking the spotlight but tirelessly working behind the scenes to elevate the next generation. All that matters, after all, is how the “kids turn out,” regardless of who those actual dependents are.

What I have observed along the way is how empathy for the human experience and support for each level of academic station in safe patient care are far more important to me than salary or potential notoriety. Some may scoff loudly at this, and albeit countercultural, it is just how I roll, paying forward prior goodness bestowed upon me, and helping others navigate the bumps or directional changes on the road to proficiency. 

The fact that a few of my verbal filters have vaporized does not hurt either. Thanks to a sense of humor and confidence coming with age and endless professional trips around the block, a work mom never knows when she will have to speak up on behalf of her patients or work family. While I aspire to generally be a good egg, an occasional terse, “Don’t make Mom get to 3!,” is all it takes for an entertaining redirect.

Affectionately referred to simply as “Ma,” or more formally as “Bereavement Coordinator” in charge of departmental funeral arrangements, I have willingly embraced the role of de facto go-to for all things of a more delicate nature.

Being the first to know about important life events and lovingly told: “I just had to tell someone, and you’re like my mom,” or, “I knew I could tell you, ‘cause you’re a mom” has been a surprising, confidential privilege.

Some may find the title of “Work Mom” patronizing; that true professionalism must transcend such whimsy, or worse (and my personal favorite), that one does not have a spine. Some may roll their eyes, dismissing kindness as too soft a peak in one’s career. I vehemently disagree and call bull-hockey on such sphincter-puckering dogma. 

Like any good parent picking their battles learns, the powers of observation yield more elegant benefit than any associated verbiage. Just because a Mom may not say anything publicly at the time, still waters run deep and when privacy is afforded, she will call you to task.

Having a soul, practicing vigilance, and getting the messy jobs done safely, thoroughly and without fanfare, is exactly what those in our care most deserve and appreciate. It is with great pride that I embrace my multifaceted title as Work Mom, in whatever form is necessary for my work with kith and kin on any given day. 

Some, however, abhor the idea of being mothered, and that is A-okay. Smothering is not in my job description, but providing space as well as substructure is. Advocacy is my jam; the guiding principle for what has been a most rewarding career. 

It matters not whether I am addressed as “Ma,” “Mama Carol,” “Bereavement Coordinator,” “Mom,” or even something expletive and unflattering. My treatise has always been  straightforward: I’m here for you, we’re keepin’ it real, and we’re ALL here for a single reason – to care for the fragile life on the table in front of us. 

The only laurels I desire upon retirement will be that I was empathetic, dependable, and vigilant; that in small ways I helped others have a better day. Though I would happily accept an honorary title to my mid-level status: CMO – Chief Maternal Officer.