One of the most difficult issues I’ve had to face is being fired. Rather tragic to let a bruised ego have such a priority. Humility happens when you blow the smoke away from the mirrors. But, spotlight humility and it disappears into the shadows. Humility is the inverted, invisible calm of assurance that you wear on the inside, and only emerges when a greater good has center stage.
Clinic had been interrupted by a call. I shouldn’t have taken it, but it was from a competitor, and I gave them the courtesy, apologized to the patient, and stepped out. One of my favorite patients was going over to the “other side of town”; desperate and dying.
I came back in and apologized to Marie again. My explanation gave away too much, and should just have been an apology. I should not have taken the call at all.
Marie is the wife of a doctor. He is the son of a doctor, and that doctor was one of the truly famous Boston archetypes. They know firsthand the power of the pecking order.
“Everyone should be fired at least once,” she said. She paused, then continued: “I was fired once. Hated it. But, it gets you back to your heart. It made me listen to other people, made me own my vulnerability, and kept me going on. A painful but important lesson.”
She meant it, and her advice was the truly valuable gift of a wound from a friend; far better than praise from those who don’t care (Proverbs 27:6). It honored the moment, and connected to a greater purpose. I love that kindness; a touch of healing from the patient.
I’d had a similar experience in training. I’d unexpectedly won a prize in medicine at finals as an enthusiastic medical student, and, with no medical pedigree, I had no idea how to calibrate success. I had written a paper as a physician during surgical house officer clerkship, and with these two accolades, applied to the very best London rotations, only to fail. I had a six-month deferred post on the “gold circuit” but no immediate job. I was crushed! It wasn’t a failure. I was the failure. But, learning why I do what I do was an invaluable foundation.
One of the hardest aspects of teaching is feedback: summative comments that are bland and banal, tainted with the sin of grade inflation, and formative comments that are politically correct, generic, and safe. The vast majority of us see our practice as performance, and feedback as judgment. Embracing a lifetime of learning in a way that’s open to change is hard and demands an inexhaustible commitment. My commitment is close to inexhaustible, but was, at that moment, wearing thin.
“You’re fired.” I said to my phone and put it away. She laughed. I’m learning.