Three miracles

and the origin story of the ham sandwich

If you are a foodie, let me quickly dismiss you, because this is not a piece about the ham itself, but the thing the ham sandwich represents. Read on as you like, just know that I have nothing useful to share about how or where to intentionally consume a ham sandwich, but rather, how to become aware of miracles that unfold which may at times include a ham sandwich.

Similarly if you are not a consumer of meats or porks, you’ll be fine, because the substance of the sandwich matters much less than what it represents.

It has become increasingly obvious that we have either forgotten how to care for ourselves and one another, or never knew in the first place. As luck would have it, the episodic immolation of my person’s biliary disease sent me on a lived and literary quest exploring such concepts this past five weeks. As I have done in some previous lattes, you’ll find first a list of things and then a narrative story, as my thanks for those of you financially supporting my writing and midlife med school journey.

What to do to help a person who is admitted to the hospital:
1. Mostly, probably, don’t ask for details.
The details usually involve diarrhea or worse. You don’t want to know, they don’t want to share. It’s not your business. I’m sorry. Move on.

2. Propose a clear action or a defined solution and give a deadline, and be willing for them to reject it.

In lieu of saying “let me know if there is anything I can do to help,” or “let me know if you need anything,” consider what you know know about that person (or humans in general) and offer something like this:

- “I’m going to be near your house. Can I pick up any clothes or toiletries for you?”

- “I’m going to be near the hospital and can bring you some snacks and a meal around lunchtime. Let me know if you do NOT want me to, or if you have any particular requests.”

-“Is there a neighbor I can contact for you who can look after your pets/plants/porch?”

3. Reach out regularly without expectation of response, like this
“This news article* made me think of you - I know you’re cruising the hospital right now, and so this is me sending you good thoughts. No need to reply.” If they happen to reply, follow their lead on the conversation. Do they want to talk about where they are? Do they want to talk about Irish poetry? Do your best.

*The news article should be something about NASA or maritime sports or Renaissance era sexual debauchery, not their health condition or hospital or antibiotic resistance or dietary advice.

4. Is there a problem you have or a need that is unfulfilled that I can help you think through, even if I’m not the right person?

Even though I have spent a career as a medical advocate/doula/birth professional AND have a hospital bag packed at all times AND have occupied hospital supports many times, I still need support as a support person.

This most recent engagement, two particular contacts were noteworthy, with an honorable mention for the ham sandwich.

You likely don’t know this, but one way that I have found it easier and/or palatable to ask for help is to post to my ‘close friends’ IG stories. It’s a small group of folks who have offered support in one way or another which allows me to broadcast updates and requests. Because when I’m trying to remember what day it is, I don’t always remember who my neighbors are and who has offered to help. I have a dog. She needs to pee. I know this. Can anyone help? They can - even if that help is helping me think through problem solving.

First, after arriving at the hospital close to midnight and spending hours in this room, then that with only my ER go bag in tow, I found that I had not eaten dinner, and been up all night carrying things and pushing things and sweating profusely, all without my wallet. I received an unsolicited text

“I sent you some money via Apple Pay so you can get yourself some food.”

At five am, as a general surgeon with a distinct likeness to The Ghost of Christmas Present, jolly and booming rounded for the fourth time since midnight for a little pokey poke, I snuck down the hall to press my phone to the vending machine which dispenses bottled coffee. Vending machines in the hospital receive Apple Pay, which was so fortunate. I also don’t know how to use Apply Pay, so I ended up with two bottles of coffee, and was able to distribute one to a resident who I’m confident had not slept since Christmas Past.