First it was the 9 month old losing weight. Then it was the family who suddenly became homeless and had nowhere to go. By the end of the week, it was the boy whose mom was being deported.
My thoughts often turn to my patients. Will the baby get enough to eat? Where is that family sleeping tonight? Will that little boy, a boy who is the same age as my son, ever get to see his mama again?
Sometimes I can’t help but worry. Food security. Affordable housing. Immigration policy. These are not just concepts for political debate— this is a hungry child, too hungry to concentrate at school; a new mom and her baby with no place to live; a preschooler whose parent is suddenly far away, in a place he has never seen or will ever know. I cannot ignore that all of this affects people that I’m connected to. These are children and families that I care about, and in the face of these big issues, I feel small.
So I do what I can. I take time with the families I am privileged to care for. I give my patients full attention. I listen with an open heart and work to understand. I offer guidance however I can. I support however I can.
Sometimes that is all I can do. And it’s a good start.