The Award I Truly Wanted

For as long as I can remember I wanted to be a pediatrician, not just any pediatrician, but the kind who took care of the tiny babies in the plastic boxes. My sister had been premature, and I was fascinated by the fact that she lived for months in a plastic box while my parents watched her grow. Eventually, I did realize my dream and became a neonatologist.

Every time I walked into the neonatal unit I felt such pride. I loved the families and their precious babies. I loved being the one they leaned on, trusted, prayed with and cried with, and most of all I loved being the one who finally got to send their baby home. Somewhere along the line I started loving that too much and making decisions that negatively impacted my own family.

In the fall of 2001, I began caring for a baby with many problems. The more I cared for him, the more I resisted allowing other doctors to care for him. I began to work weekends I wasn't scheduled, leaving my husband and children early in the mornings while they still slept, and then rushing back to be with them before I returned to work the next morning. Mornings I wasn't scheduled to work, I begged to work, and my co-workers were more than willing to let me. My husband began to pick the kids up from day care while I stayed longer hours at the hospital making sure my patient was stable. I was off for Thanksgiving but opted to stay in town so I could look in on my patient just in case. My husband obliged.

In a passing instant I noticed how different my husband looked to me. I wondered when he decided to grow a full beard and was too embarrassed to ask how long it had been there. I noticed a new tattoo on his back of an angel with the names of our children written on each of his wings. How in the world had I missed that? I also noticed how much the kids clung to him when we went out as a family. I felt like an outsider. I wanted to talk to him about all of these things, but I was too busy to process it, too busy to give myself a chance to feel anything more than brief concern.

Then came Christmas. I was scheduled to be off again but Jared required another surgery. He was nine months old now and smiled when I came into the room. How could I leave him for Christmas? How could I leave his family? I decided to work. I don't remember Christmas that year with my husband or kids. I should; my daughter was four and my son was two - the perfect ages to really appreciate the magic. I vaguely remember a rocking horse, and a jumping Tigger. But what I remember most is carrying Jared around the hospital Christmas Day with a Santa hat on.

People asked me how my kids were.

"Baby Jones, Baby Williams? Baby Lopez?" I asked.

"No - your two at home, Stevi and Terrence."

What was I doing, spending all my time working at the hospital? I reminded myself that I was performing a great service, and that the families appreciated and needed me.

Then in January of 2002, I was called to an impromptu meeting. Annoyed at being pulled away from my patients, I went reluctantly. I found a room full of people with balloons, confetti, and well wishes. I had been voted the hospital Physician of the Year. They noted that I was the first African American, and the youngest to receive the award. I felt elated. I thought of all those childhood dreams, fulfilled in that moment. I thought of how proud my parents would be.

During the ceremony, I anxiously waited for the CEO to read my bio. His words chilled me to the core and I remember them to this day. "Dr. Kincade is loved by all and extremely dedicated. She routinely works unscheduled weekends, stays after work, and this year she worked Thanksgiving and Christmas when she could have taken the time to be off with her family. She chose to give up her holiday to care for our patients."

I cried. I felt sad about all the missed opportunities to be with my husband and nurture my children. I felt completely offended at this person who gave up Thanksgiving and Christmas to work when she could have been with her family, the person who had raved about finding twenty-four hour day care so she could stay later at work. I struggled to swallow the lump in my throat. I thought that instead of getting Physician of the Year, what I really wanted was to be Wife and Mother of the Year.

As I walked slowly to the podium to get my plaque, tears streamed down my face. I forced a smile for the picture with the CEO. I promised myself to leave this environment where people thought it was a good thing to give up Thanksgiving and Christmas. I wanted to join the PTA. I wanted to play games with my husband and children. I wanted to know the real answer to "How are your kids?" I wanted the teachers to know who I was. I wanted to breathe again and believe that somewhere I could be a mommy, a wife, and a doctor. And that's exactly what I did.
Three years ago, I left the university, with much criticism that I was throwing my career away. I traded that career for a better career, because now I am a Power Mom. I smile as I drop the kids off at school, and return to be first in the carpool lane. I laugh at how loud I am screaming at the soccer and basketball games. I dance with the kids at the Valentine's party as they all cheer for the cool mom. I get tears in my eyes when my daughter shares how much it means to her that I came on the field trip. I finally got my dream to be on the PTA and I pinch myself because I am so excited to be on a committee. Can it get any better?

When someone asks me after a long and hot field day - "How do you have time to be so active? Do you work?" - I say, "Yes, I'm a neonatologist."

"No way. How can you be a doctor and be so active at school?"

My smile grows into a grin as I think of how I have managed to structure my work around being home for my kids. I can hardly contain my joy as I remember something said to me at the beginning of medical school. "You can have it all; you just can't have it all at the same time." And I think, "Oh yes, you truly can." When you listen to your spirit sometimes you realize that "all" may not be that far from your reach. But you have to take the first step. Sometimes that means leaving behind one big award for a million daily awards.