Article about yours truly

 By Edwin Garcia, UC Davis


      Resident physician Tommy Saborido had just started his shift in the emergency department of a tiny Shasta County hospital last summer when a young woman showed up with symptoms that alarmed him.

      The 31-year-old patient with excruciating migraines had been vomiting. Further evaluation determined she had also experienced sensory loss in her arm, and prior to that, a neck injury caused by popping her sore neck. Saborido suspected the onset of a stroke, or worse. He quickly ordered a helicopter to whisk the debilitated patient from Mayers Memorial Hospital District in Fall River Mills, raising her aloft into the warm evening within view of picturesque Mount Shasta, and landing atop UC Davis Medical Center in Sacramento, the same hospital where Saborido was completing his family medicine training. 

      His quick thinking that day saved the woman. She recovered from a vertebral artery dissection, a tear in the lining of the artery that supplies blood to the brain.

     The experience also reinforced Saborido’s decision to become a rural doctor, a profession in short supply. The scarcity of rural doctors has prompted the UC Davis School of Medicine to launch initiatives to attract more students who grew up in remote communities and create training opportunities in small, community hospitals.

      Saborido, who has worked occasional shifts at Mayers Memorial for more than a year, has committed to becoming a staff physician there immediately after completing his third and final year of residency this summer.

      Country doctors are known for being a jack-of-all-trades, the MacGyvers of the medical field who do whatever it takes to heal patients – sometimes in the absence of high-tech equipment or available specialists. But rural medicine is also a field that fewer students and residents nationwide are choosing to pursue – barely 12 percent of primary care physicians practice in rural settings, which is where 20 percent of the population lives. The need for rural doctors is expected to increase sharply, as a significant portion of current practitioners are within 10 years of retirement age.

      To make matters worse, there’s a well-documented link between the shortage of rural providers and serious health conditions such as heart disease, cancer, unintentional injury, chronic lower respiratory disease and stroke.

“There’s a need for docs all over, but rural communities have been significantly under-resourced for a long time,” said Micaela Godzich, a former country doctor who works in the UC Davis Health department of family and community medicine, where she develops meaningful clinical experiences for resident physicians. “The need is overwhelming.”


ENTER TOMMY SABORIDO

      Saborido was raised in Chico and attended its local community college – the kind of student that catches the attention of the UC Davis School of Medicine admissions office. Research shows that students who are from rural areas, attended community college, and come from socio-economically disadvantaged backgrounds, similar to Saborido’s, are more likely to become primary care physicians bent on caring for the medically under-served. 

      Saborido originally thought he was destined to become a cardiothoracic surgeon, that is, until he met medical school classmate Kelsey Sloat, a native of Fall River Mills. Sloat, now his wife, introduced Saborido to country living and to the community’s best-known doctor who for years has been itching to retire, Dan Dahle.

      Saborido fell in love with the country lifestyle and the prospect of being a country doctor. 

      As a new resident working long hours in Sacramento’s bustling UC Davis Medical Center emergency department, Saborido longed for weekends and holidays in Fall River Mills, 220 miles away, where he could shadow Dahle.

“It’s like practicing medicine in the 1940s and 50s when a true general practitioner did a little of everything,” Saborido said during an interview at the small, single-story hospital. “Dr. Dahle has since been my role model and shown me what it looks like on a real and practical basis to work and care for patients in a setting like this.”

      In Fall River Mills and surrounding communities, where the total population is less than 15,000, practicing family medicine covers a wide scope: caring for newborns, spending overnight shifts in the six-bed emergency department, checking on elderly patients in the hospital’s skilled nursing wings, making house calls and performing sports physicals, among other duties. 

      Then there are the grocery store consults, which happen all the time, Dahle said, because people always have questions for their community doctor, no matter the location or the hour.

      Mayers Memorial even acknowledged this fact on its Facebook page recently, when it announced with enthusiasm Saborido’s commitment to work there: “...he looks forward to the day when people catch him in Ray’s and make an attempt at a quick doctor’s visit in the aisles.” 


SERVING THE COMMUNITY

      Rural citizens love their rural doctors – if they stick around. 

      Too often, however, new doctors end up in places like Fall River Mills because it’s an easy way to dissolve student debt. This is because generous federal loan forgiveness programs pay off hundreds of thousands of dollars in young doctors’ student debt in exchange for practicing in medical shortage areas for a few years. 

      “In the 12 years I’ve lived here, I’ve probably had six different doctors,” said retiree Bob Jehn, a former mayor of Cloverdale in Sonoma County and an active member of the Rotary Club of Burney-Fall River. “The prospect of having a single physician, especially at my age, for the rest of my life is not only appealing, but is a dream come true. For rural communities, including this one, that’s been very difficult to make happen.”

      The two major health care organizations in the area – Mayers Memorial and Mountain Valleys Health Centers – face extreme challenges persuading doctors, physician assistants, nurses, physical therapists and other workers to move to the region.

      “The person who wants to come here, live here and engage in the lifestyle – it’s not for everyone,” said Louis “Louie” Ward, chief executive officer of Mayers Memorial Hospital District, the 230-employee, economic engine of Northeastern Shasta County.

      Although he can’t compete with the hospitals in coastal cities that lure young doctors, Ward seeks to recruit people who want a variety of responsibilities, prefer slow-lane community life, and appreciate the old adage: It’s a great place to raise a family.

     “Most people enjoy the lifestyle once they give it a shot,” said Ward, a Bay Area transplant who married into a family from Fall River Mills, where he and his wife are raising four children.

      Leaders of Mountain Valleys and Mayers Memorial set their sights on Saborido a few years ago and have allowed him to work shifts in their inpatient and outpatient settings, side-by-side with Dahle, even though Saborido’s UC Davis residency training program does not have a formal relationship with either organization.

       It was a savvy get-to-know-you move for everyone because Dahle, a Vietnam War medic and local fixture for more than three decades, refuses to retire until a young doctor arrives and commits to stay.


UC DAVIS MEETING ITS MISSION

      University of California medical schools have a young but rich history preparing a workforce to better meet the state’s evolving health needs.

     Between 2004 and 2008, each school began implementing programs to increase the number of physicians from underrepresented groups and placing them in communities they are most needed, in order to achieve health equity.

      Among the initiatives at UC Davis is Rural-PRIME, which offers medical students rotations in rural communities, often in places at or near where they grew up. Most of these opportunities are in the Central Valley but also north of Sacramento and in rural sections of the Central Coast. 

     In addition, UC Davis also has launched a $1.8 million grant-funded initiative by the American Medical Association to expand access to quality care in pockets between Sacramento and Portland. It is known as COMPADRE, which stands for California Oregon Medical Partnership to Address Disparities in Rural Education and Health. The partnership with Oregon Health & Science University seeks to place hundreds of medical students and residents across a network of hospitals and Federally Qualified Health Centers.

      Rural-PRIME and COMPADRE are taking major steps toward fulfilling the School of Medicine’s mission of transforming the health of the communities where students and residents will one day serve as physicians.

      “What UC Davis does is, we offer that richness, and that exposure, and that immersion now, to take forward once you’re in practice,” said Godzich, an associate residency program director for UC Davis Health. Although Saborido wasn't in the rural track as a medical student, he shares the top characteristics that rural doctors possess, according to Godzich and Dahle.

      Those traits include: a personal connection to the rural area, the ability to create and cultivate relationships, a commitment to primary care medicine, flexibility and wanting to be involved in the community. It also helps if they are comfortable with their own uncertainty, such as having the confidence to perform procedures that in larger hospitals would be referred to specialists.


WHAT’S NEXT FOR SABORIDO

      Saborido spent months contemplating whether to work for Mountain Valleys, Mayers Memorial, or both, like Dahle, as he approached the June 30 conclusion of his residency. 

      He chose Mayers Memorial in part because the hospital will soon open an outpatient clinic for primary care medicine. It’s a similar role to what he’s done in Sacramento, shuttling between the family medicine clinic and the emergency department.

      “UC Davis has absolutely prepared me very well to welcome this opportunity that I have right now,” he said.

Saborido and his wife recently purchased a house in Fall River Mills, where the couple are eager to raise their children. Kelsey, a UC Davis Rural-PRIME medical school graduate, will be on hiatus from clinical care to give birth to their third daughter this fall. Saborido, meanwhile, has been talking about getting involved in the Rotary Club, an elementary school and the 4-H Club.


      He also plans to offer himself as a mentor for UC Davis students and residents. “I would like to be able to do what Dr. Dahle did for me in a sense – show individuals who are interested or don’t know if they are interested but end up finding out that they love it – find out what it’s like to be a rural family doctor.”

      Saborido is incredibly grateful for the many professors who helped him pursue his dreams. He’s confident his learnings will improve the health of Fall River Mills and surrounding communities.

      “I’m the oldest of five kids of a single mom, we grew up on government assistant programs, and to be in a position now where I’ve gone through college, through a fine medical school such as UC Davis, and then residency, I have an incredible, incredible opportunity to give back,” Saborido said.

      “And it’s not just in a way where I’m listening to hearts and lungs with my stethoscope, but really being there as an ear to my patients. That is what’s really satisfying to me, and I’m chomping at the bit to get there.”

      Saborido’s first day at Mayers Memorial is July 5, 2020.

      That happens to be the one-year anniversary of the remarkable day that deepened his desire to be a country doctor – when he correctly diagnosed a patient’s stroke and arranged for a helicopter to fly her to UC Davis Medical Center, which ultimately saved her life.






La Folie Circulaire

La Folie Circulaire

I’m Tommy. Bipolar type one, I’m told. I actually have something to say, something to share.

The thing no one talks about in mental health, bipolar type one specifically, is how seductive and sweet the upswing feels. It’s deeply more than just “good” to me. It feels like the limits of the brain have been cut loose, severed, done away with. Suddenly all those moments and ideas and thoughts and connections you miss in life are lit in a bright shining light that removes your blind spots.

The world now finds you incomparable, generous, hilarious, productive, creative, talkative. Not the slightest bit a drag. The opposite, in fact. You write thirty pages a day and believe it’s better writing than usual. In a cruel twist of irony, you’re often actually right. You become more compassionate. Your very bones hum with the awareness of how everything and everyone is connected. You see your own suffering as equal to the suffering of others, and you like feeling that closeness.

Then one day the check arrives. Time to pay up for your wild trip. Time to cough up the debt owed for the fun and indescribable rewards you were just given. But it’s sour and it hurts deeply as you find yourself pleading, I’ve never been or felt more alive than just now. Over time, you become conditioned to fear “bad,” maybe even to mistrust anything in life that is worth living.

You start to ask yourself, when others ask if you’re stable, if what they really mean is permanently half dead. Because yes, bipolar disorder really feels like a drug. The greatest, irreproducible, freely available kind of drug. Free because it’s given to you by your own miswired brain.

Bipolar disorder differs from, say, major depression. There’s no trick, no ruse, no disguise there. What you see is what you get. But this bipolar thing, the way it tricks you into believing — truly believing — that your “grandiose” thoughts are actually “insights.” It convinces you it’s passion, not sleepless nights. That your deep compassionate ways are love, not reckless attachment.

I’m tired though. I’m tired of being lied to. Tired of knowing I’m the one doing the lying. Tired of choosing to believe maybe I’m supposed to be this bubbling, kind, dreaming, smarter, funnier, more confident thing. I’m tired of sabotaging myself and opting to believe I’m better, who I’m meant to be, when I’m in the throes of this disorder.

I am not dumb. On a cerebral, reason-based level, I know there’s a middle ground. I even know that “stable” doesn’t necessarily mean zombie-like or forever half dead. Maybe it just means, well… stable. Not flat. Not a life made only of peak to trough to peak again. I know this.

And yet I still feel gullible when I believe I’m a better man, the very best version of myself even, when I take a free hit of the best drug ever. Lately that belief feels like it’s diminishing.

It’s becoming more obviously a lie, and yet it kind of sucks to say, “No thanks, I’m good. I’m going to be like everyone else,” and wave goodbye to the version of myself that makes me feel best and truest to who I think I can be.

I know all this.

But in the end, I’m learning it’s a very different thing to know something and to want it. Without wanting the thing I know, I’m never going to be able to have it.

It hurts to think I’ll never write as well again. I’ll never bond with another person so deeply or feel that level of compassion again. I won’t fully experience passion or see connections or think outside the box the same way. I’ll have to reattach my blinders, say farewell to what I once believed was my potential.

I’ll just be a cow, chewing cud, sleeping at night, moseying around during the day, mooing like the rest of the cows. I could cry at the sadness I feel when I imagine being “normal,” talking “normal.”


A doodle I doodled


 

A father and daughter talk in’ some

Saw my girls today.  My triune of love personified.

As Joana and I walked the girls back to their grandpa’s truck (the man is cut from a cloth such that my using the words ‘my dad’ rather than ‘their grandpa’ cringes me something awful)…

Today though at the park, Liv—my first given child—held my arm and looked up at me and said, “dad, I know what I want to be when I grow up.” 

Oh yeah? 

“Yeah.” 

What’s that? 

“A writer.” 

Wow. That’s a lovely thing to be. 

“Yeah I thought so too.” 

You know the cool thing about being a writer? 

“What?” 

You can do it no matter what. If you want to be a scientist or doctor or mechanic or teacher…you can be so as WELL as being a writer.  So, just have fun with it. You’ll be a writer no matter what you do in life if that’s what you want. 

“Hm.” 

Yeah. 

“I’m going to miss you tomorrow, dad.” 

I know. Me too. You know what though? 

“What?” 

You’re my sunshine. 

“Really?” 

And, when in the mornings sometimes when it’s raining out, when I think of you, the rains clear up and your sun-shining love and face warm the rest of my day. 

“Really?” 

What do you think?

Ode to Rice

She served me a bowl of white rice,

which she steamed herself—two mounds

like wintry breasts.


I slipped my chin over the edge 

of the bowl and kidnapped

one tiny morsel on the tip 

of this tongue—

the way a serpent samples the air—and I crushed

its starchy 

little 

body 

against the back of these teeth,

savoring the wealthy moment, 

before plunging my four-pronged spear

into the depths of its grainy columns, stacked like 

dead soldiers,

or so many tiny shards of bone.


Joaconstrictor’s rendering of my trusty Birks

 




Fall of 2012 Personal Statement for med school, opening paragraphs

I roll from my back and submerge my face into the cold chlorinated water that fills the pool. With the exception of my heartbeat it is suddenly quiet. I feel my body instantly relax as the diving reflex kicks in. I enter a quasi-meditative state, blocking out negative thoughts and staying fiercely attuned to my body. Every 30 seconds I squeeze my partner's hand to ensure that a shallow water blackout hasn't occurred.  As the seconds tick, the urge to surface intensifies. I must continually calm myself against my rebellious lungs. A soft wave rolls across my back. My determination focuses with every second, until I finally surface, gasping air. 3:12; not bad for an amateur, but nothing close to the 8 minute breath holds professionals attain. Free-diving is a little-known sport, but it is an apt metaphor for my path to medical school. Like learning to hold my breath for more than 3 minutes, applying to medical school once seemed impossible. But as any free-diver or doctor will tell you, all things are possible with preparation, discipline, and, undeniably, the help of others.

When I say that medical school once seemed impossible to me, I mean that literally. I'm not one of those kids who always knew they'd be a doctor. As the oldest of five children in a single parent home, things like college, let alone medical school, weren't part of my world. It's not that I didn't know they existed, they just existed for someone else. When you've spent your childhood in and out of shelters and foster care, you're worried about making it through each day. There's little time to make ambitious plans for the future.  It was only by coincidence that I began taking courses at the local junior college--mostly subjects that struck my interest: geography, history, creative writing. I worked full time delivering auto parts and got okay grades. It was never my intention to earn a degree, but my wife encouraged me to transfer to a local university, and 2 1/2 years, countless hours of studying, working, and volunteering later, I became the first and only person in my family to earn a degree.


Nor was my job at Planned Parenthood some calculated step in a medical school narrative.  I've always done volunteer work, not with any career goal in mind, but because I'm interested in all sorts of things and love meeting people. I'd been volunteering there a few months before they offered me a job. It was while working there that the seeds of medical school were planted. For the first time I worked with dozens of patients every day, mostly Spanish-speakers. 


They would come to clinic for many reasons, some more serious than others, and it was my privilege to help them in a time of need. Whether cracking jokes while taking a blood pressure, or talking about baseball with a nervous client before a vasectomy, it was always my goal to put the patient at ease and see to it they received services in the best possible manner.


My intentioned commitment to medical school began when my wife was admitted to a PhD program at Vanderbilt. We made the trek from California in our little beat up car, reaching Nashville in the dead of summer. I was fortunate to land a research position there--a job that often requires I spend early mornings and weekends working on time-sensitive projects.  


I hadn't completed prerequisites, so, in addition to a full work load, I took 8 units of science in the evenings.  Over the past 2 years I have devoted 14 hour days toward a single goal: attending medical school. It would be dishonest to say that I was never tired or frustrated, or never felt like I wouldn't get into medical school anyway, and that my hard work would be for naught.


But I can say, without equivocation, that one thing has always kept me going: a sincere, gut-level passion for patient care.

Because of this, I have spent as much free time as I can immersed in all things medicine. Many think I'm crazy for spending my scarce down time volunteering at clinics, observing surgeries, researching novel treatments or reading up on medical ethics--but that's because they don't see how the things they see as "work" are enjoyable to me. More importantly, this "work" has kept my passion for medicine central. It's simple: I'm never too tired to be taught the tricks of the trade from an outstanding physician, or to learn how I can do a better job treating a patient. It doesn't matter if I'm about to start a 12 hour ED shift after a full day's work, or if I've been standing for 9 hours at the operating table, or if I'm about to spend my Saturday at a free health clinic--I'm too excited to notice that I'm tired.


I don’t didn't always want to be a doctor. Nor have I been interested in free-diving since I learned to swim. But once I realized that medical school was possible, I have marched toward this application without looking back. It has been a long road.  But, good things in life come to the diligent. Free-divers will tell you that their sport is not just physically demanding, but requires intense mental focus as well. Perhaps nowhere is one's determination tested more than beneath the ocean's surface, supported only by the air in one's lungs. In free-diving and in life, I plan to do what once seemed impossible. My passion, determination, and tireless work ethic will get me there.

Article about yours truly