Something happened to me last week that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
I attended Brilliance 26, a healthcare professional networking event hosted by my friend, Dr. Mu Tomlinson, and his team at Vituity. During a break, a younger pediatrician approached me enthusiastically and gave me a hug! I turned around, smiled, and greeted her with equal enthusiasm.
There was only one problem. I had absolutely no idea who she was.
I tried to remember her, but couldn’t. Rather than pretend, I said, “I don’t remember you.” She reintroduced herself, and some of the pieces began to fall into place. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d disappointed her. Maybe I was reading too much into her expression. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’ve thought about that encounter several times since.
And then, on Saturday, it happened again. Another woman approached me at a party, and although I suspected who she was, I couldn’t quite place her. Her hairstyle had changed, which didn’t help! Eventually, I asked her name.
Two women. Two encounters. Two moments when I couldn’t remember someone who remembered me.
And suddenly, the third word in our October LURV series felt very personal.
REMEMBER.
For the past two Mondays, we’ve explored LISTEN and UNDERSTAND. We’ve talked about how listening requires intention and how hearing someone’s words doesn’t necessarily mean understanding their meaning. But remembering? This one has me thinking about my own experiences.
Since moving to Atlanta, I’ve met so many new people. Physicians, colleagues, community leaders, and potential collaborators. And increasingly, I’ve noticed that I don’t always remember their faces or names when we meet again. I don’t particularly enjoy admitting that.
Maybe it’s age. Maybe it’s the number of people I encounter. Maybe I haven’t always been as present during those initial conversations as I thought I was. Whatever the explanation, these encounters have left me with a question:
How do I help people feel remembered, even when my memory isn’t perfect?
That young pediatrician may have remembered our previous interaction because it meant something to her. And while I cannot know exactly how she felt when I didn’t recognize her, I can imagine how uncomfortable that moment might have been.
But here’s something else I’ve realized: Forgetting someone doesn’t necessarily mean they didn’t matter to us.
We’re human. We forget names, faces, dates, and details. What matters is what we do when we realize we’ve forgotten. Do we pretend? Do we dismiss the moment? Or do we acknowledge it and make an effort to reconnect?
I’m choosing the latter. In fact, I’ve already contacted that pediatrician’s office and connected with her assistant. I want to reconnect, not because I can undo the awkwardness, but because I can be intentional about what happens next.
And that brings me back to medicine.
Imagine being a patient who has shared something deeply personal with your physician, only to return and feel as though you’re telling your story for the first time. Perhaps it’s a teenager who disclosed something difficult, a patient who has repeatedly explained an important part of their identity, or a parent who hoped someone would remember a concern about their child.
When those details are forgotten or overlooked, patients may wonder whether anyone was truly paying attention.
We have electronic health records, clinical notes, and systems designed to preserve information and support continuity of care. But are we using those tools simply to document encounters, or are we using them to continue conversations?
As I build my new pediatric practice for tweens, teens, and young adults, I want young people to experience healthcare as an ongoing relationship, not a series of disconnected appointments. I want to remember what mattered to them at 12, what changed at 16, and what they’re navigating at 20. And when I don’t remember something, I want to be comfortable enough to acknowledge it and revisit the conversation.
Because remembering isn’t always about recalling every detail. Sometimes it’s about making the effort to show someone that their story still matters.
That’s what those two women reminded me of last week. I may not always remember everyone I meet, but I can become more intentional about how I meet them, how I listen, and how I reconnect.
Let’s Keep the Conversation Going
Have you ever approached someone who didn’t remember you? How did it make you feel? Or perhaps you’ve been in my shoes, struggling to remember someone who clearly remembered you. How did you handle it?
For my fellow healthcare professionals, what habits help you remember the people and stories that matter in your work?
Hit reply. I’d genuinely love to hear your thoughts.
What Else Is Happening Around Here?
As I prepare to open my new pediatric practice in Atlanta, I’m continuing to evaluate electronic health records and build systems that support the kind of care I want to provide: more time for conversations, greater continuity, and young people who feel seen, heard, and remembered. It’s exciting to watch the pieces come together!
Next Monday, we’ll conclude our LURV series with VALIDATE. Here’s a question to consider until then: Can you validate someone’s experience without necessarily agreeing with them?
Until next week,
Dr. Lulu®
Pediatrician | Speaker | Author | Physician Educator
