Deborah Fuller

Happy National Doctors Day to all doctors everywhere! We are truly blessed to practice in this amazing profession. 🫶❤️🩺

The Dallas County Medical Society is pleased to nominate Emma L. Dishner, MD, MPH, for AMA Alternate Delegate. Engaged in Organized Medicine Dr. Dishner is a double board-certified infectious diseases specialist practicing in Dallas at BUMC.

Standing With Dr. Mark Casanova: A Physician Who Serves With His Whole Heart Colleagues, 
It is an honor to stand for re-election as Vice Speaker of the TMA House of Delegates, and I am grateful for the support of the DCMS.

The Dallas County Medical Society proudly supports Kyle Weinstein, MD, for election as RFS Alternate Delegate to the AMA Kyle Weinstein, MD, is a PGY-3 Internal Medicine resident at Texas Health Presbyterian Dallas and an incoming Palliative Care fellow at BUMC.

@Microinteracti1 🙏🏼Truth!🙏🏼

Robert Mueller died last night. He was 81 years old. He had a wife who loved him for sixty years. He had two daughters, one of whom he met for the first time in Hawaii, in 1969, on a few hours of military leave, before he got back on the plane and returned to Vietnam. He had grandchildren. He had a faith he practiced quietly, without performance. He had, in the way of men who have seen real things and survived them, a quality that is increasingly rare and increasingly mocked in the country he spent his life serving. He had integrity. And tonight the President of the United States said good! I have been sitting with that word for hours now. Good. One syllable. The thing you say when the coffee is hot or the traffic is moving. The thing a man who has never had to bury anyone, never had to sit in the specific silence of a room where someone is newly absent, reaches for when he wants the world to know he is satisfied. Good. The daughters are crying and the wife is alone in the house and good. I want to speak directly to the Americans reading this. Not the political Americans. Just the human ones. The ones who have lost a father. The ones who know what it is to be in that first hour, when you keep forgetting and then remembering again, when ordinary objects become unbearable, when the world outside the window seems obscene in its indifference. I want to ask you, simply, to hold that feeling for a moment, and then to understand that the man you elected looked at it and typed a single word. Good. This is not a country having a bad day. I need you to understand that. Countries have bad days. Elections go wrong. Leaders disappoint. Institutions bend. But there is a different thing, a rarer and more terrible thing, that happens when the moral center of a place simply gives way. Not dramatically. Not with a single catastrophic event. But quietly, in increments, until one evening a president celebrates the death of an old man whose family is still warm with grief, and enough people find it acceptable that it becomes the weather. Just the weather. That is what is happening. That is what has happened. The world knows. From Tokyo to Oslo, from London to Buenos Aires, people are not angry at America tonight. Anger would mean there was still something to fight for, some remaining faith to be betrayed. What I see, in the reactions from everywhere that is not here, is something older and sadder than anger. It is the look people get when they have waited a long time for someone they love to find their way back, and have finally understood that they are not coming. America is being grieved. Past tense, almost. The idea of it. The thing it represented to people who had nothing else to believe in, who came here with everything they owned in a single bag because they had heard, somehow, across an ocean, that this was the place where decency was written into the walls. That idea is not resting. It is not suspended. It is being buried, in real time, with 7,450 likes before dinner. And the church said nothing. Seventy million people have decided that this man, this specific man who has cheated everyone he has ever made a promise to, who has mocked the disabled and the dead and the grieving, who celebrated tonight while a family wept, is an instrument of God. The pastors who made that bargain did not just trade away their credibility. They traded away the thing that made them worth listening to in the first place. The cross they carry now is a costume. The faith they preach is a loyalty oath with scripture attached. When the history of American Christianity is written, this will be the chapter they skip at seminary. Now I want to talk about the men who stand next to him. Because this is the part that actually breaks my heart. JD Vance is not a bad man. I have to say that, because it is true, and because the truth matters even now, especially now. Marco Rubio is not a bad man. Lindsey Graham is not a bad man. They are idiots, but not bad, as in BAD! These are men with mothers who raised them and children who love them and friends who remember who they were before all of this. They are not monsters. Monsters are simple. Monsters do not cost you anything emotionally because there is nothing in them to mourn. These men are something more painful than monsters. They are men who knew better, and know better still, and will get up tomorrow and do it again. Every small compromise they made had a reason. Every moment they looked the other way had a justification that sounded, at the time, almost reasonable. And now they have arrived here, at a place where a president celebrates the death of an old man and they will find a way, on television, to say nothing that means anything, and they will go home to houses where children who carry their name are waiting, and they will say goodnight, and they will say nothing. Their oldest friends are watching. The ones who knew Rubio when he still believed in something. Who knew Graham when he said, out loud, on the record, that this exact man would destroy the Republican Party and deserve it. Who sat next to Vance and thought here is someone worth knowing. Those friends are not angry tonight. They moved through anger a long time ago. What they feel now is the quiet, irrecoverable sadness of watching someone disappear while still being present. Of watching a person they loved choose, again and again, to become less. That is what cowardice costs. Not the coward. The people who loved him. And in the comments tonight, the followers celebrate. People who ten years ago brought casseroles to grieving neighbours. Who stood in the rain at gravesides and meant the words they said. Who told their children that we do not speak ill of the dead because the dead were someone's beloved. Those people are tonight typing gleeful things about a man whose daughters are not yet done crying. And they feel clean doing it. Righteous. Because somewhere along the way the thing they were given in exchange for their decency was the feeling of belonging to something, and that feeling is very hard to give up even when you can no longer remember what you gave for it. When Trump is gone, they will still be here. Standing in the silence where the noise used to be. Without the permission the crowd gave them. Without the pastor who told them their cruelty was holy. They will be alone with what they said and what they cheered and what they chose to become, and there will be no one left to tell them it was righteous. That morning is coming. Robert Mueller flew across the Pacific on military leave to hold his newborn daughter for a few hours before returning to the war. He came home. He buried his dead with honour. He served presidents of both parties because he understood that the institution was larger than any one man. He told his grandchildren that a lie is the worst thing a person can do, that a reputation once lost cannot be recovered, and he lived that, every day, in the quiet and unglamorous way of people who actually believe what they say. He was the kind of American the world used to point to when it needed to believe the story was true. He died last night. His wife is alone in their house in Georgetown. His daughters are learning what the world is without him in it. And somewhere in the particular hush that falls over a family in the first hours of loss, the most powerful man and the biggest loser on earth sent a message to say he was glad. The world that loved what America was supposed to be is grieving tonight. Not for Robert Mueller only. For the country that produced him and then became this. For the distance between what was promised and what was delivered. For the suspicion, growing quieter and more certain with each passing month, that the America people believed in was always partly a story, and the story is over now, and there is nothing yet to replace it. That is all it needed to be. A man died. His family is broken open with grief. That is all it needed to be. Instead the President said good. And the country that once stood for something looked away 🇺🇸 Gandalv / @Microinteracti1

Who are you cheering for tonight in the First Four matchup? Miami or SMU?

@OriginalMcGill3 @SMUFB Congratulations! Welcome back home! #ponyupfootball 🐴🆙🏈 💙♥️💙♥️💙♥️💙♥️💙♥️💙

Excited and grateful to join the SMU Football Staff as the Assistant Secondary Coach! Thankful for the opportunity and ready to get to work. Let’s keep building something great on the hilltop 🐎 Pony Up! 🔴🔵

@CrazyVibes_1 These quilts of honor and thanks are so very important. God bless you and your family, especially your deserving father. That quilt would also look beautiful at a service honoring his life !❤️‍🩹

My father has cancer. Stage four. The VA said maybe four months. He served three tours in Vietnam and came home to people spitting on him, calling him baby killer, telling him his service meant nothing. He never talked about the war. Never wore his medals. Never went to reunions. Just carried fifty-two years of shame for doing what his country asked him to do. Last month hospice started coming to the house and I realized I had no idea how to honor him, how to tell him his life mattered when he'd spent half a century believing it didn't. So I posted in a quilting group asking if anyone made military quilts, and a woman responded immediately. She'd found me through a shop where she runs a business making Quilts of Valor for dying veterans. She said “I'll start tonight.” She finished it in three weeks, worked around the clock because Dad's time is short. Every star is hand-stitched. Every stripe is perfectly aligned. She shipped it express and included a letter thanking him for his service, telling him that her father died alone believing nobody cared that he'd served. She said “Let your dad know the country was wrong. His service mattered. He matters.” We wrapped him in it yesterday. This photo is him seeing it for the first time. He cried for twenty minutes, kept touching the stars, kept saying “Someone made this for me?” I've started coordinating with other quilters now, connecting dying veterans with makers who can get quilts finished in time. Racing against cancer, against time, against fifty years of men dying before anyone told them thank you. Dad has maybe six weeks now. But he'll leave wrapped in stars. ⭐🇺🇸 By Angela mcnutt

@CrazyVibes_1 I love them both! You are incredibly talented! Please keep up your artistic talents and find ways to change the minds of those who have little true vision at your school!

My son hasn't spoken at school in four months. Complete selective mutism since the kids started calling him "the weird craft boy" who makes things instead of playing sports at recess. He's eleven and autistic, and art class used to be the only place he felt safe until his teacher told him his projects were "too babyish for middle school." He stopped making anything, stopped talking about his ideas, just came home every day and disappeared into his room with the door closed. Last week he was watching me work on snowman decorations for my shop, these whimsical couples I make and sell for people's holiday mantels. Didn't say anything, just sat on the couch observing while I hot-glued fabric scarves and painted faces. Then two days ago I came home from work and found him in the garage surrounded by foam balls and fabric scraps he'd pulled from my supply bins, hands covered in paint, completely absorbed in creating these two figures. He'd been working for six hours straight without stopping, something he hasn't done since his teacher destroyed his confidence. He made himself and his little sister. The boy snowman has the same serious expression my son gets when he's concentrating, the same careful attention to detail in every button and hat decoration. The girl snowman is wearing pink because that's all his sister will wear lately, has flowers on her scarf because she picks dandelions for him every day after school. This is his first complete project since September, the first thing he's made that wasn't for a grade or an assignment, just pure creation because he wanted to express something he couldn't say with words. When he finished he asked if people would think they were stupid, if kids at school would make fun of them like they make fun of everything else he makes. I told him they were incredible and he needed to see that I wasn't just saying it because I'm his mom. He finally agreed to let me post this after two days of me begging, but he's been refreshing my phone every ten minutes checking for comments, needing to know if anyone besides me thinks he's talented. I buy a lot of my supplies from other crafters on the shop app, and I keep showing him their work trying to prove that handmade art matters, that people value things made with this much heart and skill. So what do you think? He's reading over my shoulder right now, hands still shaking slightly, waiting to see if anyone else sees what I see. Credit - Jeanette McAllister

@zekesilva3 So well deserved! Thank you for your service to Medicine and our patients!

."RESOLVED that the Texas Society of Anesthesiologists formally recognizes and honors @zekesilva3 for his outstanding advocacy and leadership during the 2025 Texas Legislative Session, and expresses its gratitude for his dedication to improving health care for all Texans" Thank you @TSAPhysicians for this honor! @texmed @BexarCountyMed #TMACOLChair

@piyushmittal @sciencegirl Exactly!👍🏻

@sciencegirl I see a hippo.

Do you see a CAT or a MOUSE

@BBGreatMoments A Texan!

Nolan Ryan built different 🔥

Congratulations to our SMU basketball guard Boopie Miller for making #30 on the ESPN top 50 Players in the country!🏀 30. Boopie Miller SMU Mustangs | G | Sr. 🏀🐴🆙💙❤️🏀

Thank you … AGAIN Boopie for your leadership and talent!🐴🆙🏀♥️💙 #Boopie

@TomarionHarden Thank you so very much for your Mustang spirit on and off the the field. Best of luck!🐴🆙🏈♥️💙

❤️

Let’s keep this momentum going strong!🐴🆙🏈🏀💙♥️

@l0gan_parr Thank you Logan for all that you have given to football and to SMU! We are forever grateful for your strength on and off the field!🐴🆙🏈💙♥️

God is great! Looking forward to what’s next.

Beautiful drone light show! Thank you Dallas❣️🎆🎇🍾🥂

On his way.