All Three of the Two Women Blogging

Jay got the party she always wanted, and all three of the two women blogging got to connect with each other in real life for a change...

When Spellcheck is Not Enough ~ by Jay

I just received an Email from the ACP, the official academic organization of internists, informing me (among other things) that statins may reduce the biochemical recurrence of "prostrate" cancer.

Sigh.

A Picture Is Worth....~ by Jay

Nope, sorry, no pictures of me. Still sticking with that whole anonymous/pseudonymous thing.

I got to thinking about pictures when I read this from Arwyn. I also hate looking at pictures of myself, and I always have (although of course, now, when I look at pictures from high school or college or even Eve's babyhood, I think "why did I hate those? I looked adorable"). I took up photography as a hobby in ninth grade in part out of self-defense. If I was taking the pictures, I couldn't be in them, now could I? Of course not.

Arwyn has an assignment for us: (emphasis hers)

if your self-esteem is low — making you not want to share pictures of you because all you can see is your “faults” and your “ugliness” and all the things “wrong” with you — show pictures of you to people who care about you.

She's right. I did this without really thinking about it, after our annibirthday party two weeks ago. I posted pictures on Facebook, and so did other people - and in an hour I had 20 admiring comments. Not just that we were having fun, or that it looked like a great party, but that I looked pretty. And you know what? I did. I looked great.

One of Arwyn's commenters mentions that she's now forcing herself to be in the pictures so her kids would have pictures of her, and I am finally glad that I married into a camera-crazy family. No matter how much I tried to stay out of the picture, I never could, and I know Eve will have lots of pictures of me.

And, at last, I am delighted.

It's A Secret ~ by Jay

I don't keep secrets from Sam. He knows about this blog; he knows what I do and where I go and who I talk to on the phone. He knows what I'm worried about at work and how I feel about the clutter in the basement and what my sexual fantasies are. But he doesn't know everything.

When my friends confide in me about their marriages and their struggles with their kids, I don't share the details with Sam. Sometimes I talk to other people about my own issues without telling him. I don't read his Email and he doesn't read mine. We maintain our privacy.

So what's the difference? I've been pondering this lately as I try to be the parent Eve needs to me to be. Kids should have privacy, but she also needs to know that we're interested and involved, and there are some things that are private for adults but not yet for kids (I do read Eve's incoming Email). As adolescence approaches, "it's a secret" changes from a Father's Day giggle to a wall that can hide all sorts of pain and struggle.

Seems to me the difference between privacy and secrecy is shame. We've never kept secrets about Eve's adoption because we believe secrecy is toxic, but I have stopped telling people about it directly because it's Eve's story, and some of it is private. I kept my sleep apnea a secret for years because I was ashamed. Now I talk about it with friends and family, and the shame has eased quite a bit, but I still don't tell my patients, because it's private.

Maybe I can model that approach with Eve by making sure that we talk about the big topics - sex, adoption, body image, puberty - as openly as possible, so she knows they're not shameful. I think we can do that without forcing her to reveal her private thoughts.

I'm interested in your thoughts, but will understand if you prefer to keep them private.

Coming Back ~ by Jay

When I told my patients I was leaving my practice last spring, many of them said "Where are you going? I'll follow you". I was touched, but my standard response was "You don't want to follow me. Not where I'm going". And they all agreed, but I knew that eventually some of them would follow me. I'm kind of surprised that it took nearly a year.

When I met Lou, he was the center of attention at the senior-citizen's housing project, a handsome man who didn't allow his back pain or diabetes to interfere with his social life. He played bridge and watched golf and baseball, always critical of the caddies and the managers; he spent holidays with his daughters, but never allowed them to come with him to see me. Lou sat in my examining room last May, scowling at the walker he'd finally had to agree to use, and told me in vigorous language what he thought of my decision to leave primary care. He did not approve. As he walked out, he looked back over his shoulder and said "I can't stay mad at you", and we pretended we weren't crying.

When I walked into his room today, he looked up and said "I'm still not mad", and this time neither of us pretended not to cry. This is not the life Lou wanted to live. He planned to go directly from entirely independent to dead, and this liminal state is intolerable. "I just want to go to sleep and never wake up", he said, as his daughter turned away and tidied the already-neat bureau. "This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't left me".

I wish that were true. I wish I were that powerful. I hope the power I have - my familiar face, my hand on his, my medical knowledge - can ease Lou's suffering. If he has to travel this road, I am glad I am walking by his side.

Home is where, when you go there, they have to take you in.

Just What I Always Wanted ~ by Jay

My friend Delaine just retired after 21 years as a teacher in an inner-city California school, and now she has the apartment she wanted in San Francisco, where she can watch the world go by.

There's something radical about that - about deciding what you want and going out and getting it. Or at least it seems that way to me. I was taught that it was rude to ask for things, and that even when my opinion was solicited, I was supposed to defer to the host (or the grownup, or the boy). I was never very good at that kind of deference, but I internalized the message, and for years I expected to be punished every time I really wanted something. I had goals - in my own way, I was determined - but I managed to make those goals fit into the life that Sam wanted to live. I didn't expect to be allowed to choose where I was going to live, or what job I was going to have, or even whether or not I had children. Life was something that happened to me, not something I crafted.

Last weekend someone mentioned a study that showed that women tend to think their success is due to luck, while men think theirs comes from hard work. Well, that sounded familiar. A year ago, when I was preparing to leave my practice, I told everyone that I was lucky: the job I wanted had fallen into my lap. Hmm. Perhaps I had left something out of that story: the decision I made to work full-time so I could start working in hospice. The day I approached the medical director and asked to have my hours increased. The fact that I studied for and passed the Board exam. So I decided I wanted to do this work, went out and found a part-time job, took the test to get the credential - and then it fell in my lap? Sam laughed and said "It fell in your lap after you went over and shook the tree. Hard".

Here's the delicious irony: that conversation took place at a brunch Sam and I hosted, the final event of three-day series of parties that we planned for months. We wanted to celebrate our 25 anniversary and our upcoming 50th birthdays with a real party - the kind of party that people talk about for years. We wanted to have as much fun as we had at our wedding, and we wanted to same experience of having all the people we truly loved with us. And we did it. Our parents and our siblings, our closest local friends and our dearest friends from far away, members of our wedding party, Eve's best pals and their parents - they all ate and drank and danced and laughed with us. We started on Friday with dinner at our house for early arrivals and local friends, complete with guitars and an old-fashioned singalong. People came over early and stopped by for lunch on Saturday. We hosted 90 for dinner at a local restaurant and about 100 for dancing on Saturday night, and then on Sunday we served sausage and eggs and fruit to the folks from out-of-town.

New life lesson for me: sometimes you can get what you want, and when you do, it can be wonderful.

Well, That's Different ~ by Jay

Found here.