Real Men

I wanted to write this for all men. Every man thinks they are the only one who -
cries - hard
feels guilty
has trouble being honest
loses his erection
can't get an erection
is ashamed to lose his hair
can't provide for his family
isn't very "manly"
enjoys beauty
feels unattractive
worries
feels emotions deeply
loves - and fears losing his love
likes to cook
wants to be at home with his kid(s) more
likes to sing, play an instrument, or write music
has inappropriate sexual thoughts, but tries not to act on them
loves his pet as if it were his child
feels very protective of his family
is tired

In fact, men are as varied, capable, and emotional as any other person - male or female. We give men far too little credit, and men don't tend to talk to other men about personal things. Gentlemen - I like this change. I like this "new" man. You are more interesting and worthwhile whole; please don't pretend to be "manly." You're much better this way.

Welcome to Ohio

I love Ohio. I'm starting 3rd-year rotations next week and we are settled into our new apartment. Now I await board scores. G-d-willing I passed. Other than that, this no-stress time in my life is fantastic. I have slept more in the last week than I have in two years. It's wonderful.

One block from our home is a park. It's like going to a United Nations conference. The diversity and camaraderie are amazing. Everyone is so nice. People are exactly who they want to be or are becoming who they want to become. It's such a unique area. Love it!

I'm very excited to serve the patient population here. I like that I will get to meet so many different types of people. I get the opportunity to learn not only medicine, but how to care for people on a very individual level. From the Amish, to Orthodox Jews, the Urban black - it's all here.

I'll let you know how it goes. My first rotation - rural medicine.

I the meantime - I'm going to go get some coffee.

Retard

Retarded. Slow. Someone who is retarded is slow. Someone who is a "retard" is a moron. No, not the definition of moron, a person with a mental age of 7-12, that's probably the definition of the person using the word "retard." Said "retard" is usually doing something that is considered stupid or otherwise uncool - often considered moronic. The standard moron is generally someone who would be concerned with appearing cool.

I challenge that your average retard - with an IQ of below 75 is probably operating at a higher mental age than your average moron.

The moron is concerned, because their mental age is probably permanent. However, they don't fully realize this. The moron will go on to live an utterly average life, always thinking he is better than a retard.

A retarded person, well before the moron, understands love and kindness. A retarded person does not understand hate. A retarded person excepts differences and embraces them. A retarded person is usually very gifted - in ways many people above a 75 IQ can't understand. It's a little too complicated for us. Example - a retarded person sees someone who is sick, dirty, homeless, possibly mentally ill lying on the sidewalk. The retarded person will note that this person needs some water and something with which to clean up. The retarded person, without hesitation, will offer help. Trusting completely. Knowing how to help. Loving unconditionally. I dare say, the entire country would be a veritable utopia if it were run by retarded persons and not morons.

Yet we are ashamed of retards. We look away, embarrassed by their utter disregard for our seemingly important conventions.

I'm thinking about this as I study congenital abnormalities and I'm faced with too much reality. Abortion. What do we do when we know the child is retarded? Abort. Not always. Certainly not, but often. Why? Really. Why?

I'm not with false hopes. I know that trying to get a child with Down Syndrome to understand that you're going to the park at 3:00 and it's only 10:00 is extremely frustrating. They have no concept of time. You will be asked 10,000 times if it's time to go to the park. No, you can't hug that stranger. Why? I don't know, it's weird.

I beg of you to say, "no" to all the prenatal testing. Cystic fibrosis? Abort. Really? Yes. Blue eyes. . .hmmm. . .risky. . . I joke because I'm uncomfortable.

Give the kid a chance. Are they going to cost us money? Of course, but so does the drunk, the illegal immigrant in the emergency room, the homeless person, the elder. . and on and on. I don't think you have that choice. Can't handle it - try adoption. Worried about your body getting all out of shape - try changing your insides instead of your outsides.

If they were meant to survive, they will. If they were meant to die, they will. Even if only for a few hours - they felt love. Everyone deserves at least that much. Please erase the word, "retard" from your list of insults.

The image was a very easy search. You may have laughed. I hope you'll go back, look at it again, and realize it wasn't funny. That would make you a recovering moron.

Elixirs!

Okay, I must confess - I am a sucker for elixirs. Teas thrill me! I love putting together combinations of plants and voila - instantly healthier! Do I really believe that the kombucha fixed my week-long belly ache? No. Do I think that teas formulated especially for my girl-parts are going to make my plumbing healthier? No. What about things to increase memory? No. On and on and on. . .

It's the principle of the thing. The most gorgeous placebo. It works for me. I feel better. I am able to center my body and let it do the work of healing. Superstitious? Absolutely.

I have a kiddush cup that is called the four rivers. On that cup are 64 words written from the four rivers of Gan Eden. One who drinks from this cup, according to Kabbalistic teachings, is granted the secrets and blessings of healing from sickness - mental or physical, and infertility. According to Kabbalistic tradition, King Solomon learned these secrets from Gan Eden. I bought it. I promptly got pregnant - something I wasn't supposed to be able to do. Did the cup help? Doubtful, but it fed my placebo-addiction.

Why is our fascination with elixirs and placebos so alluring? Because it works. It works, because our bodies are exquisite in design. Leave it alone, focus, let it heal. Of course medicine is a great help - a life-saving help sometimes, but not always necessary.

It is a matter of trust. Trusting our bodies. Trusting ourselves to know when we need outside help. Which brings me to my soapbox - obstetrics.

For 200K years we've been able to keep the species going. Amazing! Hand washing was a great idea. It cut down on a lot of unnecessary deaths. C-sections, too. However, somewhere along the way we got lost, and we've never attempted to get back. We think we are improving outcomes, but we're not. We have entire generations of women who think they can't give birth without a doctor. And entire generations of doctors who are too afraid to say that obstetrics has become a sham. A type of, shall I say - quackery.

Why? Because if someone dies, the doctor is going to get sued into bankruptcy or worse yet, lose their license. We have forgotten that even in the best of circumstances, sometimes people die. But obstetricians rarely have a mother or baby die. Correct. The best midwives have the exact, even slightly better statistics.

Intervention is absolutely necessary sometimes. The real art is in knowing when to use it. In the meantime I encourage you to be realistic, honest, and drink more tea.

(the photo is from theinnershaman.com - no, I don't think these work)

Borrowed Time

I have a friend who is battling stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

There is no stage 5.

Battling is not the right word.

I'm deeply troubled by this, because she is my age. Not because I see myself in her place, but because she has so much more left to do. She has so much talent. She is absolutely an original. She really thinks, which is such a rarity these days. She is an artist. She is a midwife (in training). She lives completely off the land. Or rather, she did. Now she's living with her parents and going to doctor's visits while trying to remain true to herself.

Is it the Tong Ren that is shrinking the cancer or the two sessions of chemotherapy she agreed to undergo? Is the special diet her alternative medicine practitioners have her on that is reducing her cancer and inflammation markers to normal levels? Is it her unbelievable strength that is helping her body combat such improbable odds? I have no idea, but it's got her doctors wondering. She has done the impossible - her doctors are asking about her alternative medicine practices, because they are completely shocked that she's not only not dead, but improving.

She's got physicians thinking outside the box. Is that the point? Has she done what she was put here to do? I don't know, but it is impressive. All I know for certain is that she is remarkable and I would miss her terribly if she were to die.

Every night when I lay my head on my pillow I reflect on how fortunate I am to have Jason and Helena in my life. I always thank G-d for the day and ask for just one more day with them. Please, just one more day. This ritual reminds me that we are mortal, and helps me to always re-evaluate how I'm doing as a wife and mother. If you were given just one more day, how did you do today?

Kol Tov.

(The photo is from a BBC News article about pancreatic cancer - it's a pancreatic cancer cell)