“Hi! I’m Reni, the medical student here today,” I say to the cargo pant-clad teenager sitting hunched on the exam table. “My pronouns are she/her. What are your name and pronouns?”
My smooth delivery is only somewhat ruined by my almost falling off the stool as I try to sit down hands-free. I look up once I’m less precariously perched, awaiting a reply.
“Oh, I’m Sam,” they shrug. “And any are fine.”
Unasked, Unanswered Read More »
I had to drive across town for my appointments with the high-risk obstetrician. I had been referred to him by my normal-risk obstetrician due to my age (thirty-six the first time, and now again at thirty-nine) and my two previous miscarriages.
The waiting room was never crowded. It was dimly lit, with photographs of babies and children plastered across one wall.
Today, as at every visit, I studied the photos fiercely while waiting for my name to be called.
Elderly Multigravida Read More »
One evening, at the age of four, I ran frantically into my bedroom, tears burning in my eyes, and started overturning the furniture, peering under my bed and scrabbling through piles of clothes. I bounded back downstairs into the kitchen to check the chair I’d sat in for dinner. Over and over, I asked my four siblings and my parents:
“Have you seen my blankie?”
Finally, I retraced my steps to the piano bench. There sat my blankie, a soft, bright yellow mound. I let out a sigh of relief, safe at last, and headed off to bed.
40 years ago
the night before Halloween
they let me into the frigid room
where they were keeping you
deeply sedated, your skin blue
and clammy, barely alive after
having trouble bringing you back,
with a wicked incision stitched
from collarbone to near navel
It’s hard to be overlooked, especially if you’re quiet and shy by nature. So I developed a mask. A speak-up, in-your-face, gutsy personality—an alternate face! But inside I’m still shy and non-confrontational.
Food became my comfort. Was I stressed at work? I’d eat. Was I angry with my husband? I’d eat. Was a party too noisy? I’d eat in a corner. I ballooned, but I didn’t feel better. I preferred staying home, snacking, and watching NetFlix to going out.
One Step at a Time Read More »
Behind the closed door of the exam room, patients always hesitate in a predictable manner before asking uncomfortable questions. As the visit winds down, they finally summon their courage and inquire. We providers recognize this scenario, having witnessed it countless times before. Perhaps the patients sense us relaxing into the familiar and feel briefly encouraged to proceed.
Joe is deaf when he isn’t wearing his hearing aids. So he didn’t hear my crutches behind him on the floor at 2:00 a.m. when I got out of bed for a drink of water. We’d just returned from a beautiful Mediterranean cruise. The day before our flight back to the U.S., I’d slipped on a wet staircase and torn the anterior cruciate ligament in my left knee. Surgery was successful and my rehab was going well.
But apparently my relationship wasn’t going so well. As I walked up behind Joe, I saw that he was on my laptop, corresponding with a woman on a dating site.
A Parting Gift of Motivation Read More »
Editor’s Note: This piece was awarded an honorable mention in the Pulse writing contest, “On Being Different.”
“Don’t leave menus in the apartments!” a voice called sternly as I stood by the elevators in the building where I live.
The speaker was a substitute doorman I’d never seen before. I was holding a plastic bag typically associated with Chinese takeout food, and I realized that he assumed I was there to deliver meals to weary or sedentary New Yorkers.
A variation of this scene took place another time with a different doorman.
Checking Our Assumptions Read More »
The tables have turned. I am now taking advice from my children.
At my daughter’s urging, I signed up with a personal trainer at the local YMCA. He is a lovely young man. And since he was raised by his grandparents in the Philippines, he has a special regard for old people.
Twice a week, he takes me through a series of exercises designed to strengthen and flex various muscle groups. My goal is both modest and huge: to be able to get up off the floor unassisted.
Joining the Silver Sneakers Brigade Read More »
Had Dad not passed this month fifteen years ago, we would be celebrating his birthday today. He was born–and died–in October.
This was the time when India was still a British colony. Vaccinations, antibiotics and potable water were not yet available, and infant mortality from infectious disease was high. When dad was two years old, his mother noticed that her active baby went from running to limping, and his left leg looked strange. Terrified, she took him to a country doctor who diagnosed paralytic polio and stated that his leg would be paralyzed forever.
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