2024

I was too damn polite. Blame my Midwestern upbringing that hardwired me with nice girl, don’t be pushy settings.

I was too deferential, cautious about antagonizing the mental health professionals I needed as allies. I worried that I’d come across as presumptuous, as difficult if I suggested that I—without benefit of their training, clinical experience, or certifications—saw something they were missing.

Once I looked forward to his visits, but years later I dreaded them. My change of heart began after he was laid off from his janitorial position. He worked diligently, applying desperately for jobs, but the economy was slow, and no one was hiring. The stress of not being able to make ends meet was crushing. His blood pressure rose, and he grew angry and depressed.

An early morning Zoom class, “Dealing with the Inner Critic,” to return my brain to a poetic rather than medical mode. I have several projects simmering, some raw, others partly cooked, but none completely finished, ready for consumption.

I awoke from a deep sleep today—Sunday, June 16—with a sudden urge to call my dad, nearly 10,000 miles away in India, and wish him Happy Father’s Day. A second later, I remembered that he’d passed away almost 15 years ago.

Was he in a “better place,” as everyone assured me he was when he died at age 69 of metastatic prostate cancer? Could I call him there, as I’d done for years after I left India in my early 20s?

My husband and I took care of my mom for five years, when she had Alzheimer’s. She just couldn’t handle Assisted Living/Memory Care, so Hubby and I became the “Memory Care Unit.” There were days when I was stressed, exhausted and overwhelmed. Yet, I have no regrets.

On Wednesdays, one of the residents in my clinic precepting group usually presents a didactic. However, last Wednesday, the junior resident was absent, and I decided to present a case of a “challenging patient” instead. The patient himself wasn’t really challenging, I explained to the residents, but he was in a challenging situation. I had a 20-minute telemedicine session the following day, and I wanted the residents’ advice on how I should best spend my time with the patient.

The older I get, the more ridiculous I find regrets. Why waste even one moment on a past that I cannot change? Instead, I try to focus on the present by living a life that gives me no regrets—one of theatre, books, adult education classes and family.