Traumatized

Five years have passed since the morning of November 8, 2018. As I headed out that day, an unusual cloud formation was developing in the eastern sky, over the foothills of the Sierra Nevada range. My colleagues and I would soon learn a wildfire had been sparked and was engulfing the neighboring communities of Concow and Paradise, California. It would become the state’s most destructive and deadly wildfire, killing eighty-five residents, many of whom died in their cars while attempting to flee.

I have always been aware that I am Jewish. In the antisemitic neighborhood where I was raised, my unique religious identity was central to all interactions. I was perpetually othered. Supposedly I was smart because I was Jewish. My (ugly) appearance was Jewish. My (weird) last name was Jewish. I was different. Undesirable.

I meet Paul on a 28-hour ICU shift. He displays his dimpled smile like a badge of honor even though his curly hair sticking to his forehead, his darker-than-usual hospital gown, and his sunken brown eyes tell me that his struggle with complications of esophageal cancer have been vast. Something about Paul’s spirit rewinds the clock.

I have been a primary care doctor for twenty-eight years. In the past week, two patients have questioned my medical judgement and threatened me. I have feared going to the parking garage alone after clinic and have worried that I will be sued. Why, after all these years of a peaceful practice,  have I experienced hate from my patients?

I have generally thrived in school settings, first as a student and then as an educator. However, an experience in seventh grade—junior high—left me so traumatized that I feared I would never again feel comfortable going to school.

Dear Pulse readers,

This month’s More Voices theme is Traumatized. Today, as I write this, entire populations in Israel and Gaza are experiencing trauma. And friends and relatives of Palestinians and Jews in other parts of the globe are being traumatized from afar, as they hear heartbreaking news of injury and death.

Even those without personal connections to Israel or Gaza may be triggered by stories of families being ravaged by bullets and bombs.

As I thought about writing an introduction to this month’s theme, I couldn’t help but reflect that I’ve led a sheltered life.