The What Goes Where?!

Friday night was like a cosmic test. HB suddenly wanted to know exactly how a P can fit in a V (he had realized that although he knew where babies come FROM he did not know how they GOT there ... "how does the sperm …?" and he got tearful when I tried to put him off). I started worrying I was going to give him a complex about it being shameful so I tried to launch into it but my explanations (and demonstrations with a toilet paper tube - what? I was desperate!) were going nowhere, so I went looking for visual aids. CAN YOU IMAGINE TRYING TO FIND THOSE PICTURES ON THE WEB IN ANY REASONABLY APPROPRIATE SETTING? With a kid trying to get squeeze behind you to see the screen - "Why won't you let me see?" "Because ... some of the pictures ... are ... silly"? All I got that I thought I could show him were those weird sliced in half drawings that even I can't make sense of and I was resorting to pictures of ultrasound wands in use (imagine highly puzzled, half embarrassed squinting on the boy's part - with me thinking yeah, that's how I felt at the time). So my husband entered the fray. He thought he'd found something that was clinical-ish and not disturbing but of course HB immediately read the caption on the top that TH hadn't noticed: "My husband with another woman!" - Oh. My. God.

We got through all that with everything seemingly fine, but my nerves were shot. Then as I was trying to get the kid into the bath I noticed the exchange student lying on her bed weeping. So I went in and spent an hour trying to talk her down from a pinnacle of teenaged angst (unrelated to the creepy situation from before). By the time I went to bed I was about five exits past Done.

I think I passed the test Friday, but the days since have been particularly tough in terms of it all being on my mind almost all the time. This PTSD crap is just bizarre. Denial was a pretty nice place to live until I got evicted. Although the landlord was becoming a little hard to deal with over the past few years.

Reading and rereading and rereading the comments, I realize how many incredibly good friends I have, IRL, here, and crossover - people I feel I can confide in and trust. Many many more than, say, fifteen years ago, when I had approximately - let me think - one. And she lived in another city. I can't imagine having to do this then.

Like Trying to See the Back of My Head

If you need to be shamed into running (slowly!), check out the Facebook Maggot Award someone just got. If you saw the pictures she sent me, you'd know - the girl is committed.

Aaaaannnnd another update. I have printed out your comments, highlighted parts (what? highlighting is ... necessary!), and been carrying them around to sneak a look at now and then.

I am constantly being surprised at the amount of stuff I don't know about myself. Quite humbling. So much of what you have written has made me feel like, have you been following me around? How do you KNOW this?? E.g., Blue's comment:

I felt paranoid for years that if people knew about my past, that it would mean all the horribleness I had inside me would actually be true. That I really was just an impostor, faking being awesome (and doing a poor job of it mostly) ... I thought that if my past were true, (ie: if I acknowledged it), I would be worthless and no one would want to be friends with me. I didn't want to be labeled as a "victim". I didn't want to hang out with victims and be in that "group". I didn't want it to become my identity.



Yes, yes, and yes.

When JB said "I guess it just shows how our perceptions of things so close to us are sometimes skewed," all I could think was, yep, skewed, right here! (And yes, Alexicographer, I too figured there would be at least one troll saying something mean, but I actually wasn't concerned about them; it's that I really believed that good people might tell me I'm full of it.) I have gotten some lovely support and very helpful tips privately too (thank you, B).

And Ewan's comment made me laugh out loud, which is always a good thing. When my sense of humor deserts me, all will truly be lost.

It shocks me how the mind can commandeer the body. I mean, I knew that sort of, but paying attention to the moments of panic/dissociation and then tracing back what just happened is, among worse things, fascinating. There is a guy at work I couldn't bear to talk to and would do anything to avoid, and I realized during a meeting that, well, he is very like the abusive guy - one of them, anyway (ugh - I'm sorry to be vague, but I'm learning that you all understand). So I went over this with my therapist and get some strategies for what to do in the next meeting. (This person was suddenly given a lot of power at work and is trying to gut some - actually, ALL - of the projects I've been working so hard on. Making more sense that this has all started coming to the surface over the past few months, eh?) (If you want a description of this person, go here.)

There continues to be some fallout for the exchange student, though her story is hers to tell; she is overall doing really well. She is, fortunately, a talker, so at least there aren't two of us walking around the house saying "Fine!" to anything my husband asks. (I have my husband read my posts - and your comments - to bring him up to date. It's not that I don't WANT to tell him.)

I have been trying to figure out how to help myself get some of this out in therapy. Just changing where I sit helped: I have one much weaker eye and if someone is to my right I feel vulnerable. Something that has been recommended to me by several people - therapist included - is some sort of "comfort object" (sounds a little sketchy, no?) to have at sessions and during stressful meetings, etc., but I have been racking my brain and can't come up with anything. If I could bring my cat I'd be set, but aside from that I'm stumped. What would you use? Maybe if I heard some possibilities I'd figure something out, because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that I can be blind to the obvious, and you're not.

Grateful Update

Another non-running post - if you're looking for inspiration, head over to the Facebook page for a humbling/inspiring video.

Thanks for your comments to my last post. When I wake up in the middle of the night I furtively read them on my phone, and they help. Not sure what I was expecting - The End of The World As I Know It, I suppose - but I am buoyed by your kindness. Something like a thousand people looked at it and either clicked on by as instructed, read it and left no hurtful comments, or read it and left nice ones. I came very close to pulling it back down after I posted, but after the first couple of comments it felt right. Secrecy is part of the problem, and writing is often how I can best express myself.

I told my therapist I had blogged it and he looked a bit befuddled - like, you barely speak in here, and you blogged it to the world?! (Or that was my interpretation; in good therapist fashion he nodded and asked how it made me feel. I grunted something unintelligible.)

Some things are coming into clearer focus. I'm sort of believing that I do have a good life and a good marriage; this is not a lie. The lie is that the bad part that is there is my fault. It's like finally getting the code to an encrypted message that I'd given up trying to puzzle out. So many things start to fall into place. This is a relief, but also very painful, because the message is so ugly.

One thing the therapist said made me laugh out loud. I said I could absolutely see why so many people with PTSD become addicts, and that I sometimes wish substances worked for me, because I've tried and they don't much. He said, "Oh. Well. The people who get addicted are usually the ones who can't dissociate on their own, so they need something to help them do it. Since you're so skilled at it, drugs or alcohol wouldn't add much."

Hm. Maybe you had to be there. Then I asked how he knew that I dissociated so well, and he looked at me like, are you joking? Seeing I wasn't, he said, "You're doing it all the time here ... you know, the self-hypnosis and so on?" And I felt so busted. "Is there anything that would help you feel safer here?" he asked. All I could come up with was better tissues. Or just being able to talk WHILE dissociating - maybe to a warm beach somewhere?

Random people keep saying, "You look sad," and that's hard. I hate to go through the day like an Eeyore. (I can turn it on, though; a reporter came to see the big student project I direct and in the article called me "spirited," said I "get along with everyone," and that I am a "wise mentor." Spirited! Ha!)

I am trying really hard, and (as always) you guys help. Thank you.

Will the Exchange Student Fix My Life? (Not a Running Post)

If you're looking for running advice, poke around in the archives. Today I am giving a personal update.


...


...


Running-only people gone?

Reporting on the sex thing I referred to a while ago.

I will come clean: I have never told anyone the extent of my problems with the above. I've hinted, said some things to some very close friends & my husband, but never the whole story. Let's just say it's about as bad as it could be - as in, panic attacks at the very thought of ANY physical contact - FOR YEARS. I have been so ashamed of this I can't tell you. Why? I don't know. I guess it's because I felt like a fraud: how can I be a strong, has-it-all-together, feminist woman with a healthy marriage when this rotten piece is in my core? Because if it's not my husband (and trust me, it isn't), it's ME, right?

The other thing I have never told anyone is the extent of the abuse and trauma I went through as a kid. Again, I've told people bits and pieces, but I haven't wanted to even think about the worst of it, much less talk about it.

And connecting those two things? Didn't even occur to me until relatively recently. Why such emotional stupidity? Because I so desperately wanted to have overcome the latter that the thought that I maybe hadn't made it impossible to connect the dots. It didn't seem to bother me for so very long that I really believed it never would again.

I started to kick around the idea of therapy some months ago but made only token steps toward it.

This is where the exchange student comes in. She's a high schooler in my son's school whose original host placement wasn't working out. The stated reason for needing to switch families - an hour's commute to school each way - sounded plausible, but when I met her I could tell that something else was very wrong. What else could we do? We took her into our (rather small, one full bath) house, and it's been pretty great. She is funny, astute, enthusiastic, and cheerful.

But. Within a week the real story came out: she had been experiencing some similar things to what I had gone through. Nice, right? Welcome to America, teenager all alone who doesn't speak much English! Let's prey on you! So there was a pretty intense time during which I got to plunge into the subject much more than I had ever done. She felt very guilty about telling anyone about it - didn't want to get anyone in trouble, etc. So I told her that something similar had happened to me and I hadn't told, and I now very much wish I had. She asked me if and how it still affected me, and it was like a knife to the gut. I didn't give her details - didn't think that would be appropriate - but I did tell her that it affects me personally, and that although I am totally against the death penalty and pro-gun control and very good at controlling anger, if I were in a room with a gun and this person today I'm pretty sure I would shoot him. "Do you think there's any way you could help all that now?" she asked, and I said, shamefacedly, "Probably."

Within a couple weeks my husband and I were sitting with a therapist who specializes in such things (in the setting of marriage counseling), and after a few questions he was like, first, I have never in my whole career heard a husband say such supportive things (told you!), and second, PTSD much?

I came out of that first session feeling like I'd accidentally grabbed a Brillo pad instead of a loofah, and I was in a fog of pain and anxiety for days. I wasn't sure I'd be able to go back, but I also felt like there was no putting this back in the box.

The next time and the next were not quite as bad, but it is hard to go through my days with it so much on my mind. Not just the events (though that too, believe me), but the guilt, guilt, guilt that seeps into everything. (If you have had something like this happen, that guilt makes sense; if not, it's really hard to explain.) Running helps, just as it does everything, and I'm working on self-compassion, but geez, this gets old fast.

I filled my psychiatrist in (I mostly see him for med management), and after pointing out that I had told him my sex life was okay ("I know! I lied!") he actually chuckled a bit (in a good way) and said, "This exchange student may be the best thing that ever happened to you."

Fingers crossed.

Goldilocks

Too much pressure here and too little on Twitter; let's see if Facebook is just right.

Music III

To quiet the persistent nagging of one who shall remain nameless, my current running mix - slightly skimpier than usual at the moment because I had to rebuild my iTunes library:

• Best for getting into rhythm: Ho Hey
• Best to fire me up: Kill Your Heroes
• Most likely to make me laugh (tie): Tusk and Sexy and I Know It
• Most likely to make me sing along: Lonesome
• Most likely to spur me into playing air drums while running: Little Black Submarines
• On there longest - seven years! - and therefore an appropriate title: Can't Let Go
• Newest: Home
• Most likely to skip (three-way tie): End Love, Pumped Up Kicks, Waltz #2

I can't explain what makes something good for me to run to. My only firm criteria, I guess, is that it has to be rock or pop. Drums help. Jack White helps. A lot of things are on there for sentimental reasons - concerts I went to, videos I love, the person who introduced to the song to me, etc.; even if it's not a good running song per se, it puts me in mind of a good moment. Some songs rotate off quickly - the record was MGMT's Kids (played once, ear worm, waste of $1.29). Ideally I'd add a song every couple of weeks, but they're so hard to find.

Recommendations?

Some Help from the Maggot Gallery, Please!

I get a fair number of emails asking for running advice, and I answer woefully few of them. (I don’t even answer lots of my work emails these days; I get about 70 daily and if a particular email is not among the 20 that require immediate attention—unless it arrives fortuitously in an interstice of activity—it may not get answered for weeks, if ever.)

So I’m calling out to the experienced Maggots to help me with the following questions. Some of the issues call in part for medical expertise, but many do not, and I know that my readers are steeped in Maggot and other wisdom and could answer some of these better than I could even if I had the time.

Please help me address the following:

Question 1, from Liza:

Do you have any tips on running to lose weight? I gained a lot of weight about a year and a half ago after going on SSRIs—I’m 5'4'' and in less than 6 months went from 125 lbs to 160. The weight gain was probably due to a combination of the meds and no longer being depressed (during the worst of my depression I had truly no appetite). My shrink and primary doc have told me not to worry too much about now technically being overweight, and I trust them. Clearly, suicidal ideation is much more dangerous for my health than the extra pounds. I am in pretty good shape—I bike to work everyday (about 15 miles total) and swam regularly over the summer. However, I would like to lose at least some of the weight, both for vanity reasons and out of concern for my health. I started running a month ago with the hopes of losing weight, and while I feel great with the extra exercise, my weight hasn’t budged. In fact, I actually GAINED a couple pounds. So any tips on how a beginning runner ramp it up and start losing some weight? I’m not totally opposed to dieting, but I already eat very healthfully, so I feel like there’s only so far I can go on that end.

Quick answer: read this post, but I know there’s a lot more you all could offer.

Question 2, from Kristi:

So. Have always had the motto “If I’m running, follow me 'cause some bad shit’s happening behind me.” I have exercise-induced asthma, environmental allergies, and bad knees.

BUT. I’m sick of feeling like crap and want to eventually be able to run without my lungs spasming. I also want to be able to run with my high-energy dog in hopes of finally wearing her out for once.

How can these two things happen together? How can I train myself to run with these three problems (I’ve read all of your advice on running as far as I’m aware, and have never seen a “I have a clusterfuck of RUNNING HATES ME problems, halp” post, but maybe I missed one) without some serious issues, and how can I train my dog to run with me?

Quick answer: You’re going too fast. Almost anyone can run despite many strikes against you if you do it slowly and carefully. And, this sounds a lot like exercise-induced asthma. Other advice from the Maggot gallery?

Question 3, from Covered in Issues and Wanting to Run:

So, I’ll start by saying that I have been walking with only a tiny bit of running, because hey you have to start somewhere right? Every other day for the last 2 weeks…and I LOVE it! I love the running part of it. It’s addicting. I’ve always wanted to be a runner, but let’s face it… I’m SO CLUMSY and SO OVERWEIGHT that I thought it was pretty much not even feasible.

Here’s the rundown on the issues I’m facing and would like to overcome because I HAVE to get my health in check before I become diabetic like my parents or have a heart attack like every other fat person. I’m 26, 5'11'', 290 lbs (I was 311 post-baby, so I’ve been working). I have severely touchy asthma. I lose breath (not just get out of breath, but my lungs tighten up) when I am physically active, have a cold, during allergy season, you get the picture. I’ve been running, but only for 1-2 minutes at a time because I get SO out of breath I can hardly see straight; I’m also getting the WICKED side cramps.

Now, I’m starting to get shin splints. Last time I got shin splints was in middle school PE and within a week they became stress-fractures (in both tibias) and I had to be in a wheelchair for 2 weeks. Suffice it to say I can’t afford to have a 1 year old and be in a wheel chair, and I decided to run to make me HEALTHIER, so WHAT the hell am I supposed to do!?!! I don’t have health insurance (yet: it’ll start in December), so going to the doctor is limited. I’m considering going just for a new inhaler.

I would appreciate any and all help you can give me. Thanks in advance for even reading this!

Quick answer: Yet again I say, SLOW DOWN. Side cramps = going too fast. Re: asthma—you will have a hard time without an inhaler. Other advice?

Question 4, from Didi:

What do you think about Jeff Galloway’s Run Walk Run? 

I tried getting myself into running slowly by your method some time ago and kept getting short of breath—realized it was exercise-induced bronchospasm and did better with some albuterol, but then my enthusiasm kind of faded. A friend convinced me recently to sign up for a half marathon (it was 8 months away at the time), and I have actually been running 2-3x/week using Run Walk Run (this is a lot for me since I’m a 2nd year resident with a 6yo and always exhausted). I’m in a rut in the sense that I’ve been having a lot of trouble increasing the run portion and the total run/walk time (haven’t gotten beyond running for 2.5 min max before walking and beyond 40 min total run/walk). 

I’d appreciate any advice!

Quick answer: Slow … oh for heaven’s sake you know the rest. If you can’t increase the amount of time you’re running and keep having to walk, you’re running too fast. Maggots? What say you?

Question 5, from Amy:

Do you have any tips for running with rheumatoid arthritis? (Don’t worry, of course this is not a substitute for real medical advice from my doc!) I’m a young person (and med student) who used to be a dedicated runner—NEVER fast, but used to run 6-8 miles most days and LOVED it (college). Diagnosed with RA last year, quit even trying to run b/c of the pain. Whenever I’ve asked about exercise, I’m told “well, if it doesn’t hurt it’s ok, if it hurts don’t do it.” Thanks guys. But I really miss running, and it’s the most convenient way to exercise with my schedule. Problem is that every time I get excited about trying it again is when I’m in a flare … Thanks, love your blog!

Quick answer: running most days instead of every other day is a recipe for injury, so if you’re doing that again, STOP. What else?

Help them out, Maggots.

Advanced Maggotry II

Are you really ready for Advanced Maggotry? Take the following quiz:

1. Have you been running (nearly) every other day for at least six months?
2. Can you run for more than 30 minutes without stopping?
3. Do you always resist the temptation to run two days in a row?

If any of your answers are No, go back to Beginners.
If all of them are yes, you might be ready for the next step.

How To Get Faster

• When you're running nice and slow and then you suddenly feel all tired and weak and like you have to walk, instead break into a sprint. Just for a little way, then you can walk if you want. You can finish your run sprinting/walking or sprinting/slow running.
• Do a faster run in a different direction that is much shorter than your usual run. (This works particularly well if you're pressed for time and contemplating not running at all.)
• In general, try to avoid just doing your usual run faster. Your brain will tell you that it's impossible. You need to distract yourself.

How To Go Farther

• Plot out an out-and-back run -- a straight line -- that is new and that is farther than you usually go. Make extra sure to go slowly on the way out. You'll feel fine at the turnaround, and you'll have no way to cut your run short at that point.
• If you're having trouble adding distance to your usual route, it's easier to change the beginning of the route than the end.
• In general, it's better to do one longer run per week rather than adding a little time on to every run. For instance, if you usually run 40 minutes, do one 60 minute run and three 40 minute runs rather than four 45 minute ones.

and lastly:

How To Sneak In An Extra Run

A lot of people have a problem with the every-other-day plan, because weeks, inconveniently, have an odd number of days. If there's one day you really can't run, you're forced into a pattern where you have only three running days every week. If you're ready for Advanced Maggotry, once a week you are allowed to have two runs that are 36 hours apart instead of 48. So you could, for example, run Tuesday evening, Thursday evening, Saturday morning, and Sunday evening. It means you add in one morning run if you're an evening runner or one evening run if you're a morning runner. Do not abuse this privilege. You may have four runs per week MAXIMUM.

Other suggestions?

Oh and p.s. I do have a twitter thing now. We'll see.

Running Ruts

In a rut? Tired of running? Too bad! You have to do it anyway.

But there's ways to get you over the hump. Here are 10 ways I've overcome running ruts:

1. Hack a new trail: change up your running route. If you're running in the city, find a bit of country. If you're running in the country, find a town. If you're running by water, look for some hills. This is starting to sound like that creepy Runaway Bunny story, so I'll stop, but you get the idea.
2. If you're running on a treadmill or track, run someplace real instead, for chrissake.
3. If you still can't run three miles without having to stop and walk, run more slowly. Even if you're being overtaken by elderly nuns, the kick from having run the whole way will make you want to keep it up.
4. Run away from home. Some of the most memorable runs I've had have been in new places. Search "running routes in ____" online and you'll find all sorts of suggestions, often including safety tips. (My all-time favorite run was on Santorini in 1999, and I doubt it will ever be surpassed - I mean, come on, it's Santorini - but I've had great runs in lots of odd places, including the industrial wasteland near O'Hare airport, where I came face-to-face with a deer.)
5. Buy new shoes.
6. Buy new laces if you don't need/can't afford new shoes.
7. Find a running partner.
8. Ditch your running partner. (Tell them it's not them, it's DoctorMama.)
9. Sign up for a race. (Note that I have done this exactly once, and it was a marathon, which has its perils. I'd do a race again, but only if it started after 10 am, which they NEVER DO. Why?! They are discriminating against us stiff late runners.)
10. If your significant other is putting up a fuss, tell them that running will make you less crazy, and this is good for everyone. If they continue to whine about it, give them a demonstration of crazy.

What's worked for you? And/or where was your all-time favorite run?

Patio

I love my patio so hard. Here’s the view from where I sit:

(Not pictured: the smell of the honeysuckle, the taste of the cappuccino, and the ant creeping up my leg.)

New things …

Our 17 year old cat, Moth, died. As pet deaths go, it went as well as it possibly could. He stopped eating or drinking but seemed comfortable; still purred when petted. I was sitting by him when he breathed his last. I cuddled his soft body and cried while HB brought me tissues, then TH held him, then HB. We buried him out here in the patio, his favorite place. HB said, “Oh! Wait!” and ran and got a rubber band (Moth’s favorite thing to play with) and had TH tuck it in with him. That was when TH cried. Then we all sat on the couch and petted our other cat (the one pictured above) and cried a little more and talked about the good times with Moth. HB got out a box of Thin Mints he’d been saving and we all had some. It was practically a Cosby episode, the kind that makes you roll your eyes because of how unrealistic it is.

He even peed his last time IN his litter box.

Our leftover cat was utterly bereft. I’ve never seen a cat grieve so. He spent his days and nights glued to me. We were soon to take a trip and I realized I couldn’t leave him alone, so I went on a hunt for a Moth-like replacement. When I got Moth, he was 7 years old, abandoned at a shelter because his family “moved.” He was doing a terrible job of selling himself compared to the cute kittens – hugely fat, wild dilated eyes, fur flying off him as he shedded from stress – but something about him spoke to me. I stuffed him into the too-small cat carrier and staggered home. With diet and exercise he lost 7 pounds and was a svelte beast the rest of his days (slimming down a cat is not hard to do, by the way). We had our ups and downs – turned out he detested infants – but one thing he taught me was how to savor the smallest things. He was an outrageously happy cat.

So I came across a cat being taken from his owner because she’d overfed him to past 30 pounds (she herself had an eating disorder in the opposite direction). Incredibly sweet, but almost at the point of not being able to walk. I hauled him home in a dog crate. We’ve had him 3 months and he’s lost 7 pounds already and can now turn over, walk, run, jump, and, thank sweet heaven, clean himself. Below is a comparison picture I did for his 2 month anniversary. We named him Foosa, after the fierce cat-like creatures of Madagascar. Our other cat was back to his old self almost immediately.

What else … my job is vastly different since January. I ditched many of my clinical duties (including weekend rounding!) for a much larger role in two huge medical education projects, and it’s a wild ride. Stressful, of course – I don’t do mellow – but in a good way.

Running is great; no Nana drama to speak of; HB is often wonderful and sometimes horrid rather than the other way around and is finally willing to have play dates; and cycling season is in full swing, but I’m pretty used to it.

There are some tough things. A big one is that I’ve got some [drops voice to an old-lady whisper] sex problems that go way, way back but I’m only just acknowledging. I wish I could be all out there, loud and proud, but I am a sex talk wimp. I have never discussed them in detail with anyone, EVER, and just mentioning it here makes my pulse and blood pressure rocket. Maybe I’ll be able to put it down here at some point; that would likely be very helpful, but I can’t promise it. (As if it would be some kind of treat anyway! Probably not something most people want to read.)

One other big event: TH shaved. He’s had a very long goatee for some ten years – not quite ZZ Top or Gandalf, but dramatic, and that plus his shaved head made him look a little scary and a little old. Now he looks sweet-faced and about 15 years younger, which disorients me and garners me some well, well, look who robbed the cradle! looks. Almost everyone tells him he should never grow it back, but I liked it. And not just because it kept me from seeming all Demi.

I so love hearing from you about your running successes. Don’t forget to go slow and go every OTHER day. I am right as usual.

Just Get Off Your Ass

I’d have been a bit, um, stricter in tone and instructions, but this is very timely, given what I said in the comments yesterday.

How Sitting All Day Is Damaging Your Body

Any Questions?

Full article here.

Has Anger Solved Your Other Problems?

Get me started on posting again, and I can’t seem to stop, sorry! Actually, I have been saving up this post since last spring, and it’s another email post, so it sort of autofilled. It’s about something that absolutely delighted me and made me even more aware of the value of not hanging on to anger.

First, check out this post by Anne Nahm (and her link to her earlier post) for a beautiful illustration of this tenet. She claims that she would have responded to something with anger if she’d had her wits about her, but I am skeptical, and anyway it ended up not mattering.

I’ve written before about how bad my college experience was. Much of the blame for this is on me — I did no research, applied to only one, and never even visited the place before my brother dropped me off with a trunk of clothes and a bag of feta cheese (a story for another time). However, it was genuinely a bad place. It has an exalted reputation, and therefore does not have to treat its students well. The students there were also … troubled. Already damaged — by their ambition, by the pressure they or their parents put on them to excel, by the fact that they had spent so little time developing their own personalities, by privilege … who knows. I made some friends, but none of them are even on my Facebook page now.

And I had an unhappy, often angry roommate there who ending up sticking me with a big phone bill (this was the pre-cell era; long distance calls were pricey). After asking a few times, I figured it was better to write it off rather than create more bad feeling in the universe over some money. (That is not to say that I was saintly about it; oh no, I complained.) I managed to come up with the money, but I had a collection service on my back for a while.

I wrote it off, but I never forgot it. I always wondered why she had done it. I didn’t think she was evil, and I thought she had plenty of money.

Then last spring, this popped into my inbox:

From: College Roommate

Subject: oh my

Date: May 27, 2011 2:32 AM

Dear DM,

It’s [Roommate], from so so long ago. I stiffed you for a phone bill. I owe you money... with interest. It’s been bothering me for about ... twenty years. Would love to pay you back! For real!

I hope this finds you well!

_______________

From: DoctorMama

Subject: oh my

Date: May 27, 2011 10:17 AM

oh my indeed!

I don’t think I’ve been this surprised by an email, like, ever.

It makes me happy. Not for the money — which of course I don’t need/want now and would never accept. Happy because it did always bother me — again, not the money, but because I always wondered about what bad place you were in in your head then, and why, and that I never knew if you ended up thriving or sinking. I know I was in a bad place ... I hated it there and did not thrive until I left.

(I have something that has bothered me for 30 years: I once arranged to stay with a penpal in France, but when I got to Europe ditched her to travel with my new boyfriend instead. I was only 15 and I suppose I should cut myself some slack, but somewhere out there is a middle-aged French woman who is probably still pissed off, and I’d love to apologize. I have no way to do so — I don’t even remember her name. Maybe there’s a Craigslist Missed Connections in France?)

Anyway. Find a random college student who is hard up for cash and give it to her, and the world will be back on its axis. And then tell me about it if it’s a good story.

Although I will never attend any college function, I do look through the reports, and it looks like you HAVE thrived? I would like to hear details if you feel like it.

College was a surreal time in my life — as if I saw a movie about it rather than lived it. None of it felt authentic. I am grateful for my life these days. My job, running, my strange husband and even stranger son — everything kind of fell into place eventually.

I’ve kept a blog for the past six years: doctormama.blogspot.com. If you want proof that I have not been bitterly adding up the interest on your debt for the past 20 years (honestly I do not even remember the amount), you can look there. Or if you want to take up running (if you don’t already), which is a crusade of mine.

_________________

From: College Roommate

Subject: oh my

Date: May 29, 2011 8:17 AM

Thank you. You are very gracious. I love your blog! I want to run!! But I don’t really know how to “start.”

Re: The phone bill. I will do it! I have just the college student in mind. Like me, she is the child of an alcoholic. Like me, going to [an overrated college] ... and like me, probably pretty broke and embarrassed about it. And struggling with the ramifications of growing up surrounded by addiction. I know her through an Alateen group I sponsor. Good. Thank you, thank you.

I think ... that I was just really broke, ashamed, lost, and wanted someone to take care of me. I was angry. I wanted someone to “pay.” And you got stuck with that. And it has haunted me for decades. It was incredibly selfish and egotistic and I so appreciate your response, on so many levels. 

College was a horrible place. It was horribly destructive for me as well. And yet ... it was a necessary stop on the journey. Able to see it more clearly now in many regards.

I will read your blog, and will have many questions about running!

So, if you are looking around for a New Year’s resolution (and are already running, of course), try finding some anger and/or guilt, root it up, and let it go.

Catching Up With Nana

TH has been successfully avoiding tilting at Nana windmills. We did not go there for Thanksgiving – we simply said that we were working and that we hoped that they would be able to come here again sometime soon. That engendered only a small drama.

And here is this year’s Hanukkah email exchange:

From: Nana

Date: December 13, 2011 9:45:54 AM

To: TrophyHusband

Presents have been sent and will be arriving different days......so, could you please put them away until Chanukah?!

When would be good for us to visit? When does HB's vacation start? Maybe we could come mid week to help you out?

oxoxox,

Mama

TH and I agreed that HB has enough resilience and judgment at this point that we shouldn’t have to hover if they’re only here a couple of days. I said that the one thing I cared about was that we give her very firm dates – she often changes plans at the last minute and ends up visiting on days that we were not prepared to have her.

So TH replied:

From: TH

Date: December 13, 2011 12:16:07 PM

In fact the window we have that you could come is midweek: coming on/after Monday 12/19 - leaving sometime Wed 12/21. Note that that includes the first night of Chanukah the evening of Tues 12/20, so that will be a special event. If coming within that window doesn't work either in advance or if something comes up at the last minute in your schedule, we can look at weekends after the holiday.

We will be at work those days for at least parts of the day (he'd be in vacation care otherwise) so you can do some things on your own with him. Staying in our spare bedroom is an option, though you may be more comfortable in the hotel...either option is OK.

Three days of silence. Then:

On Dec 16, 2011, at 9:01 AM, Nana wrote:

We're going to [HB’s cousin]’s birthday party this weekend, so not sure if we can do the drive the next day we get home.... I'll let you know, if that's OK!

xoxoxox,

Mom

TH replied:

Date: December 16, 2011 10:38:37 AM

To: Nana

Sure see how it goes...vacation care is there for us whether he uses it or not...OK either way.

Three more days of silence. Then, on the evening of the day we’d invited them to come:

On Dec 19, 2011, at 7:00 PM, Nana wrote:

Hi TH:

Sorry that we're not able to come. Our car has been in the repair shop for a week already and we actually are driving to [another state] tomorrow (otherwise wait until Thursday for our car) to pick up parts to install a new alternator finally! We've gotten the run around from a local repair shop, who is supposed to specialize in foreign cars....we should have just had it towed to the Porsche dealer when it broke down last Monday night!!!

We had a rental car this past weekend to drive to [cousin]’s and would like to get our car back :(

We'll make it another time that's good for you..

Have a very happy holiday with DM’s parents - give them our best! And DM too.....

And please kiss HB for us!

oxoxox,

Mom

Seems like being straightforward and firm is working pretty well at the moment. We knew better than to tell HB that they might come, so the delay in responding did not affect him – nor is he aware that their stated reason for not coming is that they wanted to pick up parts for their Porsche so they could get it back two days early.

(And I sent a picture of HB to her of him wearing pajamas she gave him. I swear I am trying.)

We've Got Some Catching Up to Do

This is the first day in months and months and months that I have nothing on my desk that was due yesterday. (Plenty that needs doing, just nothing horribly overdue.)

So, work catch-up time? Screw that. Blog catch-up time!

I was not wrong to think that this was going to be one of my toughest stretches since being an intern in the ICU before duty hours restrictions. (War story alert! I once worked 108 hours in one week. Okay, 107, if you don’t count the hour that I was asleep in the call room.) It reminded me of the hurricane scene in The Cay, you know, that Young Adult book about how Racism Is Bad, where this prejudiced boy is stranded on a desert island with a black man and a huge hurricane comes and the man ties the two of them to a palm tree with the boy sandwiched in the middle, and the storm rages for what seems like forever, and there is howling wind and deadly flotsam and the wet and the cold etc., and when it is over the man is dead and the boy survives … I sort of feel like that, except without the sacrificial stereotype protecting me. Also no one has died.

No, actually, someone did die. My cousin died in October, for lack of national health care. For real. He was a pianist. Restaurants, kids’ lessons, church organist. Had he seen a doctor in the past year, he’d still be alive. But although he made a living, he couldn’t afford health insurance. The government will now pick up his huge ICU and surgery bill — now that it's too late. I was not close to him but I am to his mother and sister, so that added some intensity to these past few months — as well as perspective.

Work. Falling into place. I have excised some of my clinical duties already, and starting in January, I will have no direct patient hours and no weekends. This should give my brain the critical peace and space needed to come up with bright ideas for my new roles — which terrifies me, I’ll admit. (I will still be doing some clinical stuff — mainly precepting — so I don’t have to cut my old patients entirely loose and so I don’t lose my edge.) I am trying to shake the feeling I get when I spend fewer than ten hours a day at work. It’s not guilt exactly; more like feeling not virtuous.

House. I hired someone to cook and keep house for us two afternoons a week, and I have no feelings of lost virtue over that. She is from Nepal, and she is amazing. We’re never quite sure what it is we’re eating, but it’s always awesome. We have a cupboard stocked with stuff from the Indian market — we can’t even read many of the labels.

Marriage. I had a big Hash It Out with my husband, which is another post altogether, but it was related to him being grumpy all the time. This was mainly job-related, and I finally said if you don’t turn that frown upside down and work on fixing this instead of moping and whining, I will … actually I wasn’t sure what I would do. Be really mad or something. I also said while you’re at it start doing more around the house. Things had slid into imbalance, partly because I was trying to cheer him up by relieving his stress and partly because one of his old duties was to get HB off of my back (literally off of my back in many cases), and that duty has mercifully become obsolete, but TH hadn’t quite noticed that. And he said okay, and now he’s a lot more fun to be around. (He is still on his bike many hours a week, but I’m used to that by now.)

Child. HB is rarely hellish anymore. Intense, always, but I no longer feel like I have to be on point every second to avoid nuclear meltdown, and that’s one beautiful feeling right there. He says he hates school but he is clearly happier than he’s ever been. He is growing his hair out (until he’s twelve, he says) and does not mind being called a girl. He also is developing crushes … on girls. He gives them fashion tips — e.g., where to buy the tight velvet pants (girls’ size 5) he wears every day. He is taking guitar lessons, so in the future he can be the boy who pisses off the other guys because he will make all the girls moon over him even if he’s totally jerky to them.

Running. Running is actually going better than it has in the past couple of years. Honestly, I had been wondering whether my stamina was fading. Then I went to visit my folks and got to run in beautiful woodlands and realized that I had just fallen into a rut of a route. So when I got home I mapped out a gorgeous loop from my front door that I never realized was a possibility. It features hills, fields, woods, streams, and even a tiny waterfall. I half expect to see a fox and hounds bounding towards me some days. (I was startled one day by some very urban-looking youths riding bareback on horses. Also a guy with a full drum kit by the side of the road, practicing without another soul in sight.) Depending on how I cut it, it can be anywhere from five to eight miles. (Here’s an interview with Matthew Inman about running that my husband found. Did you know that the author of the Oatmeal is an endurance runner? I did not.)

How’s it going with you all? Hello? Hello? Still there?