musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

I can no other answer make but thanks, and thanks, and ever thanks.


There was a time -an admittedly naïve time- when I assumed it was not only polite to thank somebody if they did something for me, but rude and ungrateful if I neglected this common courtesy. I still feel that way, of course, but of late I’ve wondered whether constant thanking dulls its effect: if every action demands, and receives, a ‘thank you’, then how would you differentiate it from a very special action -one that has a great and perhaps truly significant and personal meaning for you? Would it require a particular modulation of your voice, and a body-language thing: prolonged eye-contact, and maybe a distinct expression on your face? Or would that depend on where you grew up, who you were addressing, and under what circumstances? Are there societal expectations to which you would have to adhere in order for your gratitude to register? I suppose it’s interesting what happens when your body, but not your mind, retires.

But, without a ‘thank you’ how could make sure your appreciation was understood by the person deserving of it? Well in the Hindi language in India, apparently ‘thank you’ may often be considered inappropriate because its formality may detract from the intimacy of the relationship. Only if the situation to which it referred required really unexpected and unusual efforts would a ‘thank you’ be called for -and even then hopefully accompanied by eye contact and body language suggesting great solemnity and sincere gratitude.[i]

It’s interesting, that thanking can sometimes also be an alternate a way of terminating a conversation -like a handshake. Or it can be transactional, as it seems to have become in many conversations: a way of indicating one’s indebtedness to a person for doing something or other. Of course, there are times when that is certainly appropriate, but nevertheless there often seems to be very little that distinguishes it from the other uses for which we mean the thanks.

The Taiwanese have another expression to express gratitude for a good deed –kám-sim in transliteration, which means ‘feel heart’. This suggests that even witnesses who did not directly benefit from the deed were also touched by the kindness. Goodness is not unidirectional.[ii]

Indeed, apparently some other Chinese people use an expression that means ‘thank sky’ to suggest that their gratitude extends to everything -all things under the sky. In other words, that their appreciation is, hopefully, unlimited.[iii]

But I have to say that despite my ruminations, I still find it is my wont to sprinkle an often careless ‘thank you’ into my most casual encounters. And, after a friend rebuked me for not being thankful for her inquiries about my health, I now find myself saying ‘Thank you for asking’ in response even to random queries pertaining to my wellbeing. She had felt her altruism had not been adequately acknowledged; she’d been doing me a favour before she involved me in her own fitness issues, she later explained.   

Disapproving looks had also accompanied my egress from a bus recently. Perhaps I embarrass easily, but I have to confess that I neglected to thank the driver for letting me off at a bus stop as per protocol after pulling the cord. The driver, of course had been sitting ensconced in her little bubble of plexiglass at the front of the bus, and although every other departing passenger along the way had thanked her, it seemed to me from what I had noticed of her indifference, that she had either not heard them, or more likely had not given a tittle.

So, in a more limited spirit of agapē, I wondered if I should restrict my usage to those whom I judged truly deserved my gratitude lest I be fooled into thinking they all did.But a lifetime of reacting to the slightest of Life’s vicissitudes with a smile and a ‘thank you’ does not allow an easy exit. I was conditioned as a child to expect the probable deprivation of dessert and for sure the need to clean my room before going outside to play in the snow for any inadvertent non-compliance. Things like that stick, eh? Still, I suppose my mother was merely adhering to Society’s niceties: being Canadian requires carrying a day’s supply of ‘thankyous’ in your pocket, and a willingness to append ‘eh’ liberally to various and sundry sentences on a moment’s notice… eh?

There are many things for which I am thankful that I do not reward with words, however. I am thankful for trees, believe it or not, but I do not feel I have to tell them; I greet them with my eyes and smile at the ones that, because of their size or appearance, give me special pleasure. And yes, I have to admit that if I’m certain there is no one else around, I sometimes reach out and touch the bark -many of the massive Douglas firs in the forests near my house are probably centuries old, and compel respect like whatever gods may live in them.

And one year, there were two huge ravens that materialized from the forest and built their nest in a tree near my house. That year, they’d strut around the grass and inspect my property like talkative tourists pointing out the sights. At the time, I used to feed my dog from a bowl out on the porch; the ravens seemed to enjoy the feast as much as the dog, and although I tried to hide the bowl inside his little house, or under a heavy chair, I think they thought finding it was a great game. Eventually I gave up, and left a bowl out for them each morning and fed the dog in the kitchen.

Then, in the fall they decided to move on -deeper into the forest, perhaps. They were large noisy birds, but they were clever, and seemed to understand that I had been putting the bowl out for them not the dog, towards the end.

I actually missed them and their mischief when they left, and then, early one morning, I heard a flap of wings outside the kitchen window on the porch and the unmistakeable squawk of a raven. I saw it standing by the seat under which I’d been putting their food. It saw me, and tilted its head in a typical inquisitive raven gesture, and then flew away.

I was thrilled; I thought they’d come back, but I never saw the two of them on the property again. Maybe, like the Travellers, they’d moved on, but that morning, when I’d gone out to see why it had been making such a fuss, I saw something. In the place where I’d been leaving the bowl for them was a little rusting metal button. Perhaps I’d merely disturbed the raven when it saw me looking through the window, but I’d prefer to think it had left a ‘thank you’.

And I realized then that gratitude does not always require words. As Shakespeare has Helena say in his All’s Well That Ends Well: ‘Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute’.

[i] https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2015/06/thank-you-culture-india-america/395069/

[ii] https://theconversation.com/what-americans-can-learn-from-other-cultures-about-the-language-of-gratitude-170432?

[iii] Ibid.

gozzter

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