musingsonwomenshealth.com

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

And this our life, exempt from public haunt…


A Reflection Room -what an wonderful idea. We live our lives inside our busy heads. We only interpret what’s out there; our experience of it is inside, not outside.

But is that really enough? Does a mirror actually tell us how others see us -and is that important? A Reflection Room is where you could go to talk about your grief, or compare it with that of others; a place where you could go to consider your life, or illness, in a social context; or an area where you could, if you wished, simply be alone with your thoughts without all the distractions of a noisy world to evaluate. But there doesn’t have to be a strict protocol; it doesn’t even have to be a room, just an enclosure, perhaps, where you can be alone with your thoughts… or a friend.

Now that I am retired, of course, Time is not an issue like it once was; maybe that’s something to reflect on as well: living as I do in an empty house, I have perhaps too many quiet rooms from which to choose. And yet, the idea of discovering another contemplative soul in search of meaning may be the real value of a Reflection Room: we are our stories -but perhaps only when we share them. And let’s face it, reflection seems rather one-sided, if the only view we consider is the one we fashion for ourselves. We are social animals, and stand to gain from the experience of others; the stories of others; the opinion of others. I’m not sure I’ve always appreciated that, of course -but I’ve never been old before…

I don’t know why I decided to have lunch at a restaurant downtown, but I liked the fact that the one I chose had little booths where I could sit and read far from the madding crowd while I ate. It’s amazing how private one can feel, enclosed inside those two little walls while people hurry past without so much as a glance. But, as I waited for the server to show me to a booth, I saw Jonathan sitting in one of them and walked over to say hello.

I was surprised he’d chosen a booth, actually; Jonathan is a large man, and age had not been kind to his waistline. As I approached, I noticed that he seemed to be not so much relaxing in the booth, as wedged in. He looked uncomfortable, but nevertheless he acknowledged me with a smile and invited me to sit with him. The array of plates seemed an embarrassing stereotype of his obesity and he quickly busied himself clearing a space for me.

I smiled at the abundance. “You gonna eat all this, Jon?” I said, trying to make light of the clutter.

His eyes attempted an embarrassed foray onto my cheeks, and he shrugged. “I ordered a couple of things from the menu, G,” he said, and quickly recalled his eyes. “Help yourself, though,” he mumbled, as if saying it softly might lessen the guilt he appeared to feel.

I thanked him for offering, but just ordered a salad and coffee when the server arrived. I was not trying to make a point with my choice, but he seemed defensive all the same.

“I don’t ever intend to order so much when I go to a restaurant, but I can’t help myself when I read the menu.” He poked listlessly at a plate full of fries on one of the plates and then, after pouring some ketchup over them, forked a bunch of them into his mouth. “You have to admit, the fries are tempting though,” he continued, as if my order of a salad had accused him of something.

My coffee arrived right away, so I had a sip and nodded in agreement.

“I mean, I tell myself I should eat less, but somehow I’m seduced by fancy food names, or in a supermarket, by the colours on the shelves, or the items they put on sale as their best-before dates are expiring.” He stared at me for a moment, to see if I understood his dilemma.

I had another sip of my coffee, trying desperately to think of something meaningful to suggest.

“Do you ever read the nutrition guide labels on the packages, G?” he suddenly asked.

I nodded, relieved I could participate, however minimally, in the conversation.

He seemed happy at my nod. “Me too…” He paused as he washed down the fries with a gulp of cola. “… but they only help if you’re not hungry when you read them.” He silently debated whether or not to run the gauntlet of my eyes and finish off the fries. “I’m usually hungry though -I mean that’s why I go to the store, eh?”

My salad arrived, and I watched him scan the lettuce. “Looks good, Jon… Are you tempted?” I said, as I picked up my fork.

He shrugged and tried to disguise a sigh. “I wish I were, G,” he answered. “But my stomach needs more to fill it than that,” he said, pointing at the lettuce.

“Maybe that’s because it’s what you’ve got it used to, Jon.”

“What do you mean?” He suddenly focussed on my face -or maybe my lips, because I was eating as he said it.

It was my turn to shrug. “Well, the more you put in it, the more it has to stretch to accommodate the load, I imagine.” I put down my fork, wiped my lips and then had another sip of coffee. “I’d feel full after eating even half of those fries,” I said, pointing to one of his plates. “And we’re both about the same height, don’t you think?”

“So, what are you saying…?”

I shrugged again, this time embarrassed. “I’m not sure… but maybe I’ve trained my stomach to expect less.”

His eyes never left my face. “Were you ever a big eater?”

I had to think about that for a moment. “Maybe as a kid… But, then after the huge bowl of compulsory breakfast porridge I’d be chased out of the house to play until lunch time. Same after lunch and dinner -in those days, kids were expected to run around outside a lot -even if it was snowing… I grew up in Winnipeg,” I added when he looked puzzled at the mention of snow.

He dropped his eyes to the unfinished plate of fries and I could hear him sigh. “My parents figured I should read after I ate…” His eyes made a quick trip to my face before retreating again. “You know -so I could properly digest the food, or something.” He smiled suddenly. “My parents were both… large; they had to eat a lot to fill their stomachs they used to tell me. I figured it was just something in our genes: big stomachs needed big meals to fill… Sounds kind of silly when I put it like that, I guess.” He shook his head at the thought. “I always thought maybe our family was just genetically different you know, and I had inherited chromosomes that I had to accept. But anyway, the habits you grow up with are pretty ingrained, don’t you think?”

I smiled at his honesty and nodded as I finished my coffee and put my napkin in the empty salad bowl. It hadn’t been a large salad, but I was full. I thought I’d leave him to finish his food without making him feel more guilty. I couldn’t very well try to read while he ate, so I pretend-checked my watch and slid over on the bench to stand in the aisle.

He suddenly pushed the half empty plate of fries away and stretched as wide as he could in the confined space. “I’m glad you came over to eat with me today, G. I’d never really thought much about those early days with my parents,” he said as he squeezed himself with difficulty into the aisle to stand beside me. Then his face relaxed into a gigantic smile. “You’ve really given me hope, you know.” He looked so happy, that I thought for a moment he was going to hug me, but he caught himself at the last moment and proffered his hand to shake.

I guess that’s what some friends do after talking, though…

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gozzter

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