musingsonwomenshealth.com

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

Intimacy should not faint like a pale faced coward


I’m not quite sure what to think of intimacy; I’m retired and have lived alone for years now. Intimacy is not something I’ve avoided as I’ve aged; it’s just not something that has continued to grow on me like moss on a rock, I suppose. I’m not sure I’d know what I’d do with it anymore except treasure those years when I wore it like a favourite tie, or remember it like I do the caress of a falling leaf in an autumn forest.

I’m not even certain I understand intimacy; is it as simple as a close friend’s touch, or the warmth of an unexpected smile, to be welcomed nonetheless? Is it like comparing a memory with someone who shared it with me? Or a hug from someone I haven’t seen for ages? A laugh with a girlfriend who remembered how we used to be? Or is it the embarrassment felt when mistaking the identity of a stranger proves that we all share something in common -if only with the briefest hint that none of us are really strangers…?

I walk alone through the woods almost every day, only occasionally sharing the trail with a friend. It’s not that I don’t value their company, but more that our responsibilities to the world outside the forest often intervene. On those lucky days when we can practice shinrin yoku (forest bathing) together, the woods seem to welcome us as if we’d never left. The same trees wave at us like family, and their roots pop up unexpectedly from under the fallen leaves to trip us like well-practiced family jokes. Both of us smile together after cursing at the pranks we have come to expect, and vow to remember the location so it will never happen again. It does though: we are the forest’s family after all; it has to convince us we are no different from them, and chuckles expectantly in the burbling creek as we approach…

When I am forced to walk alone, I greet each stranger on the path like they, too, are friends that I recognize from other hikes. They smile, of course but warily, as if I am mistaking them for others who had introduced themselves on another day; it’s usually their dogs who remember though, so often it’s the dog on whom I concentrate my attention. Nobody is offended at that I don’t think: just surprised. But we’re all part of the web, and I suppose I just want to let them know I felt their gossamer threads…

The other day, as I was walking alone I saw someone in the distance wandering slowly toward me along the trail as if she were fascinated by the bushes and boulders that marked the shores of the tiny lake our trail skirted. At first, the only things that distinguished her from other hikers I had seen so far, were her clothes; as I began to close the distance between us could I see that she was wearing a long, multicoloured ankle-length dress that made her look more slender than the trunks of the trees beside her. And, even more alluringly, were the patches of pink highlights in her shoulder-length hair.

Although I am certainly not a quiet walker, and without my usual friend to remind me, often stumble noisily on some of the more well-disguised roots along the way. But the noise of my approach did not seem to bother her, and she continued to caress the little buds of some of the boysenberry plants I knew were growing alongside her; no berries yet, of course, but some had their little whitish pink flowers just developing.

Although I suppose this sounds strange, over the years I had made friends with the particular bush I could see that she was fondling. But, when I had almost caught up with her, I was too embarrassed to admit to a friendship with a plant -at least until I had gotten to know her. The only thing I could think of saying that might not startle her, was that I loved the pink highlights in her hair.

I’m an octogenarian and quite obviously posed no immediate threat as I approached. She raised her head and looked at me for a moment or two, evidently deciding how to respond to a stranger. Then, after realizing that I meant well, she smiled, shrugged, and then thanked me.

It became apparent after hearing her thank me in an obviously male voice why she had seemed so hesitant: she was a trans woman. I tried not to seem surprised -although I have had little to do with the trans community- but she seemed embarrassed at first: I suppose she realized that I had expected something else… Someone else…

But, she soon recognized that I was more interested in her love of Nature than her gender identity and I could see her blush. “I was attracted to the Boysenberry plants beginning to bud,” she explained. Then, after studying my face for a second, added “It’s the time of year when all sorts of new life is beginning, I suppose…” and dropped her eyes to stare at the bush.

I smiled and nodded, and then decided to confess my own secret. I pointed at the boysenberry plant. “I’ve walked this trail for years, and this particular bush and I have an long history…” I waited to see if she was interested, and when her whole face broke out in a smile, I continued. “Years ago I tripped on one of the many tree roots that are sometimes hidden by fallen leaves and flattened the main stem of this bush… Well, actually it saved me from a more problematic fall against those rocks,” I added, pointing to the cluster of jagged boulders behind the bush.

“The plant stem had been crushed and it lay across the trail like a pedestrian struck by a car. I felt guilty,” I said, stealing a quick and embarrassed look at her face. “I propped up the crushed stem as best I could and moved one of the rocks to keep it upright.” I shrugged and shook my head at my naïveté. “Anyway, I came back a week later and was relieved when I saw that it was still being supported… Hope springs eternal, eh? “

I sighed and shrugged again. “Now, years later, every time I pass, I say ‘hello’ to it.” I rolled my eyes theatrically. “Weird, eh?”

After a few seconds of staring at the bush, she smiled as if she really understood. “The world is weird… but you know, if you just give it a chance, things work out…” She stopped for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. “In fact it flourishes with a little help, eh?” And then, ever so gently, she sent her eyes to rest on my cheek, before she turned away and started behind me along the trail. “We’re all a little weird, don’t you think?” she said, looking back at me over her shoulder and winking at me…

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gozzter

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