musingsonwomenshealth.com

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

Life is a play in two acts: dependence and interdependence


There was once a time when I yearned for independence; when I got it, however, independence was too lonely, too risky and I felt vulnerable on the shaky pedestal I had constructed. I longed for those times when I had someone to lean on; someone to consult. Life is like that, though: it is based on the ability to vacillate, and yet fraught with consequences if undertaken alone.

We are definitely not a precocial species like, say, deer whose offspring are up and able to walk soon after birth. And yet we are not exactly an altricial species like dogs: puppies are born relatively helpless, with closed eyes and ears, limited mobility, and an inability to regulate their own body temperature. Although humans are relatively late in motor development, we have strong sensory systems: we orient more easily to social stimuli and are dependent on social relations to survive. So, is helplessness central to understanding humanity? An essential ingredient of culture?  Do babies’ evolved dependence explain our social collaboration and cultural innovation?[i]  An interesting question…

Child psychologists are now examining helplessness to understand issues such as how evolution shapes childhood and the role this trait plays in social learning.  Does helplessness allow babies to build a foundational knowledge base like, say, data trains an AI system? After all we are dependent on social relations to survive: it takes a village to raise a child -and perhaps to support an adult. Maybe the capacity for empathy doesn’t emerge in spite of helplessness, but because of it.

Many Indigenous worldviews have placed great emphasis on the importance of dependence and interdependence. Social and language learning happens not in isolation, but in community settings. So, dependence isn’t a deficit to be corrected but a structure that makes learning, culture, and care possible in the first place. You just have to be receptive to it; I eventually learned that…

Once, a much younger and naïve me attended a work conference in Lima, Peru. I spoke no useable Spanish, but I decided to book a tour of Peru after the meeting ended. I got up really early the next morning to do just that, but for some reason my hotel’s travel agency wasn’t yet open.

According to my map, there was a travel agency quite near the hotel, so I chanced a solo journey down the already busy street to find it. I had been warned that Lima was not like Vancouver: there were pickpockets everywhere and people, recognizing me as a gringo, would constantly pester me to buy something I didn’t need. At first I tried to guard each pocket in rotation, my eyes constantly riding shotgun, my legs on Red Alert. After a while, however, I found that I had other, more immediate uses for my eyes: I was submerged in a sea of faces and as helpless as lost child.

I felt distinctly uncomfortable in this area of Lima; at this time of the morning, everybody seemed to be poorly dressed and as unkempt as their littered streets. Some people were still sleeping cuddled up to doors or walls and I doubted whether Canadian was their second language. I didn’t want to look more vulnerable than I felt, and the surest way to identify myself as a tourist would be to pull out a map on a street corner, stare around, then look puzzled. I was concerned about advertising my dilemma to a pickpocket or somebody of suspicious intent.

I had a remedy for that, of course: long hours of rehearsal in my hotel room the previous night had prepared me for any eventuality. I had cleverly folded my map into a tiny remnant of itself and hidden it between pages of a local newspaper I would carry like a local. So, when it became apparent that I was lost in a rough area of the downtown core, I merely sauntered over to a relatively clean building, leaned against a wall, and opened up the paper.

Looking casually about, I noticed I was not alone. Others were doing much the same thing, but for some reason, they never lasted more than a few minutes before a friend showed up and they’d walk away together. It was obviously a local meeting place. As nonchalantly as I could, I looked around for a street sign. But there was no fountain, or trees, no benches or shops; there wasn’t even a pigeon in sight.

Suddenly I felt a tug on my sleeve, and a “Good morning, señor,” from an attractive young girl, smiling shyly. “I wonder if you interested in some breakfast?” I couldn’t believe my ears: linguistic isolation ready to do me in, and now a beautiful woman asking me out for food.

“Actually, I just had breakfast,” I lied to the girl who was almost standing on my feet. “It’s kind of you to ask, though.”

She studied me carefully. “You American?”

I shook my head vehemently. “Canadian!”

She digested this for a moment. “Where you stay?” Her accent was delightful.

I wasn’t taken in for a second, though. My friends had warned me about things like this if I wandered too far from the hotel.  Still, she was probably starving and just wanted me to buy her some food, so I smiled and tried to look empathetic.

She grinned and pointed to my now exposed map. “You lost?”

I blushed and quickly closed the newspaper. Damn! “No, not lost exactly…” I figured saying the word in italics would be more convincing.

She saw through my bravado, though, and her face brightened perceptibly. “Good, I show you where we eat…”

You know how you get feelings about people -that you can trust them, that they are interested in you? Well, this lady was obviously a kindred spirit. Funny, I had come thousands of miles to a strange country, couldn’t speak enough Spanish to cross the street, and here was this friendly young thing asking me out. I warmed to her immediately. “It’s awfully kind of you to help,” I said with conviction, “But I really need to go somewhere first.”

She smiled and snuggled in closer. “I show you clean bathroom…”

I began to wonder just how much English she understood. “Ahh, well I was actually looking for a travel agency. Maybe you can help me find the place…”

She winked and began to lead me down the street. I started to protest and she waved her finger at me. “I know a good place, señor. I take you there…”

Well, she took control. Putting her arm around me, she gave me a little squeeze and walked me down the street. I guess she wasn’t used to taller men, because once or twice her hand strayed from my waist and she looked up at me with a little apologetic smile. What could I say? I mean she was trying to be so helpful.

“Wait,” I said as she began to drag me through a tiny doorway. “I have to get to Lima Tours.”

She stopped pulling and gave a little squeal. “Oh, Lima Toors! My cousin work there. I call him from in here…”

But I couldn’t let her go to all that trouble. “No, no, it’s all right. But I’d appreciate it if you’d just point me in the right direction.”

She looked a little disappointed, I thought, but like the true friend she’d become, she giggled and pointed where to go. “You sure you don’t want me ‘go Tourist’ with you?”

I shook my head gently. Where had she ever learned that expression? I extended my hand to say good bye, but she kissed me on the cheek and disappeared through the little door. I felt guilty that I didn’t get to buy her breakfast, but I guess friends don’t expect anything for just being kind.

I should have asked her what to do about pickpockets, though, because when I finally found Lima tours, I discovered my left pocket had been violated. I suppose twenty Canadian dollars isn’t much to lose, but somehow I would rather have seen her get it than somebody I didn’t even know…

[i] https://theconversation.com/why-being-born-helpless-may-be-one-of-humanitys-greatest-strengths-282933

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gozzter

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