Había una vez, ella era invisible.
I was thinking about the pandemic. Women did the bulk of the child care when children suddenly found themselves at home for a year or more. Same women might also be trying to work. They might have had to stop working in order to support their children in zoom school. It was expected the women would be the ones to do this. Women also did and do the bulk of the nursing, tending to people dying horribly on ventilators in the ICU. Nursing those in the overfull emergency rooms that still cannot accommodate everyone on any given day. Nurses getting assaulted by patients as they do their essential function. A somewhat worn and tattered "Heroes Work Here" sign greeting them as they walk in for each shift. Women are doctors too and they are less invisible but the $2 million in wages missing over their 40 year career compared with the men doctors is yet to be found.
As my husband and I soon celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary, I am thinking too about marriage. Why was I so fortunate to have a partner that makes me feel seen every day? If anything I worry he does not feel seen as he has inhabited the traditional role of stay at home parent during our life together. Marriage is interesting in its original purpose of subjugating women into a role where they need protecting by a man. Particularly white women who are currently being forcibly put back into their role of propagators of the race. It is no coincidence that Roe falls in this era of renewed energy around white supremacy as the creed of our nation.
I might be angry, and I realize that is not very ladylike of me. But I am thinking about feminine power and how it is the missing piece of the healing arts in our country. The data are clear that while we have mad technology in our system of medical care, the outcomes are poor compared to other countries of similar wealth. We spend a lot more on it too. When I was pregnant in medical school the men were befuddled by my very presence. I pumped breast milk in the women's bathroom stall. I pretended not to be a mother so that I could be a resident that people respected. I worked and worked and worked. Privileged as I am, I can see this was not ideal, now, 27 years later. But perhaps more importantly on a societal basis is the parts of me I tried not to bring into my healing art, pushing down my tenderness and compassion for fear of not being seen. As recent as last week a male colleague was chiding me for the work I do, which is high intensity, low productivity medicine that focuses on the goals and concerns of each human being for whom I serve as physician. I think his words were "what exactly is it you do all day?"
If I am invisible those I serve are invisible minus a million. Like some bullies on the playground the world screams this at them every minute. Like one hand clapping I know the self is a mirage. Like hands clasped I know we are more like the trees in a forest, where it appears they are all individuals but if you dig a bit underground you will see they are all connected to each other. My hands play Rachmaninoff and they can palpate a liver. For this I can thanks the many teachers in my life, my root system of people who shared their skills and believed in me. That saw me.
My anger too is not in isolation. There are whole communities of people and particularly people who identify as women and girls that are strengthening our connections. We sit with each other in silence as a warrior sangha, but since we have powerful presence we do not need words. I invite the 50% of white women who voted and continue to vote for fascism and self annihilation to consider that they could be a part of this sangha. Or congregation. Or root system. Or a girls night out that lasts well beyond the dancing and frivolity.
In medicine, in healthcare, in relationships of healing, the feminine is what we all need in order to see the outcomes improve. A heart transplant is cool. My dad had one, actually. But we also need to notice the women who are dying in pregnancy and childbirth, and now forced childbirth. Are women worthy of living?
Once upon a time she was invisible.
