my face id on my iPhone does not recognize me
understanding the desire for compassion
Actually, I barely recognize myself lately.
After three weeks traveling in Ireland, I have a lot to share. It all started with my partner and I heading to Kerry to watch our adorable Aussie grandkids for a wedding. Even the Northern Lights showed up for this Irish/Sri Lankan nuptial, their vivid colors hinting at the vibrant union of two people from different worlds coming together. After that, we were on our own to explore the Emerald Isle.
Close friends and family flew in from all over the world, turning it into a big, boisterous, dynamic group—like a scene from The Big Chill. Yes, I know I need to update my movie references, but that one is still a top 10 favorite.
I've always wished I could trade my life-threatening diseases for orthopedic injuries. My dad used to say, “I don’t get little things, I only get big things.” I am the same.
On the 3rd day of the trip, I fell down a flight of stairs and broke my arm. The medical team at the University Hospital in Kerry decided against surgery and opted for monitoring instead, which meant multiple orthopedic visits for x-rays. I also sprained my ankle and had a concussion.
Navigating a foreign medical system was mind-boggling. We learned that surgeons in the UK and Ireland are called Mr., Ms., or Mrs. When I heard I had an appointment with Mr. Keane, I wondered why I wasn’t seeing a doctor. This goes back to the 18th century when physicians were the academics called Doctors, while surgeons, who didn’t have formal medical schooling, were called Mr. The Royal College of Surgeons changed this in 1800, but the titles stuck.
My cast makes my injury visible; people can see that I am hurt. It is different with invisible injuries like cancer or depression. Those don’t get the same immediate acknowledgment. My walking stick is a signal for help, a cue for people to be gentle with me, to recognize my struggles. My friend says it makes me look badass😎. Invisible ailments don’t get the same level of understanding or support. It is a reminder of the importance of empathy, whether the pain is visible or not.
I’ve transitioned to yet another version of myself. I am more dependent, more tentative. It has been eye-opening for all of us. I now understand my patients who wish they had a ‘moon boot.’ I am not ashamed to ask for help, but I am surprised by how much I need it.
Heaps more to share, thanks for reading the Love and Medicine Newsletter. If you love it, please share it with your friends.
Sláinte,
Dr. Annie K.