Dear physicians who prescribe medications:
Stop prescribing antipsychotic medications as sleepers! Other than the obvious fact that they are not indicated for such, they are also extraordinarily expensive, have side effects that are not benign (particularly when you are prescribing them in doses for people with diagnoses of schizophrenia!), and are often totally unnecessary—try addressing sleep hygiene first!
Thank you,
Maria
30 Nov 2007 | 9 comments.
Proofreading, Labels, and Emotions.
A friend recently asked me to proofread a letter of recommendation. While I do not derive boundless joy in editing, I enjoy the challenge of polishing prose.
(… but only if it is someone else’s writing. I don’t like editing my own, as that usually results in ten to fifteen rewrites. Soon, the entire piece seems hackneyed and uninspired. Only when I’ve discovered that I have reached maximal concision do I consider it the Final Draft. By then, reading the text yet again is a highly aversive task, which only further solidifies my decision to submit the $@*%#^! thing.)
While I scanned his writing and provided suggestions and corrections (Strunk and White would be proud…), I realized that my ease came from my ability to succinctly label the issue. Instead of writing, “This is a very long sentence and it’s worded funny,” I wrote, “Use active instead of passive voice here.” Thus, I was able to accurately pinpoint the problem and subsequently suggest an appropriate solution. If A, then B.
How we label situations and problems affects our experiences of them and how we proceed. In the case of prose, the rules of grammar and syntax are concrete and rigid. “His long winter coat was greatly appreciated by her” sounds awkward and distant; it does not warmly embrace the reader. “She enjoyed his long winter coat” is clearly more evocative. The former sentence may induce the reader to turn on the television. The latter sentence may coax the reader to turn the page.
Now consider emotions, those sticky, consuming sensations that either last too long or not long enough (but always pass). How we label these psychophysiological reactions affects how we experience them (if at all) and how we proceed.
What exactly are the functions of emotions? Sometimes we believe that they are hindrances; they seem only to interfere with the tasks before us. Sometimes we appreciate them for how they affect our experiences with other people and in the world. Sometimes they seem to help us connect with other people and sometimes, they seem only to isolate us further.
Emotions often result in behavior. We do stuff as a result of emotions. When an avalanche approaches, we begin to run due to feelings of fear. When he sees a beautiful woman sitting alone at the bar, he approaches with an offer of a libation due to feelings of interest. When his favorite basketball team loses the game, he sullenly retreats to his room and shuts the door.
We communicate with and through emotions. Not only do these psychophysiological reactions inform ourselves of our current conditions, but they also inform other people and affect their behaviors. How often do our facial expressions betray our true sentiments, though our words (or silence) may suggest otherwise? Upon feeling angry, you may query yourself as to what specifically triggered this response. Others, upon noticing your ire (however you may exhibit it), may avoid you—alternatively, they may approach and gently ask you to elaborate upon the situation. Your manifestation of an emotion does influence others (intentionally or not)… and yourself.
So what happens when we have difficulties labeling emotions? Perhaps it is easier to identify a phrase as “passive voice” than to identify a sensation as “shame”.
If how we label situations and problems affects our experiences of them and how we proceed, could misidentification of emotions result in skewed experiences and missteps?
What if other people insist that we should not feel sad—”Stop crying! There’s nothing to be sad about!”—and thus, we “learn” to misidentify (or ignore) the emotion of sadness? How do we then experience a “sad” situation? Perhaps another emotion substitutes for sadness (anger often pinch-hits for a variety of emotions)… or perhaps there is a distinct lack of emotions and there exist only thoughts.
And what about the behaviors that “usually” result from the emotion of sadness? We all cope with sadness in different ways. Introverts may withdraw; extroverts may seek company. Each reaction is specifically tailored for the individual. However, if one cannot identify the current emotion, how does one proceed with the resulting behavior? If one identifies “sadness” as “anger”, is it not possible that the “sad” individual will instead punch a wall? This action would result in further complications, for not only can the experience of sadness/anger be uncomfortable, but there are now also potential hand injuries and property damage.
The linearity and rigidity of grammar and syntax allow for clarity in editing. Because there are a multitude of emotions (and because the amazing capacity of the human brain to hold more than two, potentially contradicting emotions simultaneously) and even more behaviors that may result from a single emotion, this complicates (and fantastically colors) our experiences in the world. We do not all label Z emotion as “Z”, for whatever reason. We do not all exhibit Y behavior as a result of X emotion. This lack of uniformity allows for wonderful variation in our daily lives. However, this barrage of diverse emotional experiences and even more diverse behaviors in a world filled with diverse personalities can easily facilitate miscommunication and surprising, unexpected actions.
Consistency and the predictability that follows it can be comforting… and incredibly boring. This is why proofreading is considered a chore and falling in love is not.
27 Nov 2007 | 3 comments.
Momma.
She looked straight past me.
She’s difficult to miss because she looks terrible.
I continued to look at her face, willing her to turn her head to see me. Her eyes swept past me, then suddenly jerked back—
—I waved hello and smiled.
“MOMMA!” she squealed, running towards me like an exuberant puppy. I felt the glances of the other people at the bus stop land upon us as she threw her arms around me, a nearly toothless and asymmetrical grin spread across her face. The few teeth that remained in her mouth looked like pieces of dying bark: dark, brittle, and uneven. I laughed and asked, “How are you?” as she buried her head against my shoulder, her tangled and matted hair scratching my neck.
“I’m good, I’m good!” she answered, clutching my arm. Though she smiled broadly, the wrinkles of her face did not disappear. “I like to see you, Momma!”
I laughed again—no one else has ever called me “momma”.
I saw the flashbulb explode into light over her mind before she exclaimed, “I got a place to live!”
“You did?” I said, surprised. I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks and had wondered if she was still panhandling for money for The Big Man.
“Yes, yes! I have my own room. I lock my door at night.”
“Do you feel safe there?”
“Yes, yes. I lock my door and I sleep.”
“I’m so glad,” I said, glancing at the muted afternoon sunlight bounce off of the solitary brass key dangling around her neck. “That’s great.”
“Yes, yes, it is! Oh, Momma, I like to see you!” she said again, restlessly pulling at the sleeves of her green sweater.
I saw my bus turn the corner and approach the stop.
“Are you taking the 29?” I asked. I hoped she would say yes.
“No—I have to take my own bus back to my room. My room!” she said with the joy of a little girl about to open her first Christmas gift.
“That’s my bus,” I said, noticing again the other people at the bus stop watching us. “I have to go—but I hope to see you soon!”
“Okay, Momma!” she said, waving to me. “Good-bye, Momma!”
“Good-bye,” I answered, waving back at her before making haste towards the waiting bus.
“Thank you, Momma!” she shouted at me. She kept shouting at me until I disappeared into the vehicle. “Good-bye, Momma! I like it, Momma! Yes, Momma! Yes, yes, Momma!”
I looked back one last time and smiled at her. She waved again, the single key bobbing along with the motion of her arm.
No one sat next to me on the bus. I looked out the window, squinting at the dying afternoon sun.
26 Nov 2007 | 3 comments.
Romantic Notions.
Today, I
>> wrote a handwritten letter. I have (always had) romantic notions about the handwritten letter; it remains my favorite form of correspondence (despite the speed in both generating and sending e-mail). I have also entertained the idea of writing and sending more handwritten letters, though have yet to fully devote myself to this (lost?) art. A new year approaches with its requisite resolutions, though there is no good reason to defer this until January 1st.
The post office clerk routinely asks if one wants delivery confirmation, signature confirmation, etc. for packages. Of the many things I have sent through the mail in the past six months, this letter is the smallest in physical dimensions and weight, yet is the most important item I have entrusted to the postal service.
>> ate brunch at Coastal Kitchen. The rotating menu now features Basque dishes. I deviated from my usual practice of ordering something off of the rotating menu and instead requested a goat cheese scramble (one of the few items that does not feature alliteration in its name, e.g. “Smokin’ Salmon Scram”, “Sonora Scramble”). A junior resident requested career counseling from me over this meal. I do not want to acknowledge that I am aging.
>> ogled at fountain pens. This is related to my “romantic notions about the handwritten letter”. I am musing with the idea of purchasing a Lamy Safari Fountain Pen. In yellow. (I’m going for function, not aesthetics.)
>> reconsidered my GTD setup. (Allow me to indulge my GTD/office paraphernalia proclivities.) I was using a Levenger pocket briefcase knockoff with index cards (task lists inside the main pocket, an index card as the “inbox” in one pocket, and a calendar in the other pocket). I purposely deviated away from a (Moleskine) notebook, as the linearity of a notebook seemed too rigid and confining for my thinking patterns. However, that system lacked structure (I had difficulty getting items out of the “inbox” into “processing”, etc.).
So now I’m trying this: I have adopted the Planner Hack with a partially used Paperchase notebook to add more structure to the system. A blank index card serves as both a daily “inbox” and as a bookmark for the planner. I now use Google Notebook for my next action lists, projects list, etc.
The recruitment of the planner fulfills my romantic notions (yes, I have a lot of romantic notions) of concretely recording what I do (and do not) accomplish in one physical location. That’s about tactics. Google Notebook organizes my projects and helps provide a view of the “big picture”. That’s about strategy.
That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.
>> had dinner with Brock and his wife. A few months ago, a fellow blogger had asked (I think in jest) if my weblog serves as a dating service; I replied, no, it does not…
… though it has allowed me to meet friendly and interesting people, such as the well-mannered Brock and his ebullient wife (and the aforementioned blogger, of course). I first met them last year at a tea shop in Bellevue Square (hooray for suburban malls!). This year, we met at the delicious Green Leaf for dinner and then enjoyed bubble tea thereafter… which makes for a lot of caffeine.
The successes of my meetings with other bloggers and readers has sparked the idea of a Medblogger Meet n’ Greet in New York City upon my relocation there (given the seeming greater density of medbloggers on the East Coast), though perhaps that is merely another romantic notion.
25 Nov 2007 | 6 comments.
Link-o-Rama (VII).
It’s Saturday morning and the full moon is out.
>> Dr. Drug Rep. Dr. Carlat, who maintains both a blog and a newsletter, has an informative piece in the New York Times Magazine about psychiatrists essentially working as pharmaceutical reps. It is comparable to Elliott’s “The Drug Pushers” (which is arguably more provocative).
>> Pride and Prejudice (the BBC miniseries). If you (1) have six hours to spare, (2) enjoy Jane Austen’s writing, and (3) are a big mushball, go forth: The entire series is on YouTube. While I doubt I could tolerate Mr. Darcy if I actually met him (haughtiness is not hot—in this I identify with Miss Lizzie), he is wonderfully endearing in the story and, of course, Colin Firth does a fantastic (and handsome!) job of bringing him to life. (I much prefer the BBC series to the 2005 movie.)
>> On Short Hair. Clearly the webpage was designed early in the internet age, as few people now elect to put green text on a black page (prepare your retinas for an uncomfortable visual experience)… though the content is noteworthy! To see women with short hair is a not common and I appreciate the ode to those of us with exposed necks.
>> The Nonverbal Dictionary of Gestures, Signs, and Body Language Cues. Learn about eye contact, lawn displays, and tongue-show, amongst other things.
24 Nov 2007 | 1 comment.