Having a book to read is never a problem and I have the bookshelves to prove it. My biggest dilemma is in deciding which book to read. I immediately head to the library when I get stuck choosing from my ‘shelves of best intentions’. There, I feel pressured (through shame) to walk out of there with something and, just as it is with many of my milk runs to the store, I rarely leave with what I went in for in the first place.
My goal for the latest library excursion was to pick up references to begin Fall prep on MLWT Target Practices, some new classes and to catch up on writing those over-due articles. What I ended up leaving with was a book, found by accident, and an absolute treasure that I want to share with you today.
Reading and writing daily about life with illness can sometimes be, well, depressing and too close to home. Yet, I struggle with reading fiction while the deadlines, emails from clients and project collaborations taunt me from my desk. Reality, in many forms, just crashes into any story where I’m trying to lose myself. You would think that the last book I would choose when trying to escape would be one about illness. Perhaps you have more sense than I, because that is exactly what I ended up doing. I am so glad I had this lapse in ‘better’ judgment, though, as I would have really missed out.
Dr. Jaime Weisman’s book As I Live and Breathe: Notes of a Patient-Doctor (North Point Press, 2002) caught my attention for two big reasons:
1) I related immediately to the cover photo, as someone who has also received medical treatments for a faulty immune system; and
2) It was written by a doctor who is spending a little time on my side of that tube.
I half expected the book to be written in a way to get me to feel compassion for a physician who falls from grace. What I discovered—no, received—was another lesson in not judging a book by its cover. Once again, I go in for one purpose and leave with another. I expected revelations about a doctor’s new perspective and emerged with an appreciation of the human spirit.
The absolute beauty of this book, for me, was in her writing. Ms. Weisman was a patient first and headed towards a career in writing. However, her turn towards medicine was a gift to many of us and still offers a reassuring voice through her practice or her writing. Although she touches on medical issues and some of her own struggles getting through her days as a patient, I didn’t feel burdened by grief or enlightened about how best to navigate the medical puzzle. She leads the reader both forward and backwards in time, skillfully tying together the thoughts and experiences that make up the cycles of experiences we all go through, healthy or not as healthy. Her essays gracefully describe the complexity of her condition as a reference point for the reader, rather than as a badge of honor. From that reference point, I wanted to journey with her and absorb her experiences in order to find a place or a word to help describe my own. Her memories, poignantly expressed, resonated within me as a person first and as a patient second.
This book is grounded on the importance of relationships. All relationships, hers ranging from the professional ones she establishes as a physician and the personal ones she cherishes as a daughter. Even the relationship she develops, continuing over time, with her body is testimony to the old adage “becoming your own best friend.” The relationships she takes part in as a patient herself, with other patients and her medical team, are keenly explored and serve a models in finding your own best sources of support.
After finishing this book, I am left with a sense of comfort. There were so many passages that caused me to stop, mid-paragraph, and really pay attention to what she was saying. Or, sometimes, to simply to pause and release some pent-up tears. One quote, in particular, took me back to my own memories following my diagnosis over a decade ago. At my ten-year appointment, where kidney failure and dialysis are quite possible for 50% of us with lupus, my doctor asked me if I realized how sick I had been. My answer, as I’ve mentioned here on this blog before, was “no”. Ms. Weisman puts my feelings about what I did know in the early years of my illness in the best way possible and answers my doc’s question better than I did:
“The cure for the fear of dying is living.” (Pg. 210)
This book, and Ms. Weisman, herself, exemplify how powerful working towards a cure can truly be—for all us.
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Note: I received no compensation for reviewing this book.
