literacy

So it's been one of those days, I have been amazed by it. One of those convergence days. First, at work there were two stories forwarded to me that were very interesting. For those of you who read this who are also look at my FB page, I'll upload them there. One was a story about the other guy--there is always an Other Guy; we have one in my family. (Actually, come to think of it, we have many in my family, but that's another story.) This is the Other Guy who did NOT get the Nobel Prize. In my Research class we were actually discussing this guy who won the prize due to his jellyfish research. The story, told there, was a "persistence pays off" message. Well, according to this sad story in the Times, Dr. Prasher actually discovered the glowing jellyfish protein that led to the Nobel prize. But he didn't get any recognition for it. Why? Because he had lost his funding prior to the prize; because he did not aggressively self-market himself, and perhaps because he may have suffered from depression, which limited his ability to self-market in a world that, contrary to everything we are taught and still believe despite ourselves, does not reward raw intelligence or native ability. It rewards--to a large degree anyway--shameless self-promotion and greed. (Woven as a sub-text to this story is the convulsions of the market and Alan Greenspan saying to the public--essentially, "Mea culpa, I had no idea people would be this greedy." ???)

Okay, so Dr. Prasher now drives a courtesy car for a Toyota dealership--a man whiskers away from winning the Nobel prize. That's one thing; and I think all of us who have ever felt fragile or vulnerable or as though for whatever reason we don't fit into the more ambitious, hard-angled world we felt we were born into, can identify, in a sad and fearful way, with his experience. I sure could. I felt as though I was him, minus the near-massive accomplishment. I also appreciated his seeming humility and wisdom in the face of his experience. Check out the article; it is in the Well section.

Next, there was a beautiful article (again in the Times, again, I think in the Well section) about doctors relying increasingly on the literature to humanize their work and their patients. The doctors in this article believe that literary training--called narrative medicine--can strengthen a young doctor's compassionate instinct, the article said. (I'll upload this too.) I am writing in a hurry because of Ari, but I think you can all imagine how beautiful I found this idea and how important. And personally, how I connected with it--how much literature--reading and writing--has transformed me and my yearnings and my sense of meaning. Don't you miss it? Don't I? I do. So deeply.

Last, I went today to a training on health literacy for older adults. I was appalled to learn that over 40% of the U.S. population is not literate enough to read their medication bottle; to truly sign a consent form; to understand a bus map. Words (and I do not underestimate the irony of this phrase, even while writing in haste) do not express how deeply and profoundly I felt this; felt how impotent and terrified and self-loathing and angry people in that situation must feel. How helpless. It is a public health crisis and a shame upon us as a people. How on earth can we consider ourselves part of a democratic nation? How on earth can we allow people to blame themselves as individuals for something that we all need to change?

Grappling with that on the heels of the article about narrative medicine made me feel so keenly how life's injustices wound us in our most tender and primitive places. The very places someone should kiss and croon over and cuddle. The places in our heart that need the deepest reassurance.

Sometimes I think I don't want to be a therapist. I want to just cuddle up that person and say, "It's O.K." And mean it. And know it is true.

I want it to be true. And I want to be able to make it true.

Thank you for reading this. I am so glad that you can. And that you do.