MEM: On being a doctor's daughter

A couple of weeks ago, I was conducting a session on communication skills for my mentee, in which one of the exercises was to speak on an impromptu topic. Not wanting the session to get too one-sided in the sense that I pick the topic and she speaks, I asked her to try out the reverse as well. She immediately gave me a topic: 'your role model'.

Instinctive responses are sometimes very insightful. They show us what we really think, unfettered by the filters that are normally in place. And that's what happened to me. I ended up speaking on the topic for a whole five minutes, and I heard from her that it was very inspiring. But most of what I'd said was new to me in that I'd never consciously vocalized it before. The feeling was weird. Anyway, I've decided to write about what I spoke, with two different perspectives. This will also be the foundation for my next article on re-framing and building a story.

This dates back to my childhood. My parents were both working, and so I ended up as one of those dual career couple's only child. My mother is a doctor, and she initially went back to work and hired a nanny to look after me. That didn't work out so well, hence my mom ended up opening a clinic at home and trying to look after me in parallel. This resulted in a very different childhood for me. At the age of 3, my mom taught me all the basic things I needed to carry on my daily set of activities. I used to bathe, change clothes, eat food by myself etc.

I was quite adept at all that, and I was able to manage decently. However, I craved her attention and that I'd get very little of. She'd never come to any of my school activities. There would be very few times we went out as a family either to eat out or shop, and she was begrudging even about that. She never helped me with homework, I think she didn't even know what subjects I took. She didn't know when my birthday was, nor did she celebrate it. She just wanted to work, all day, every day - I kid you not, she has done a decade or more of 365 working days a year. You could call her a workaholic, and even that would be a gross understatement. Gradually, I started feeling resentful. I'd look at other kids' moms pampering them, playing with them and then look back at my own solitary life and rue it. My mom never seemed to have time for me. Work was always first, and I stood at a sad second, which I wasn't sure mattered at all. 

My dad was the same. They never bothered about most things that conventional parents did. In fact, some of my anecdotes will make you feel really sad for me. Here goes :

I'd convince my mom that we should go out one weekend for lunch. She'd be annoyed and initially refuse, and finally after my incessant pleading, reluctantly agree. And yet, she'd go in to work that morning, and upon my continued glares, tell me that she'd be out by 1 pm. Dad and I would be waiting for her at the gate with the car out. 1 would stretch to 1.30 and she'd finally come out running. Just as we'd be about to start, there would come a patient citing some random ailment and begging my mom to take a look. Back she'd go into the clinic. This procedure would repeat itself 2 to 3 times, and finally she'd be free at 2.30, by which time I'd be so frustrated and hungry that I'd refuse to talk to her. My dad would tire of the whole thing and just refuse to be a part of any such future events. 

My mom would never turn up to any of my school activities. I sang, I spoke, I acted, but with no one in the audience. No one to enthusiastically cheer for me, no one to tell me how amazing my performance was, no one to click a picture and preserve it fondly. Hell, I'd be surprised if my mom knew any more than perfunctory details of my school life. This absence continued to an extreme :My parents were absent in my bachelors' graduation. I was awarded the gold medal in my branch, and as I walked down from the stage, various teachers asked of me : Where are your parents? I'd love to meet them. And I said: They're both at work,they didn't want to take the morning off. People were aghast : What could be more important that watching your only daughter graduate with a gold medal? they asked of me. I knew the answer: Work. I walked away with a smile, shrugging it off as no big deal. But inside my head, those questions went on. Did my parents love me at all? The indifference was really getting to me.

How does this sound to you? You must have stereotyped me to be the neglected child already. And I could go with this version so easily. I could attribute everything that was wrong in my childhood to bad parenting. I could even take some traits of mine at present, and say that they were a consequence of those years of neglect. It would be easy to do, for sure. It would make my parents feel bad. And I could be the victim in this story, pining away for attention as a child and malformed as an adult. I could say that everything good I am today, I am despite my parents and despite my childhood. 

But no, I don't like that narrative. I'll give you another one. 

My mother graduated at the top of her class in her bachelors in medicine. She interned with amazing doctors, and she'd been told that she was an ubiquitous doctor : You can do everything from pediatrics to geriatrics, Andal, and do it well! was the comment of one of her mentors. 
She loved working in the hospital-- she'd do 72 hour shifts at a time and come out smelling of roses. Oh man, you have to meet my mom! :) She is such a force of nature. Brimming with life and vitality, she feels like a sun in every world she inhabits - radiant and cheerful. One word from her, and you'd be convinced your ailment is gone. No patient who's come to her has ever forgotten her. 

Such a woman, such a doctor! And then I was born. She was torn in half, between her life's purpose and her daughter. She went back to work, upset by her choices, but with no other way out. And then, when she found out that the nanny wasn't treating me properly, she quit. She left the job of her dreams, in a split second, for me. This lady who lived for her time in the hospital, suddenly had nothing. You must comprehend the scale of that decision, the gravity of that choice. As a working woman now, I contemplate : What could make me quit my job? A kid? No way. I've struggled all these years to get to where I am, and I don't see myself giving it all away. 

But she did. Everything. She had dreams of pursuing a post graduation. She had dreams of starting a hospital. All those remained unfulfilled dreams. ( I'm not saying here that women sacrificing their careers is the right thing. I'm definitely against that, just pointing out how big a decision this was for one individual) 

And then, she started a practice. What a struggle that was! I remember those days, where she was known very little, and hardly anyone would come in. Imagine the transition from financial independence to zero earning. Imagine the change from a confident individual to someone who doubted their self worth every day. My mother went through that for me. She loved me enough to do that. She'd despair and cry, several times, and yet she didn't give up. She kept at it year after year, and soon enough, people knew her and came to her repeatedly. She was once again a marvelous and famous GP. 

When it was time for me to go to school, she learnt driving for me, so that she could pick me up and drop me. And no, she was not a gifted driver. She used effort and grit to make up for talent. I recall a rainy day when her two wheeler fell on her leg and tore off her toenail. And my mom got up, removed her own nail entirely, dragged the two wheeler all the way back home with her bleeding leg. And then the next day, she promptly rode the two wheeler again. That's my mom for you! 

As a toddler alone at home, there was one time when a cobra got into our house. Its hissing petrified me, but I wasn't even old enough to identify it as a snake. I went to my mom's clinic and knocked on the door on the verge of tears, and I told her there was a scary "poochi" (insect) at home. My mom took me very seriously, and came back with me and saw the snake. And then, she proceeded to sweep the snake out the door with a broom: D That's my mom for you! 

She spent very little time with me when compared to a conventional parent, yes. But hers was not a career, it was a calling. Being a doctor was something she utterly loved, and it gave her a higher purpose in life. She cried when her terminally ill patients died. She did not have patients, she had families. Grateful patients would thank her for the right diagnosis in time, and proclaim that it saved their lives. There would be people coming from tours and trips, bringing back something for my mom. She had patients who'd come back even after they moved cities, even after they'd moved abroad. Grandmothers would bring their newly born grand kids to my mom, and tell them, look that's the lady who delivered your father. Terminally ill patients would come and bade her a last farewell, and thank her for everything she'd done. She was famous. Wherever she went, someone would recognize her and come say hi and thank her for something she'd done previously. 

Apart from her career as a doctor, she slogged incessantly at home. She'd be up at the crack of dawn, cooking, washing clothes, attending to a million other chores. She'd cook breakfast and lunch in the morning and thereafter drop me to school. She'd then come home and eat her own breakfast, and go in to work at 9 am. She'd be back by 2, eat lunch, take a short nap, and then drive to school at 3.30 to pick me up. After this, she'd go back home and cook dinner, and gobble up something light, and head back to work at 5. She'd finish up by 10, and do another round of chores till 11. Her working days were 17-18 hours long, and this included weekends, sick days and national holidays. She has survived on 5 hours of sleep for 35 years now. (I get cranky and demonic if I have two such days in a row.) 

My mom spent very little time with me, but she managed to make it the very best. She noticed that I had a flair for music and got me into it at the age of 4. She gave me books to read. She taught me independence and courage and strength of mind. Her laughter is infectious, and she shares her joy as freely as her sorrow. 

When everyone I knew told me to pursue medicine, I was in a quandary because I knew my Mom would also be happy if I did that. But she looked me in the eye and told me: It is your decision, and no one else's. My dreams don't matter. Do what you want to, what you feel is right for you. This life is yours, and you shouldn't let others' opinions dictate it. I chose engineering, and she has defended my choices ferociously to relatives, friends and anyone else who questioned it.
People ask her how she managed raising a successful kid in parallel with a full-time career, and she graciously and generously answers: My daughter is self-made. Whatever she is today, she is out of her own hard work and effort. I had nothing to do with it. 

How, then, could I fault her for spending lesser time with me? Sure other kids had their moms hovering around them, but mine was a Goddess!
How could I quibble about one missed outing, or for that matter, even a dozen? There were hundreds of people whose lives were altered irrevocably by my Mom, and what she asked of me was only a paltry sacrifice.
I had the privilege of being the daughter of this glorious woman, and how could I refuse her what gave her so much joy and happiness?
Why should I mourn the lack of normalcy when I have extraordinary?

I learnt one of the most important lessons in life early on. One must never compare. Every individual is different. We must not let society set our expectations and norms, and be sad when they are not fulfilled. I had a very different mother, but I celebrate her for being different. For doing the best she could, both to me and her career.

In my narrative, my Mom is not a villain, and I am not  a victim. She is my role model, and everything I am today, I am because of her, not despite her. 

Till date, my mom does not know my favorite color. She does not know my favorite food. My favorite place. I do not have doting videos from childhood capturing my antics. I do not have a million memories of spending time with my mom. But like I said, so what? It does not matter. What matters is that she loves me, and that she always did the best that she could. And for me, that is enough. :)