Home sick

Today I am home sick. I woke up this morning with a sore-throat so bad that it was a real effort to talk. So I called the office and spoke to the person in charge about coverage and about which of my patients should be called first and what they should be told about my absence.

This is probably the second sick day I have taken since the beginning of the year, and I know I must have sounded pretty under the weather on the phone, raspy voice and all. However, all the person at the other end of the line managed to say was 'I guess I'll see you tomorrow' and then we hung up. I was inordinately upset by the exchange, to the point that, finding myself home alone, I burst into tears.

This was not a completely unexpected reaction as I am not quite at my best, emotionally speaking, when I'm ill. I tend to feel bereft and vulnerable and left to take care of myself while being completely unprepared to do so. None of which is true, and all of which is residual from a childhood of covert neglect and lack of, well, love. I have processed my feelings of abandonment and anger and the very deep sadness that stems from knowing, as a child, that I was not cherished, and that when I was ill I was more of a nuisance than usual.

That said, sometimes when I'm feeling sick and my defences are down, the adult in me gives way to a 5 year old girl, who is feeling unwell and has no clue what to do. It's not fun. It's also funny that after so much analytic work on myself and after having so nicely shelved my past and having recovered from it, a simple bad sore throat can still bring on this intense longing for someone to bring me soup and crackers and comic books, someone to make sure I'm tucked in nicely and comfy on the couch. That is what I wanted when I was a child when instead I got spoonfuls of codeine-laced cough-syrup thrust down my throat to make me drowsy. Neglect negates your existence, and triggers fears of annihilation. When I feel the way I did earlier today, much of the work I have to do is to soothe this little kid in me who is panic-stricken.

Patients tend to think that we are perfect people living perfect lives. And it should be that way, so therapists can be the famous blank slate and patients can project what they need onto it.

It is through this wonderful, fascinating process that in my current practice working with the elderly I end up being the mother figure to 80 year olds who, much like me today, still wait for that soft kiss on the forehead that tells them that yes, they are loved and yes, they will be okay.

Not anything a 5 year old kid would be able to provide.

Not today.