that little voice in me

I have spent the last two days at the Society for Behavioral Medicine annual conference. These conferences often serve several purposes for me. I often get fired up, ready to finally write that review paper I have put on the back burner, ready to network, ready to dive into various research endeavors. But attending a conference often leaves me feeling inadequate as well (a theme in this blog?). Powerpoint presentation after Powerpoint presentation, p-value after p-value, I sit in an overly air-conditioned conference room pondering my place in this massive field. But today I had an important and meaningful revelation.

More than in previous years, the conference has gone back to talking about the individual. In recent years, it has most certainly become the trend to focus research and intervention efforts at the population level. This is definitely where I think the biggest impact can be made and this is why I have decided to pursue the Master's in Public Health. But it was quite clear to me that there was a small but detectable shift back towards talking about the individual this year. Not only that but (gasp!), the role of the clinician.

One talk that moved me in particular--a keynote address this afternoon--discussed ways to help folks dealing with a devastating diagnosis. It was during these various talks that I realized that I really love clinical work. I even got choked up a bit thinking about some of the patients I have gotten to know so intimately over the years, several of whom have been dealing with their own diagnosis or that of a loved one. It made me realize what a blessed experience it is to get to sit in a room with someone for an hour and try everything you can to make a difference in this one person's life. Coincidentally (?), I then attended a talk where a graduate of my program discussed her very difficult and unsupported decision to switch from academia to a more clinical career.

I don't know what I will do with all of this information. This certainly isn't the first time that I have had this revelation. And it probably won't be the last. But perhaps the latest revelation will serve as a comfort to me. If this whole research thing doesn't work out for me, I actually really love clinical work. It brings me a heck of a lot more daily joy than writing a research paper ever will. Worth noting indeed.

Knock Knock

As many of you know, I decided to go to grad school as a way to act upon my commitment to eliminating the massive health disparities we face in this country. Over the past (almost) four years, I have found that it has been difficult to maintain my resolve. I go to a lecture like Tracy Kidder’s one day, and I am re-inspired. The next, I am obsessing over an upcoming midterm, how competitive I will be for internship, or whether I am liked/valued by my boss. Grad school—the very vehicle for my passion—has instead become a great source of self-doubt. And as a result, I am often stopped from doing what I came here to do in the first place. Not to mention the endless mental anguish I put my lovely husband and friends through. You know it’s true. :)

For the past week or so, I have been preparing a lecture on health disparities for the class I teach. This has been a very powerful exercise for me, as it has helped me to reinvent and recreate my approach to improving the health of those who have largely been let down by the system. I spent hours last weekend on youtube, looking for videos that would help illuminate the points I plan to make in my lecture. Perhaps the most invigorating thing I came across in my youtube adventures was an act from a play by Daniel Beaty, called “Emergence-See.” I can’t stop watching it. Not only does it highlight some of the major social injustices that are, at least in part, responsible for health disparities. But it is a call to action that brings me (and maybe you) to tears. Most importantly, it has helped me to step away from the self-consciousness and self-concern that stop me in my pursuits…and come away with some serious intentionality.

Enjoy.

a birthday treat

Tomorrow is my birthday. And tonight I celebrated! After wrapping up the class I teach (and stuffing a burrito into my mouth in .05 seconds), I attended a lecture by Tracy Kidder, the writer of "Mountains Beyond Mountains," a book that I absolutely loved. To write the book, Tracy Kidder followed Dr. Paul Farmer—a man who has essentially DEDICATED his life to helping resolve the pandemics of HIV and tuberculosis. And by dedicated I mean DEDICATED. While his work began in Haiti many years ago, he has taken the success of his organization (Partners In Health) to several other countries since, including Russia and Peru. He is now focusing his efforts on the continent of Africa. The lecture was inspiring (duh) but in a very unusual way. I didn’t leave the lecture feeling like my life was inadequate or that I should sell my possessions and move to another country to live (in a hot water-less home). Instead, I left feeling like I could really do something to make a dent in the world. Even if I can never live like Paul Farmer. Paul Farmer himself discourages the notion that anyone in their right mind should try to live the way he does. Instead, he suggests that we get together in groups, and use the talents that we have and love...for good. A simple request, really. So, on the eve of my birthday, I feel enlivened--ready to team up with my miraculous friends and family to make some serious change in this world. Any takers?

that trusty old kitchen sink

This night has finally come. While I attempt to prepare tomorrow’s lecture for the class I am teaching and do some work for my mentor, I find that my thoughts are constantly turning to tonight’s primaries. Results from the primaries continue to pour in, and all I can seem to do is watch. And wait. My goodness! I even feel like taking up a nail-biting habit! Given the anticipation of this evening's primaries, I thought I would post about the election. In a recent (and great) NYT Op-Ed piece, Maureen Dowd discusses the Clinton campaign approach of late. Her words summarize the problem with communicating a message that lacks unity and coherence. Dowd says:

“After saying she found her “voice” in New Hampshire, she has turned into Sybil. We’ve had Experienced Hillary, Soft Hillary, Hard Hillary, Misty Hillary, Sarcastic Hillary, Joined-at-the-Hip-to-Bill Hillary, Her-Own-Person-Who-Just-Happens-to-Be-Married-to-a-Former-President Hillary, It’s-My-Turn Hillary, Cuddly Hillary, Let’s-Get-Down-in-the-Dirt-and-Fight-Like-Dogs Hillary.

Just as in the White House, when her cascading images and hairstyles became dizzying and unsettling, suggesting that the first lady woke up every day struggling to create a persona, now she seems to think there is a political solution to her problem. If she can only change this or that about her persona, or tear down this or that about Obama’s. But the whirlwind of changes and charges gets wearing.

By threatening to throw the kitchen sink at Obama, the Clinton campaign simply confirmed the fact that they might be going down the drain.”

When I first read this article, it brought me comfort. Perhaps this did mean, as Dowd suggested, that the Clinton campaign would soon be ending. After all, as I have learned in my Health Communication course, having a clean, clear, tailored, and unified message is critical to any campaign’s success. Why would that not be the case for Hillary? Only time will tell what the impact of Hillary’s scattered message will be.

And with that, I’m off. With fingers crossed.

To read the article in its entirety: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/27/opinion/27dowd.html?ex=1361854800&en=e52cc0a1a83d5aed&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink