So there’s something I always remember about dealing with people.
When I was an intern in my last year of med school, I did my voluntary assignment, naturally, in psychiatry. I was placed on an open unit dealing with patients with affective disorders.
There was a resident there, a woman called A – maybe in her mid-thirties or early fourties. She was specialising in Childrens’ psychiatry, and as such had to work a year in adult psychiatry.
I disliked her from the start. She was distanced and gave me the feeling I was stupid when I asked questions. At that point I was still seeing a therapist (who is also a psychiatrist) weekly while recovering from a severe depression I got about a year before.
I had two patients of my own. I still remember them, even though I can’t remember their names. (I’m bad with names. It’s annoying.) One was a depressive patient who was scared of being at home and later on of riding the bus. The other woman had what we thought might be bipolar disease and came in with a depressive episode.
Since she was bipolar and I always had the feeling I had to know things instead of asking on rounds with the chief attending, I I thought I’d try to find out what to do when someone had a manic eopisode, in case one of the other doctors would ask. Doc A was sitting in the conference room, and I asked her.
Lil Doc Fae: I was wondering, how would you treat a manic patient?
Doc A: Why do you want to know?
Lil Doc Fae: I have this patient with bipolar disease and thought they might ask during rounds. I know what to do about depression, but I’ve never seen a manic patient before.
Doc A *points*: There’s a bookshelf over there. Read it up.
I was mortally embarrassed. I read it up.
I told my therapist the week after and she chuckled and said, “Honestly – she’s a childrens’ psychiatrist and won’t have seen much of bipolar disease or mania. Have you not had the thought yet that maybe she doesn’t know either?”
And I boggled. Honestly. The idea that someone could know as little or less than me had never crossed my mind. That’s how confident I was at that point, haha! And somehow, instinctively, I knew she had to be right.
I never talked to Doc A about it. I didn’t even think about it myself, at that point I just thought, oh! and that was about it.
What I will never forget though is how things changed from that point on. Because suddenly it was easy to work with her. We got along very well. We played to each other’s strengths, and at the end she was my favourite doc there.
And all of this because I thought differently. Because that was the only thing that had changed, the way I perceived her. My behaviour to her must have changed, and that made her change hers. I have no idea that I did anything differently, but I believe knowledge of any kind makes you behave differently automatically.
It taught me to a degree to question others’ motives, especially when I assign them negative ones. I think it also meant that I was born to love cognitive therapy 
But, anyway. Another thing. I’ve always seen my mother as an incredibly disciplined and tidy person. She used to have everything tidied, and cleaned and whatnot. And I could never do it. Cue tons of teenager-mother-conflicts. I’ve always had problems keeping order, I’ve always had waaaay too much stuff, never been able to keep sensible routines. At the same time it’s always been a big thing for me. While I’ll never be a neatfreak, I don’t like it when it’s too cluttered. I somehow always cross the line between comfortable and cluttered without noticing. Honestly, it just happens!
I remember very well the only day I’ve been truly suicidal, about nine years ago now. I woke with the thought, “I will clean now. At least they won’t be able to say that the apartment was a mess.”
And I wondered what the hell was wrong with me when obviously my mother had it all down, and how could I not have learnt this from her?
When I was visiting last week I got my answer – she isn’t too good at it, either. She really hates it as much as I do. She could force herself when she was home with me and my brother, but now that she’s working part time again, stuff doesn’t get done the way it did before. She told me how she didn’t clean the bathroom because my brother was staying and would shower that day, so it wouldn’t pay off to clean the shower just before that – sheesh, I so recognise that line of reasoning.
It was good, to see that she isn’t perfect, so I’m not too imperfect either.
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