Friday, June 11, 2004
Trauma
In the course of cleaning out my e-mail box, I came across a message from a close friend who now lives in Florida. Her husband, a professor of sociology, had been the subject of an article dealing with his work on trauma. I re-read the article and a light went on in my head. Then, this morning, my therapist brought up the same subject. The light shone even brighter. Here is the gist of it:
When we think of trauma, it is usually in relation to those who have experienced the traumatic event directly (i.e. being abused as a child, being raped, etc.). But now, researchers and front-line professionals like social workers are beginning to focus in on the trauma resulting from having witnessed someone else going through a traumatic event.
I now realize that growing up as an only child with a severely handicapped mother has impressed upon me a vision of my own life that, at least for the time being, is impossible to shake off. Her physical trials imprinted themselves on me much more deeply than I could have ever imagined.
As I have said before, the emotional and professional aspects of my life have in many ways been a radical departure from my mother's experience: Whereas my mother was criticized and soon abandoned by a cold, distant man who married her essentially because he wanted a maid (he was a Holocaust survivor and in poor health), I have found a wonderful man who has made it abundantly clear to me that he loves me as I am and will stay by side no matter what the future brings. Whereas my mother, though intelligent and thoughtful, never got a university education and worked as a secretary until her health forced her to go on welfare, I have been able to further my education and now work in a challenging, high-pressure profession which I find in turns frightening and exhilarating and which provides me with quite a decent income. Furthermore, despite my increased handicap, I can still carry out my work quite effectively.
But on a physical level, heredity has shown itself to be a colossal steamroller that seems to leave no room for personal choice. When I was growing up, I saw arthritis and how it had ravaged my mother's life as her problem. It had nothing to do with me. Mom used to say that her arthritis (and her sister's) came from the fact that when they were growing up in Russia in the early twentieth century, they had been poor and thus deprived of proper food (especially calcium). This had led to osteoarthritis in later years. Now I know that her theory was untrue. I am sure that if she had been able to explore her family tree, she would have probably found a number of women whose lives had followed the same path.
I did not personally experience her incapacity as a child. I experienced it in embarassment and frustration, for instance when she called for a taxi just to take her up the street--taxi drivers hate short trips! Now I am in the same situation, though thankfully, I can drive. But I can no longer go to places where parking is an issue, since I doubt I could step up into a bus and I can no longer walk distances that I could walk fairly easily before my surgery.
The outcome of a trial is hopefully based on evidence, the profession a person chooses is often based on the "evidence" of their mom's or dad's profession, we choose to buy a mutual fund based on evidence of past performance. Well, I have seen the "evidence" and so far there is nothing that shows that I will ever get better. Reminding myself that surgical techniques have changed amazingly in the past thirty years or that I am simply not inhabiting my mother's body but in fact my own is cold comfort. The overwhelming proof points in one direction and one direction only.
Much as I hate to admit it, I was expecting a bad outcome from the surgery. The writing was on the wall. I feel that the physical hand that I was dealt mandates that I cannot depart from the script that heredity handed me at birth. If I have one issue to overcome, it is the feeling that all this has been pre-ordained.
When we think of trauma, it is usually in relation to those who have experienced the traumatic event directly (i.e. being abused as a child, being raped, etc.). But now, researchers and front-line professionals like social workers are beginning to focus in on the trauma resulting from having witnessed someone else going through a traumatic event.
I now realize that growing up as an only child with a severely handicapped mother has impressed upon me a vision of my own life that, at least for the time being, is impossible to shake off. Her physical trials imprinted themselves on me much more deeply than I could have ever imagined.
As I have said before, the emotional and professional aspects of my life have in many ways been a radical departure from my mother's experience: Whereas my mother was criticized and soon abandoned by a cold, distant man who married her essentially because he wanted a maid (he was a Holocaust survivor and in poor health), I have found a wonderful man who has made it abundantly clear to me that he loves me as I am and will stay by side no matter what the future brings. Whereas my mother, though intelligent and thoughtful, never got a university education and worked as a secretary until her health forced her to go on welfare, I have been able to further my education and now work in a challenging, high-pressure profession which I find in turns frightening and exhilarating and which provides me with quite a decent income. Furthermore, despite my increased handicap, I can still carry out my work quite effectively.
But on a physical level, heredity has shown itself to be a colossal steamroller that seems to leave no room for personal choice. When I was growing up, I saw arthritis and how it had ravaged my mother's life as her problem. It had nothing to do with me. Mom used to say that her arthritis (and her sister's) came from the fact that when they were growing up in Russia in the early twentieth century, they had been poor and thus deprived of proper food (especially calcium). This had led to osteoarthritis in later years. Now I know that her theory was untrue. I am sure that if she had been able to explore her family tree, she would have probably found a number of women whose lives had followed the same path.
I did not personally experience her incapacity as a child. I experienced it in embarassment and frustration, for instance when she called for a taxi just to take her up the street--taxi drivers hate short trips! Now I am in the same situation, though thankfully, I can drive. But I can no longer go to places where parking is an issue, since I doubt I could step up into a bus and I can no longer walk distances that I could walk fairly easily before my surgery.
The outcome of a trial is hopefully based on evidence, the profession a person chooses is often based on the "evidence" of their mom's or dad's profession, we choose to buy a mutual fund based on evidence of past performance. Well, I have seen the "evidence" and so far there is nothing that shows that I will ever get better. Reminding myself that surgical techniques have changed amazingly in the past thirty years or that I am simply not inhabiting my mother's body but in fact my own is cold comfort. The overwhelming proof points in one direction and one direction only.
Much as I hate to admit it, I was expecting a bad outcome from the surgery. The writing was on the wall. I feel that the physical hand that I was dealt mandates that I cannot depart from the script that heredity handed me at birth. If I have one issue to overcome, it is the feeling that all this has been pre-ordained.
