Letting Others Make You Crazy...

April has been a busy month...Lots going on, not the least of which is Pesach - the Jewish holiday of Passover. It so conveniently fit into my topic for today, though the impetus for it began nearly two weeks before (I've just been slacking instead of posting (ahem, busy with other things)).

The well-baby clinic told a petite woman that her fifth child (I think) wasn't growing. She looked at them, indicating her own stature as if to say, this is how we make them! They told her - but surely your husband is tall? (an illogical assumption if there ever was one - especially as short men are often married to short women). Point being? She did not let the nurses make her crazy. She knew her child was thriving and the lack of height was no cause whatsoever for alarm.

It helps to have perspective. Periodically, I wonder how she would have reacted if the stupid comment had been made with regard to her eldest, or even her second. Because when people say stupid things - even out of the best of intentions, of course (like the well-being of her baby) - it is hard to keep cool, even when you know the comment is foolish and against the truth of the situation.

I know it's hard to maintain that perspective, because the other day (well, April 1, if you must know) a doctor suggested that since my arms are short and I am quite petite myself, perhaps I am secretly harboring some dire "syndrome" that might have implications and ramifications unheard of heretofore. This, despite the fact that long arms would look silly on a short person. This, despite the fact that I am in proportion to myself. Most importantly, this, despite the genetic heritage of "vertical challenges." On both sides.

Distressed, I call a cousin who is my height. Her disgusted "what?!?" and pooh-poohing of the notion as "absurd" (she is largely able to keep things in perspective too) was heartening. I told the doctor that she was being ridiculous - insulting and incorrect (in nearly those words). After 6 minutes of talking to me (no physical exam), she had rendered a suggestion preposterous in light of all the other expert physicians I have seen over the years (she suggested that maybe none of them wanted to risk being insulting...which only highlights the absurdity of her suggestion, because I find it hard to imagine a responsible physician permitting any kind of serious health concern to be swept under the rug for fear of mentioning something that might insult a patient - even when it's hard for them (don't they have training in tact these days, anyway?).

[Okay, for the record, I will admit to a long hiatus where I saw as few doctors as I could manage - and that was very few indeed. Still, long ago, the pediatrician was on top of the fact that I was short (it's really hard to miss). So I arrived in the 99th percentile at a fairly young age (not immediately). And while I'm sure that for some, being short is indeed a handicap (I've been told as much by at least one person who is not short herself), for others, it's just the way things are. The 99th percentile does not inherently mean that something is wrong with you. At least not for me. I'm just sayin'. And I mean it, too.]

But I write now with an equanimity - dare I say perspective - that I did not attain for several days.

My father was appalled - I think - at my inquiry of whether there had ever been any hint or whiff of dwarfism on either side of his family. My mother reminded me that short people often marry short people (though my mother herself is not that short - at 5'3"+, she's got about 5 inches on me). And of course the great old cliche (she apologized) about the good things and the small packages.

Nonetheless, my poor petite cousin was forced to tolerate (thank you) my shrieking at the outrageous suggestion even as I worried about the What-If: what if the doctor had indeed discovered something everyone else had missed?

I let that doctor make me crazy.

I have no doubt whatsoever that she was wrong. I was able to make a strong case to her in person. But after I left, I let her concern (I trust that she meant well) malign what I know to be true.

In retrospect, and with the aid of Passover (and others' neurotic Pesach cleaning), I note that people may allow others to make them crazy. Or one may proceed on an even keel. I'm aiming for balance. I find it easily in cleaning for Passover. And I'm usually able to stave off the ludicrous in other areas. This time, I failed miserably. And it was really not better....Talk about bad choices...though it took the bad one to remind me of the good one: balance.