I grew up with a legit fear of going to the doctor. Yet I voluntarily checked myself into Langley Porter Psychiatric Facility in SF in January 2016, thinking they could help me get my sleep &/or my menstrual cycle regulated on MLK Day. They wouldn’t let me out for 4 days. (um, 5150’d, I was gravely disabled!) I’ve been in talk therapy ever since. This blog is supposed to help me untangle my thinking, and grapple with the various fears of what my mother always refers to as The Entire Medical Establishment.

It’s helping. For one thing, I don’t blame my mother, not only has her thinking changed, but her fear was earned on the day she was born. Her mother died just four hours after giving birth, from toxemia, which, nowadays is very manageable.

Of course there are modern wonders of medicine, yes, I have those stories too. But wow, there is just a lot to be scared about; everything is fragile, delicate. Yet, we survive, we thrive, we celebrate staying alive. (cue Bee Gees hit)

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“To act is to be committed, and to be committed is to be in danger.”

James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time