howl

My full day clinic yesterday was punctuated by the howls of three very different patients: a middle aged man with schizophrenia who screamed for me to remove the micro-chips that have been causing his entire body pain for years; a young woman anxious about her first gynecological exam after recently losing her virginity; a tall man with low back pain upset with me about his disability forms. A couple of weeks ago, we walked around North Beach, looking at books at City Lights and remembering when we watched the movie Howl and envisioning what the atmosphere was like when Ginsberg read aloud. So many days I'm reminded of how each of us expresses our voice. There is a lot of complexity in hearing and processing what comes from others, especially for me as a quiet person who tends to write more than I say, but I try to read how people use their speech in the way I might write. In this way medicine is a pool in which to collect the textures, sounds and tones of these voices. While the volume sometimes overwhelms my capacity to contain them, I feel the ease and effort of stretching myself, in the way we're taught in yoga. It hurts to be pushed, but the next day when you can reach farther, the consciousness of being limber is amazing.