Monthly Archives: April 2012

The Health Care Crisis is Like an Episode of Hoarders

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Photo: Peter Walsh Design

I worked in the medical industry for six years as a sales rep for a medical company. This ”insider knowledge” has given me a unique understanding of the issues surrounding the cost structure of health care and why having government dictate our healthcare can be both bad and beneficial.

There is no denying that health care is one of the most important and convoluted issues of our time. It’s important because it is 1/6 of our nation’s economy; convoluted, because anything that is 1/6 of a multi-trillion-dollar economy is going to have a lot of moving parts. Just thinking about it feels like walking into a house on Hoarders. It reeks, it’s cluttered and way too overwhelming.

But if you’re one of the millions of uninsured American’s suffering under the weight of all this crap, you know it’s mandatory that we pick up our shovels and organize our piles on the lawn Peter Walsh style before this toxic, biohazardous waste gets one more piece of useless trash added to the top and by “trash” I mean legislation. The situation is gettin’ real stank up in here and those Glade Plug-ins aren’t doing a thing to mask the stench of rotting cat carcass.

Over the years we’ve simply added one piece of ineffective legislation on top of another and it’s time we attempt to understand what’s under all this shit because Mr. & Mrs. Voting American, our names are on this deed. Stay tuned, crude illustrations to follow.

What got me all fired up to write this post was not Obamacare and the pending Supreme Court ruling, but Xeni Jardin’s Twitter stream. Xeni Jardin, founder and editor at Boing Boing (@xeni) is currently receiving treatment for breast cancer. I don’t know her whole story but I’m assuming it includes a struggle with insurance and paying for her treatment. Her Twitter page went crazy with tragic stories of people who have also struggled. Here are some of the tweets:

I have been to the hospital exactly three times. Baby #1, Baby #2 and a stress-induced case of viral meningitis. The meningitis was due to a nasty legal battle I was having with my employer. That employer happened to be a Medical Company (MC). I worked in the medical industry for six years selling pharmaceuticals, diagnostics, surgical devices and equipment to doctors and hospitals. I am versed in the various issues surrounding the overall problem, in particular, when it comes to the rising costs and affordability.

I used to believe that I sold innovative and medically necessary treatments to patients who needed them. If it weren’t for me, who would educate the doctors on these awesome, fancy-schmancy products?  At least that’s the feel-good flavor of koolaid the MC fed me. At every Fiscal Quarter’s end, the real motivations of my MC came bubbling to the surface like the frothy head on a glass of champagne.

I had a yearly territory quota of over $2 million dollars. The more you exceeded it, the more money and praise you received. The more you fell short, the more you were avoided like day-old trash behind a fish market in a desert town. As you can see, we were highly valued employees.

Most companies who manage a sales force use material rewards to ensure performance and allegiance. Every meeting is an orgy of competition and excess; bellies are filled with booze and steak and egos are stroked and manipulated. We have private Vegas-style parties, city-wide scavenger hunts and chauffeured trips through wine country. One year for a National Sales Meeting in Orlando, all 200+ employees stayed at the Ritz Carlton and the company rented out the Islands of Adventure Theme Park after hours. I rode the Incredible Hulk Rollercoaster like 7 times in a row, kind of drunk. It was awesome.

Meanwhile, the price of our products increased every year far beyond the increased “costs of doing business and inflation” which is the koolaid we were given. In four years the market-dominating device I sold went up 30% and the champagne kept flowing. The rumor was that the markup was six times the cost to manufacture. (Which, by the way, was moved to Costa Rica in order to save hundreds of thousands of dollars it was costing to manufacture it in California.)

So here’s some basic math on one surgical procedure:

1) The surgical device cost an estimated $250.

2) The Medical Company charges hospitals $1300.

3) Hospital’s then bill the Insurance Company (IC) up to $12,000, and the IC actually only pays a fraction of that. ($4000)

In the end, a procedure could end up costing 50 times the cost of the primary device used to perform it. Sure, there are incremental costs along the way, doctor’s fees, nurses, anesthesia, supplies, etc. But it could never add up to $12,000. Trust me, I know.

This whole hospital mark-up scenario is why we began pushing doctors to perform procedures in their office. They would make more money and the procedure would cost less overall.

Let’s look at why the hospital charges so much for a simple procedure anyway? And who pays the portion the insurance company doesn’t pay? And why do IC’s only pay a fraction of the cost? The answers to all those questions is part of the yellowed, decade-old newspapers stacked up to the ceiling.

The American Medical Association (AMA) assigns codes to procedures and those codes are ultimately assigned a dollar value. Let’s say you need your appendix out. We’ll give an appendectomy the code of APPY=OUCHIE. To understand how procedures are assigned a dollar value, we have to usher in the Government (and all their crap) through the front door.

Medicare is the Government’s name for health care for people over the age of 62.5. MediCAID is the Government health care program for everyone else.  MediCARE sets the standard for the cost of most of the procedure codes the AMA comes up with. In our example, Medicare determines that it will pay a hospital $3,000 for anyone insured by them who has an everyday, ordinary APPY=OUCHIE.

Government says it will pay $3000 for a Medicare patient who needs an APPY=OUCHIE (Appendectomy).

Then ICs say, “Well, if it’s good enough for the government, then it’s good enough for me.” And they base their reimbursements off of what the government pays. But IC’s will pay “a leeettle bit” higher because you know, they’re supposed to be private and fancy. Therefore, IC’s may pay $4,000 for an everyday, ordinary APPY=OUCHIE.

Not to complicate things further, but it is the Government we are talking about, but it also depends on which state you lived in since Medicare is a state-run agency and different states, pay different prices. I think I just saw a rat scurry across the floor.

It also depends on WHERE you have your APPY=OUCHIE performed. Stand alone hospitals are the most expensive and charge the most money. Surgery Centers (if applicable to your procedure) are the second most expensive and the doctor’s office (also, if applicable) are the least expensive location to have your APPY=OUCHIE. (Although I’m not sure anyone would offer to take your appendix out in their office and yet, I would not underestimate some doctor’s desire to make a buck).

Here’s where the crude illustrations come in:

Meet Ms. Abby Appendix. She needs an APPY=OUCHIE real bad. Abby has private insurance, but it’s not great. Of course, she doesn’t know this because there’s no place to compare your IC to other ICs available. Also, it’s the only IC her company contracts with so she really has no choice in the matter.

This leads us to one of the biggest, reeking piles of steaming, hot trash in the whole house. All of these entities, the MCs, hospitals, ICs and doctors, (perhaps excluding the government) have ONE thing in common. Instead of being motivated by providing Abby with affordable, quality, life-saving treatments, at the end of a Fiscal Quarter’s end, they are all truly motivated by profit.

This is a LARGE reason why the house smells like feces and there’s black mold growing up the walls.

Let’s get something straight, this is not a story about greed and capitalism because I love me some free markets. MCs need to make profits in order to provide cutting edge medical treatments. I agree with that. But do we need to rent out Islands of Adventure Theme Park?

Most hospitals are also in the business of turning a profit which seems like a conflict of interest on account that their overall product is um, life? But, we live in America so hospitals are allowed to make a profit, too. So how do they do that? They do that by attracting patients and they do THAT by providing quality service, having the fanciest medical procedures available and the best doctors money can buy.

ICs are another player in the game looking to make a buck. Again, huge red flags going up. Their mission should be to help people get the best, most effective medicines and procedures and yet, what’s most important is their Quarterly report to Wall Street. But again, we live in the land of opportunity so why shouldn’t they be able to operate in a free market too?

After all, competition drives costs down right? Wait, what’s that? You can’t buy just any ol’ insurance you want because of the state you live in and/or the company you work for? Where’s the competition in that? 

I’ll tell ya…petrified pieces of dog poo.

That leaves the Government to play checks and balances over all these entities. And as we all know the Government is so efficient and does everything in a timely, economical manner, right?  I don’t blame them really because there are so many moving parts, the lobbyist, state regulations and all that red-surgical tape, it’s like opening a refrigerator with milk that expired in the 90′s. Obviously, the Government’s motivations should lie in the best interest of the people, but how can it when it’s up against three powerful entities with money to burn on Remy Martin, Cuban Cigars and campaign donations?

So, Abby got that medically necessary procedure at the hospital.

But then, Abby got a bill.

So Medicare deemed that an ordinary APPY=OUCHIE should cost $3000 and Abby’s IC paid $4000, but the hospital charged $12,000 for a fancy-schmancy robotic APPY=OUCHIE because the fancy doctor wanted to try out his new fancy toy. That decision, left Abby with an $8000 balance.

Why did this happen?

This happened because Medicare sometimes doesn’t pay for fancy-schmancy surgeries and therefore, many ICs don’t either. Plus, many doctors don’t have a clue what shit costs and why so they just do what they want and let the hospital, IC and patient figure it out when the bill comes due. 

Abby didn’t have very good insurance (not that she had a choice) but if she did, the remaining balance would either be “written off” in some crazy-ass hospital accounting process OR paid by her good Insurance Company company. Because she didn’t, the balance was charged back to her.

There’s your flee-infested couch.

So where do we, the people, the home owners come into the picture?

Five percent of Americans account over 50% of all health care costs. The vast majority of these people are the elderly and the uninsured. This 5%, and all their enormous expenses that go unpaid and are “written off,” are the reason why hospitals charge its patients 50 TIMES what a procedure should cost.

Admittedly, this is only one room of the Health Care Hoarder’s House and there are another three bedrooms full of Medicare fraud, rising insurance premiums and already too high taxes… all of which need sorting and cleaning.

Due to that nasty battle with my company, I no longer work there. Now you could say this is the tirade of a disgruntled employee. You could say that, but it wouldn’t negate the math I just laid out for you and it wouldn’t make this any less true. The truth is, I’m not disgruntled. I have nothing against my previous employer or any other medical company.

It’s not the MC’s fault, but they are part of this conversation as are the hospitals that charge $12,000, the ICs that will do anything not to pay a dime (and then increase your premiums), the doctors who are uninformed and Mr. & Mrs. Voting American who don’t give a rats ass what things cost because they rely on the Government and their IC to pay the bills… until they won’t… or can’t.

It is a broken, messy system where the motivations are all wobbling and misaligned like a giant stack of kitty litter in the hallway. The Government, the hospitals, MCs, ICs and even some doctors are the money-drunk hoarders and the ones paying the ultimate price are all the little people trying to find a place to rest their sick, weary bones as one careless hand after another adds another piece of useless trash to the heap. Again, and by “trash” I mean ineffecitve legislation.

So what’s the solution and where is Peter Walsh when you need him?

I’m not sure there is one comprehensive solution– at least not one that I’ve heard. But I can tell you some ideas that I could get behind.

1.) Transparency on procedure options and costs. We (and doctors) need to know what’s happening, how much it costs, and why. Maybe that entails having a 3rd party patient advocate? If you can afford it, you can get one of those right now. But the people who need the most education, can’t afford it. That means it’s up to US to pay attention to what things cost and why and to know all our options and educate each other. There’s an amazing website www.healthcareblueblook.com. It will give the fair pricing for many surgical procedures. Information is empowering.

2.) Access to free preventative healthcare. This means that everyone can have easy access to free pap smears, dental exams, colonoscopies, mammograms etc. If there could be a way to incentivize people to do these things, all the better.

3.) Shifting the motivations of Insurance Companies and providing transparency into their operations. Companies with so much sway over a person’s life should have more accountability.

4.) Allowing people to purchase Insurance from a larger pool of options, not just those in their state or from their employer. This would help to drive costs down making it more affordable.

5.) Reform of the Medicare program and a crackdown on the rampant fraud that lies within.

Clearly, I don’t have all the answers. Right now, there are things that scare me about the current planned legislation, dubbed “Obamacare.” The mandated purchase of insurance will only allow you to choose between a few companies in your state (because again, government health care, [Medicare] is a state-run entity). This limited pool of options creates a virtual monopoly and because ICs are motivated by money, well, that’s not a recipe for success.

However, I do like the slashing of expenditure to an already bloated, and fraud-filled Medicare system which is also a part of Obama’s plan, but I don’t like the increase taxes that will happen to pay for all of this. Essentially, Obamacare’s additional government bureaucracy that will oversee all these new changes will be like building another wing onto the house to pile up even more crap into.

The United States has the highest quality health care and innovation in the world. That is due, in large part, to our money-motivated system. I don’t want to lose the motivation to innovate and provide quality, but at the same time, I don’t think people need to mortgage their homes, declare bankruptcy and forfeit their life’s savings to have it.

The MCs, ICs, hospitals, doctors and state-run bureaucracies all have to be willing to give more, so that we, the people, can have more. Motivations are powerful. Money is powerful. I know, I was entranced by that eyeball staring at me from on top of the pyramid, too. But there are things in this world more important than money… as I have come to find out. For me, they are Baby #1 and Baby #2, and I don’t want them to find themselves trapped inside a house filled with my useless trash.

So what do you think? I’d love to hear your thoughts and any additions to my list. Leave a comment and I’ll pick someone at random to give absolutely nothing. :-)

To The Warrior Mothers of Autistic Kids:

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I really lost her once. She popped around the end cap of the aisle while I was looking at clothes for her baby brother who was sitting happily in the tandem stroller. Whenever I lose sight of her in a store, I start counting the grains of sand on a mental timer. If she doesn’t pop back into view by the time the sand runs out, I must go find her. First, I’ll say, “Honey, come here please.” In a sing-song voice. Then, “Honey? Where are you? Can you come here please?” If I hear no answer (in the form of a giggle) I start looking for her. Usually, within a minute or two I see her. This happens at least every 10 to 15 minutes whenever we go shopping. Eventually, I will wrestler her into the stroller while she whines, grabs at everything and says she’s ready to go home. It’s exhausting and frustrating but not as bad as if I were to lose her, which I did that day.

That day I kept turning corners and I couldn’t catch sight of her anywhere. I maneuvered the stroller in and out of the racks and down the nearest aisles. I stopped at an adjacent toy area where she would likely be dawdling. She wasn’t. Soon, I panicked. It doesn’t take long for me to panic; two minutes, maybe three.

My biggest fear is losing one of my children, especially my daughter since she is a wily toddler and prone to run. It’s a game to her and an exercise in frustration for me. Sometimes, when I’m weary with exhaustion the scenarios play out behind my eyelids as I try to sleep. The moment I realize she is lost, my body jerks involuntarily from the terror and I am awake. It’s the by-product of an over-tired, over-active mind.

The other mothers in the store could see the panic on my face that day and immediately went into their helpful, mother-modes; asking questions, bobbing their heads around corners and calling her name. Ten, anxiety-ridden minutes, and one hasty Code Adam later, I found her. She was happily climbing on furniture, oblivious to my panic.

While I was in college I was a substitute teacher. One of my regular jobs was as an aide to an autistic boy named Vincent. I was nervous at first. I was 21 with no prior experience with special needs kids. Vincent was in the 1st grade but he spent most of his time one-on-one with me in special classroom. It was my job to assist Vincent throughout his day with everything from learning numbers to using the restroom. I don’t know why, but Vincent liked me… a lot. His regular teacher kept asking for me as a sub anytime she needed one. I really didn’t know what I was supposed to do so I just I let him sit on my lap and play with my hair most of the time. Vincent was non-verbal, so communication was difficult. I had to ask a lot of yes/no questions or attempt to decode his grunts and gestures. Most of the time he looked stoic, maybe confused, but every now and again you could connect with him. It could be over the simplest thing like a look or a song–at those moments he produced the goofiest grin and guttural laugh that you couldn’t help but think he’s just like any other little boy. One time, at a school-wide assembly he got very agitated. He sat on my lap, put his hands over his ears, squeezed his eyes shut and began rocking. Just a minute ago he had been a happy boy holding my hand following a line of kids and within seconds I watched him go somewhere inside himself. I didn’t know what to do so I just sat there with my arms around him, rocking with him until it was time to leave. I only substituted for Vincent for a year and only three or four times, but he was memorable.

April is Autism Awareness Month. OWN, The Oprah Winfrey Network aired a documentary on called, “Autism: The Musical.” The film followed a group of autistic kids and their families through a six-month program wherein they learned to perform a play. I was riveted, mostly, because of the mothers. What warriors these women were. Most were divorced and one was in the midst of a separation. Divorce rates for parent’s with autistic children has been quoted as high as 85-90%.

These women devoted their lives and many sacrificed their marriages for these kids. They cried, they got angry, they looked worried and frightened and my heart broke over and over for them and their pain. There is nothing they would not do to connect with their kids even if it meant their own health and wellbeing. One woman made the comment that she knew her daughter was in there, she just needed to find a way to find her. At that moment, I knew.

Just the thought of losing my daughter can make my body react involuntarily in terror. I cannot imagine feeling that way everyday when you look into your child’s eyes. Two minutes of losing my daughter in a department stores can incite panic in me. What must losing your child inside themselves feel like? You can see them, they are right in front of your face, and yet they are gone into another world and the only person on the planet who cares enough to go and find them is you, their warrior mother… at any cost. I can strap my daughter into the stroller and find comfort in the fact that she’s there, safe with me. If that fails, I can enlist other mothers and call a Code Adam if need be. There are no such devices for these moms. They are mostly alone. They have fleeting moments, glimpses of smiles and safety inside a mostly confusing, stoic world.

I blink back tears just thinking about that kind of strength.

When I made my life’s vision board two years ago I included this:

Because I never wanted to forget Vincent and I never wanted to forget, for the rest of my life, how lucky I am. And now, it will also remind me of those warrior mothers. Mothering on, mostly alone, in the face of their children. This post is for you.

Consider these words my arms around you, rocking you until it’s time to leave.

To Work or Not to Work? That is the BIG Mom Question.

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I’m a serendipitous SAHM. That’s Stay-At-Home-Mom for those unfamiliar with mommy acronyms. I say serendipitous because although I had desires of staying home with my children, I hadn’t planned on it. My three-year paid subscription to Working Mother Magazine will be running out when my first-born turns three next month. I was a working mother when I bought that subscription but due to some unfortunate and unforseen events at work, I have been a SAHM for a year and a half. After having sashayed in the heels of a full-time, working-mama and schlepped in the imitation UGGs of a full-time SAHM (doing both for the right and wrong reasons) I have had time to contemplate the quality and quantity of grass on both sides of this proverbial fence.

Women have been discussing this issue for decades earning it an ominous-sounding moniker, “The Mommy Wars.” After nearly two decades of debate, I actually thought we had come to a truece, but just open Facebook or Twitter, or any number of popular mom blogs and you will quickly realize that the debate is alive and thriving with plenty of fertilizer to spur healthy growth.

To work, or not to work has always been an emotionally charged subject for Moms. Clearly, there is so much at stake that the choice is fraught with high opinions and deep self-identifications. You could certainly draw parallels between it, and religion and politics. Just like religion and politics, everyone acts like they are tolerant but secretly believes their way is the best way. We all rehearse the talking points, recite the research and remember the anecdotal stories that defend our choices and yet, I know from experience there is not one of us who is not frothing over with doubt like a forgotten pot of macaroni-n-cheese. It’s so hard to have this conversation because no one wants to admit they feed burned mac-n-cheese to their kids five nights a week. Well I do, and they get the leftovers, too.

Truth is, this job, this thing, this privilege and honor of being someone’s Mother, it possesses all the imposing majesty of a full-grown Sequoia in an old growth forest–it’s deep, sacred and far-reaching. Trying to figure out the one right and perfect way of doing it is like trying to untangle the roots and pick the very best one.

Just like the roots of a Sequoia nurture its growth, women are drawn to nurture things. Walk down the aisle of any toy store and you’ll come to the dolly section. There you’ll find everything a real-life mom needs to care for an infant only in miniature, pink, plastic form. The instinct to play “mommy” is part of our double xx chromosome package. We can’t help it, it’s in our DNA. Most of us are drawn to those big, watery eyes and rosebud fists like desert animals to a watering hole.

When this awesome event happens in our lives the responsibility we face is overwhelming, and the love, even more so. We spend nine months giving up your bodies to create this life and when you see that squinty, swollen, turtle face you know that it is but ONE step in a trek toward the moon of how far you’d go. There is nothing, as in NOT. ONE. THING. we would not sacrifice for our baby’s well-being. We want the best life possible for them even at the expense of our own. I believe all mother’s everywhere feel this way. It’s who we have been across space and time because every species (if they are to survive) needs someone to care beyond all reason for its babies. By in large, mothers are that someone.

The role is a sacrificial one and us mothers… we have perfected the art of the sacrifice. Unlike our ancestors and women in Third-World countries, most of us (thankfully) are blessed to live in an environment of safety and conveniences. Our sacrifices are less dramatic than life and death but still important because they involve our single greatest commodity… time.

When you become a mother you learn the true nature of time. You are left breathless by its scarcity and whip-lashed by the ferocity with which it dissipates. Pre-kids, time is infinite, measurable and almost tangible. When you become a mother, it goes all Salvadore-Dali-melty-clock on you. Babies outgrow onesies at surreal rates and still some days feel like they’ll never end. Time becomes a million times more precious and quantifiable and therefore we are constantly making decisions on how to spend it, with whom, and for what reasons. Daily sacrifices are made in the name of quality and quantity. This melting-clock-time is the reason we choose to stay home, or not.

A mantra is something to help you focus when you’ve lost your reason for doing something important. When I was a working mother my mantras were, ”I’m a better mommy because I have time to myself,” and, “the time I have with them will be more special because I’ll really be present,” and lastly, “I need time to interact with adults and use my brain.” In my opinion, the latter is the worst reason. I know all these rationalizations because I ingrained them into my psyche everyday while slipping into my patent leather pumps. I worked because our family relied on my paycheck. I now believe this is the best reason to be a working Mom and if economics is your reason for working, then stop reading because you are doing the right thing. But if you find yourself having to make choices or feeling bad about your circumstances, this might help you to feel better about which shade of green your grass could be.

Deep down I always wanted to be a SAHM. I am drawn, sometimes without reason, to this lifestyle. This is the best reason to be a SAHM. I also thought my children would have a better childhood, one that I felt I didn’t have with a working mother. In my opinion, this was the worst reason to be a SAHM. None-the-less, this job requires a mantra of its own which is, “They are only young once and I don’t want to miss this time in their lives. I have a lifetime to work.”

Everyone wants quality time with their kids. Quality time is the best time. Quality time is what your visions of parenthood consisted of before you became a parent. It’s delighting in belly laughs and watching their faces light up as they process the world. It’s feeling your heart swell as they take their first wobbly steps and then want only Mommy to hold them when they fall down. Those are the special moments; the time well spent and worth spending. The problem is, those moments happen at random and not always between the hours of 6pm-8pm or on weekends. In fact, those late evening hours are usually the least quality time spent with kids.

But if you’re a SAHM, there is no question you are there for those moments. That awesome quality time is in abundance… the quantity is quite overwhelming in fact. I am currently so full on time that I’m bloated. Time weighs quite a bit as it turns out. I am so overloaded with quality time with my kids, that I have to sacrifice the quantity and quality of my own time. I can no longer go where I want, take a break when I please, or pee in privacy. Sometimes I get frustrated to tears when I don’t have time to write, workout, or just sit down and stare off into space. My kids often suffer the brunt of these frustrations by way of my sudden outbursts of anger and hearing my favorite word over and over, “stopthatrightnow!”

No matter which option you choose, it’s always about sacrificing time and convincing yourself that you’re doing the right thing with yours for the wellbeing of your children. The ultimate question becomes, do you want to be there for every single quality moment with your kids while dealing with the weight of ALL of it AND sacrificing of your own time? Or would you rather sacrifice maximum quality time, for a little more quality time of your own and NOT have to burst into tears the FOURTH time you take your toddler to the potty at Target?

It’s a difficult and personal decision, but the answer for me was simple. My infant son wiggles his whole body when he sees me. It doesn’t matter if I’m gone for 2 minutes or 2 hours, he still wiggles and smiles with his whole head in my general direction. No client, no matter how much they liked me ever did that.

So I choose to sacrifice whatever I need to for maximum wiggles. Might I also scar them for life with my sudden and seemly inexplicable outbursts of rage? Nah. Nor do I believe that if I choose to work again they will have less security and happiness in their childhoods. The reason I believe this is because all mommies everywhere love their babies beyond reason and that is reason enough.

I know this is true because motherhood is like a Sequoia with melty clocks on its branches. There is not one route or root that is more important to the WHOLE tree than all of them. Every root and route is an equal expression of nurturing and love…

…and grass doesn’t grow under them anyway.

Update: Look what I got in the mail the day after I posted this? Serendipitous? I’m starting to believe that all there is, is serendipity.

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Flossing and LSD

Right Brain, Left Brain

They say the logical, methodical, rationale brain is on the left side. It’s the side that calculates, figures and defines the world into measurable increments. It’s the side that tells you to floss, obey traffic signals and balance your checkbook. Apparently, the right brain is the opposite of that. It’s the dreamer, the creative, intuitive, impulsive side that drops acid and then writes a poem about it using the pages of your checkbook.

The first part of my life I lived in the right brain. I dreamt hard, loved impulsively and felt everything. As fun as that sounds it didn’t work out so well, particularly the acid part. I was scared a lot and I didn’t know how not to be. At some point I decided that if things were going to change I needed to do the exact opposite of what I had been doing. I reasoned that if I married someone with all those left-brained skills then I could learn, by proxy, how to operate in the world using more information than what I could glean from a mood ring. So I did just that, and it worked. I now floss… sometimes.

Since meeting my husband in 2001 I’ve steadily developed that left side of my brain. It was partly because of him, but also because of the residual effects of growing up and taking on more responsibilities. Over time, I learned how to create PowerPoint presentations, analyze medical research and calculate the interest rate on a mortgage. As boring as that sounds, I also learned the value in knowing these things and to my surprise, I enjoyed them. Facts made me feel safe. The more I knew about my world, the more I felt grounded in it instead of dog-paddling against the current headed for an imaginary, rainbow-colored waterfall. (Okay, that might have been the acid talking, but still).

Today, I can honestly say that I love biology, physics and even the Dow Jones. Understanding these things has allowed me to create a good life.

So here I am, coming full circle. I haven’t worked at a job that has required my left brain for almost two years. In this space, my natural, right-brained tendencies have resurfaced. I’m writing, reading and painting with primary colors and those fat, toddler-sized paint brushes. I’m singing lullabies and making up bedtime stories and the synapses on the right side of my head are lighting up like the Fourth of July sans acid. (Because two hours at Target with my toddler is enough of a bad trip for me these days.)

What I’m saying is that for the first time, I am feeling whole. Now, maybe that has something to do with the residual effects of growing up and taking on more responsibilities, but I also believe it’s because I know who I am and what I’m capable of doing. What I was able to accomplish in the left-brained corporate world of numbers, figures and measurable increments showed me the power of those things, but more importantly, it showed me the power of me.

Had I not spent years working out those logic muscles it wouldn’t have mattered how strong I was creatively–because any strength, when overused, becomes a weakness.

Learning facts has helped me to feel better, dream harder and love more…  which is ultimately, obviously, how I like to operate in the world anyway.

Oh, and also the flossing. Flossing is good, LSD is not… as good.