That's a really interesting angle; in the pharma ad biz, we often talk about people under 18 and their parents, older aged people with their children as caretakers, and middle-aged people with their spouses. There's certainly a gap there and I hope future HCPs are trained in giving full adult respect to full adults regardless of who they bring with them.
I dreamt of my ex-husband last night.
In the first season of Mad Men, Peggy, a young advertising copywriter, unexpectedly has an illegitimate child with a married coworker. (Oops, spoiler?) Her boss, Don Draper, visits her in the hospital. She is obviously devastated; what will this mean for her career? Her life?
With all the wisdom of an identity-stealing adulterer (just go watch the show), Don tells her,
“Get out of here and move forward. This never happened. It will shock you how much it never happened.”
Peggy ends up giving away her baby to a relative to raise, and…
Tldr; wear a condom until a vaccine is widely available.
The only reason I’m able to write this article right now is because, after being awake for 8 straight hours starting at 3 AM, my one-month-old baby, strapped to my chest in what my husband and I call “the pod,” has finally fallen asleep. Hallelujah! Where’s the scotch?
Now, before I list my qualms, I do want to stress one thing: my son is amazing. He is the best thing to ever come out of my body by a long shot. His bright blue eyes and his button nose and…
My husband and I got pregnant in January 2020, when the scariest major world event against peace was just a little threat of war from Iran. Remember that? Ah, simpler times.
The first 2 and a half months of pregnancy were what any mother-to-be would expect: some morning sickness, anxiety about keeping it a secret from my workplace, waiting for that bump to arrive (if only I knew how fast it would grow…). …
His emerald eyes peer into my soul, questioning my very existence in his world, and his glare would be disconcerting if it weren’t for the tiny bit of pink tongue blepping out of his cute little mouth. Fear me! he roars. I pick him up as he meows and ensnare him in a basket hold, cuddling him like the baby he is. So fierce, I whisper. He wriggles free and returns to his carpeted throne.
Oliver enters. I could hear him from rooms away, his long claws clippity clapping on my original hardwood floors (I wonder if PetSmart is still…
Confession time, here’s what I got!
I eat bread. And sugar. And I haven’t counted a calorie for a year.
Most would think this hardly classifies as a confession. It’s barely a statement. But I feel real guilt and anxiety over it.
A few years ago, when I was in a terrible place in my life, I measured everything that went into my body. 1350–1700 calories a day depending on whether or not I had lifted hard that morning. No sugars. No bread or chips or rice. Cheese on rare occasions, with exactly 5 oz of red wine measured with…
She gives birth to flame with a flick
And feels no shame. Yet
The wick moans in agony as heat
Hits hard glass. Trapped in melting
Wax. Wait for me, it whispers. Wisps
Of darkness rise. She closes her eyes,
Inhales the crimson scent of death.
Exhales life within breath but wants
To harness it close to her breast.
Selfish thoughts lock her chest in knots.
Fire mocks with a foxtrot. Serpentine.
Again it whispers: Wait. Wait for me.
When I felt my palms start to sweat and my mind began to race, I knew I shouldn’t and wouldn’t go to the women’s support group tonight. I have been searching for a safe space, preferably a free one, where I can speak candidly about my experiences with other women who know what I’d been through and can sympathize. The problem is: my problems aren’t big problems, and counselors don’t create safe spaces for people like me.
The women’s support group I would have spent an hour at tonight is held every Monday, and it is through a nonprofit that…
My favorite Disney movie as a kid was easily The Lion King. My friends were all partial to more “girly” stories like Cinderella or The Little Mermaid, but those didn’t appeal to me so much. First of all, they were incredibly frustrating. I mean, Ariel loses her voice so she can’t tell the handsome prince what’s going on, right? Except she lost her voice by signing it away, meaning she can write, and could have easily explained her entire situation in 2 minutes with a pencil and a napkin.
He closed his eyes and felt the warm wind blow through his hair and across his fingertips. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the glow of bright orange summertime. Holding his breath, the brightness slipped through his lungs into his veins, pulsing to his toes and heart, pushing his memories up and up, until they fell through his eyes in salty drops. Drops became streams, and breaths became sobs, and still the warm wind blew.
His knees buckled, weak beneath the weight of all he was carrying, all the knowledge and loss and regret that sat heavy on…