I have been serving on the Executive Board of the Israel Chiropractic Society for the last four years, because I felt that you can only really make a difference from the inside. Other than an amusing and major temper tantrum by one of the board members last night, I realized that not only have I not made a difference to the quality and acceptance of Chiropractic in Israel, but that since I have become pregnant, I don't care as much.
In fact, while I enjoy most of my work days, when a client starts whining and I have not slept the night before because this baby is a constant swimmer (rather than a kicker), I find that I have limited patience (excuse the pun) for my job. I want to reserve all the energy I have, emotional and physical, for this child growing inside me. I can also say that if someone walked into my house right now and offered me complete financial security, I would close the office today, and spend the rest of my life taking care of this baby, traveling and fostering the creative side in me that has become quite dormant.
By the time the next board meeting happens in late July, I will have resigned my post, using the pregnancy as an excuse of course, but there is a deeper reason: I have always believed that in order for my life to have some meaning, I want to leave the world a better place than it was when I arrived. I am simply not sure anymore that the ideal venue is via my career. (For that heretical statement, I just may be banished from the Barnard alumnae list...)
Today was a perfect case-in-point: a patient who has consistently not been returning my phone calls for the last six months called today, saying that he "did something" to his neck and had to be treated today, right away. I replied in a professional and kind manner, saying that I had a full schedule and could either put him on a waiting list, or recommend a colleague.
One hour later, he called back, "Well, did anyone cancel?" Again I answered politely, saying that if he had not heard from me, then the answer was no. He took on a condescending and impatient tone, and said, "Is this a money thing? Because I will make it worth your while, I will pay you extra to see me later tonight."
I lost it, and though some inner voice wanted to simply say, "Fuck you," and hang up, instead I said in a voice most like a displeased nursery school teacher: "Here's the truth, I am in my sixth month of pregnancy and am working a seven hour day already today, after going to sleep last night after midnight because of a stupid meeting. I have to think of myself, my baby, and the fact that you do not want me to treat you when I am exhausted. This has nothing to do with money. Furthermore, I want to make it very clear that if you do not hear from me today, it means that you did not get off the waiting list and I do not want to hear from you."
My Israeli friends applauded me, saying that it was maybe a 5/10 on the "Mean Meter," and that I must think about myself and this life growing inside me. My greater fear is that my clients will not respect the time I plan on spending with my child after the birth, because after all, their pain comes before my right to live my life. (NOT!)
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