"…and now I'm having heart problems - sometimes it beats so fast I can't breathe. Two years of auditions had yielded only rejection. She had come to Los Angeles from the Midwest to "make it" in the film industry. I'm a failure," she sniffled.Īfter a few deep breaths, she relayed her very familiar story. "I can't handle it, I can't keep it together. Her eyes filled with tears, she mumbled, "I'm so sorry," and slumped into the chair. She had barely shut the door and turned around and the facade was gone. When her name was called, she stood up dramatically, flashed them a sparkling smile, and was led into my office. With an actor's magnetism, she had engaged the old people in the waiting room and was glowingly chatting. Blond, thin, and fashionably dressed, she epitomized the Southern California stereotype. More recently, a young woman came to see me for the first time. It was only when she called me while relaxing on her vacation in Maui a few weeks later, and the hair loss had stopped, that she was convinced. Not at all convinced when I said anxiety could be the culprit and discussed stress reduction techniques, she left my office annoyed, no doubt to find a better diagnostician. When I asked her about stress she appeared indignant, as if I was implying this was all in her head, but she did state that her new boss was trying to sabotage her. She denied symptoms of anemia, thyroid or dermatologic disease - all common causes of hair loss, and a thorough workup, including scalp biopsy, revealed nothing. A high-level manager for the government, in her conservative suit she appeared competent and no-nonsense, not prone to histrionics, and indeed when I examined her head, there were patches of scalp showing. I did not recognize the magnitude of the problem until I opened a practice in the middle of Beverly Hills.Ī few months ago, a middle aged woman came to my office distraught that her hair was falling out in clumps. As I started listening to my patients less about the type of their pain, and more about the quality of their lives, a troubling fact began to emerge: stress and anxiety are rampant, and they manifest as almost any medical symptom. At first, I assumed it was my inexperience, but as test after test came back negative, I began to wonder if something else was happening. A large number of patients come in with specific complaints that I can not attribute to any medical illness - chest pain, abdominal pain, sleep disturbance, low back pain - all real physical symptoms that exhaustive work-ups do not find the source of. In the ten years that I have been practicing medicine, I have noticed a curious trend. I've been thinking a lot about the meaning of freedom lately. And there we were, the Cheerio King and I, dancing and laughing on the desolate beach to the sound of the crashing surf, amidst the seagulls and the cereal. Entranced by the radiant smile that had taken over his normally serious face, I, too, got up and started to sway. Silhouetted against the deep blue ocean and the marshmallow clouds, my very reserved son danced faster and faster, his head thrown back with laughter. When the bag was finished, he looked down and said sadly, "Bye everyone." And then, perhaps struck by the shimmering water, the scent of the ocean, or just the silliness of the situation, he put up his hands and started to dance, slowly.
There we were, the Cheerio King and I, dancing and laughing on the desolate beach, amidst the seagulls and the cereal. As he threw out the Cheerios he would laugh as the birds stumbled all over each other to get them. No longer the introvert, surrounded by seagulls, he was the king amongst his adoring audience. A little more confident now, Joey stood up. Hesitantly, he threw a Cheerio and giggled as another bird swooped down. When a particularly brazen seagull stole an errant morsel, Joey, in his typical way, tilted his head and watched, with a puzzled half-smile on his face. While his brother would have been running into the water and throwing rocks, and his sister would have been busily discussing what sort of dress she wanted, Joey was content to sit quietly with me, watch the birds, and eat his Cheerios. The middle child, his soft, contemplative personality is often overpowered by his extroverted older brother and his precocious younger sister, so I was happy to be able to spend some time alone with him.
On a whim, I had decided to take a few hours off and go down to the ocean with my 4-year-old son, Joey. Just after a storm, the leaden gray skies were giving way to bright blue, the sun was beginning to warm the sand, and the waves were frosted with foam. It was a magical day, that day last winter at the beach.
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