Exposing My Breastsby Mary Van Pelt |
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In October I drove south to the Harwood Museum of Art in Taos, New Mexico to see In Praise of What Persists. It was an exhibit of 15 large black and white photographs by Taos artist Kathleen C. Brennan depicting her partner, Kat Duff, before, during, and in recovery following a mastectomy. I was struck by Kat, a small, thin woman perhaps in her late forties, with short blonde hair and blue eyes. There she sat, vibrantly alive, on the discussion panel. Behind her hung the series of black and white photographs that showed to the world her bare breasts, and then her mastectomy scar. All my issues surrounding courage and self-disclosure were announced in this bold display. In front of an audience numbering around one hundred people, each panel participant was allowed a few minutes to speak, and then there were questions. It seemed most of the attention went to the medical doctor, breast cancer specialist Dr. Susan Seedman, who was one of Kat’s physicians. And the audience’s questions were mostly about “prevention.” There were many fear-based questions such as, “What can I do so that this does not happen to me?” The questions seemed to miss the point. I thought the whole story was about Kat’s gift of life -- her resilience and her courage to open the door to this discussion. Her amazing survival, recovery, and vibrant life despite all she has endured. She is way beyond the fear question, “What if this happened to me?” It did happen to her, and look at how stunning she is, how beautiful she shines! The following Saturday, October 16th, I was the speaker. The event was the 19th annual Alternatives 2004, a five-day mental health consumer-survivor conference held in downtown Denver. Five hundred people from across the nation gathered. I was honored to be a presenter with Dr. Susan Manning, Associate Professor at the University of Denver. The title of our workshop was, Growth Challenges the Boundaries of Traditional Systems. In my introduction I identified myself as a person with a bipolar disorder. I’ve only recently begun this act of self-disclosure in public, but when surrounded by my peers, both consumers and service providers, it seems important and relevant. I went on to tell this story: While I was a staff member at a rural community mental health center my therapist – also on staff-- held a Thanksgiving Day potluck at his home. The open invitation to everyone was printed in the weekly office memo. When I read the memo this dilemma went round and round in my head. Was I a “staff member” invited to a party? Or, because I am a consumer of mental health services at this same agency, did this invitation not apply to me? I took a positive approach, decided I was a “staff member” and put an RSVP note in his box. My therapist responded with a note saying it was not appropriate for me to attend this dinner. The invitation to all did not apply to me. I felt shut out. The little girl inside of me wanted to run home crying to my mom that I had not been invited to the party and I didn’t understand why. But I was a single woman in my mid-thirties hundreds of miles from home. My good friend Dana listened to me, many times, as I recounted the incident, my grief and disappointment, the rejection. But like a good servant being paid for her work, I knew my place within the system and did not challenge my therapist or the administration with questions about ethics and boundaries – I was grateful for my job. After I told my story, a spirited group discussion began. Consumer service providers, therapists and administrators were in the audience. Principles and values were colored by personal experience, charged with emotion and electric energy.
After initiating the discussion I sat listening, might as well have had pictures of my bare breasts on the wall behind me – I was exposed! Sitting in quiet anxiety, silencing the desire to tell more details of my story as others examined my experience under their microscopes of acceptance and judgment. I listened to the pros and cons. These were points I had heard in previous discussions, but this time I was on stage! Thanksgiving Day Potluck is a fairly common scenario that is played out in a variety of ways. Although circumstances and details vary from one story to another, consumer service providers in community mental health centers get caught in dual-relationships and their experiences are covered up without discussion in an environment not unlike the racial discrimination of Jim Crow. When it happened to me, I felt alone, I was the only one, and there was no one for me to talk to. I accepted the situation as an unwritten rule of how the mental health system worked, and I kept the incident to myself. Community mental health centers have created numerous complex rules to divert potential lawsuits and manage employee problems. These rules grow in complexity as consumers grow in their recovery, capabilities, and abilities. And much like teenagers who challenge their parents, growing consumers challenge the system that was once helpful. When consumers no longer fit into the role of helpless, needy, and dependent – the system must expand its parameters to accommodate new levels of competency. Like Kat Duff, I am now years beyond the question, “What if this happened to me?” I have been given the opportunity to tell my story and shine a light on situations and circumstances I once lived with in silence and isolation.
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© Copyright 2006, Mary Van Pelt. |
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