Remembering Edith

Submitted by Barbara J. Gosse, Associate Dean of Clinical Services, MCAOM

Let me begin by talking a bit about one of my mentors, Edith Davis.  Edith recently passed away. Her passing was the perfect opportunity to reflect upon the gifts she bestowed upon me and others in our profession. She was a great pioneer in bringing Asian medicine to Minnesota as well as promoting our profession throughout the entire country.

What many of you may not know, if you’ve never met Edith was that she had polio at age 6 months. Polio changed her body dramatically. Her legs developed differently than the average pair of legs.

Edith and I met in the early 1980’s. We had an immediate knowing of each other that far superseded any words. We understood each other on a visceral level as I also am physically different. Some people would have described Edith as brash, tactless and one who would forge ahead like a steam roller. As a matter of fact, some people would describe me as the same way. I prefer to look at these behaviors as developed survival techniques. I believe this gusto in behavior comes from a culture of physical difference.

Edith was the first woman that I met in the working world, and ironically a profession that I was just entering; who had a physical difference like me. I tell people she was my mentor in being a woman in the world. She had all of the things in life that most would naturally feel the right to have, i.e. a husband, children, a home, intelligence, a deep professional passion and curiosity, as well as the chutzpa to live her dreams. (I did not grow up with the belief that these privileges were my natural human right.) She was the first woman to model a life that was my vision, while living her life to the fullest. I will forever have gratitude for her pioneering spirit. (Thanks, Edith.)

My day is comprised of adapting to our NWHSU structure. This statement is not a complaint - just a fact. Walking through the halls of the university, I find myself adapting daily to the heights of our campus.

Initially when I was asked to write this I was in the Chiropractic Faculty Offices. The new “In Boxes” for the Chiropractic Faculty had just been installed. I immediately observed that I would never be able to reach the boxes to place material in them. I inquired as to why they were so high. I was told that they were placed at that height to make sure the tallest person in the office would not hit their shoulder on them as they walked through the hall. Initially I took that statement as fact for how it is. Then, I thought that it seemed a bit of an oxymoron to accommodate the tallest but not the shortest. (To the benefit of that department, it is not where I’m housed at the university, and there are more of you, tall people, than me.)

Being physically different by height takes lots of planning and adjusting.  When I put supplies away I need a stool.  I might reach the bottom shelf, but never any higher shelves. That means that I need to place the stool, get the supplies, climb up on the stool and place product that I can hold, on the shelves, get down, get more product, climb back up on the stool and place the product away. As you can imagine, these steps really slow my production.

Having a difference means not touching the floor while using the restroom - humorous, but inconvenient.

When using the elevator rather than the stairs, I hope the person who used the elevator before me shut the door. If not, I waddle up the stairs to retrieve the elevator or ask someone to fetch the elevator for me, or find a different elevator to use. Again, a time consuming process. I never realized until a close friend made me aware that when I perform a task, the effort is with many added steps to the process.

I could go on and on about the adaptations I make. I prefer not to focus on the added difficulties that being short brings. I prefer to look at the gifts that I got from being short. (I believe that all hardships have a gift that equals or surpasses the hardship itself.)

Dealing with my shortness and the physical changes that come with having a genetic form of Rickets has certainly brought gifts to my life that I believe I would have spent a life time learning without having had Rickets. I believe my sense of compassion for others has its roots in my own physical difference. I believe that by not “fitting” into the norm, I was given the permission to fit into many norms with greater ease. I believe that by dealing with overt criticism from others about my looks, I have been able to develop a keen awareness of how we place our own “isms” onto others. It also gives me a freedom to look at how we may grow as a diverse community.

I guess the point to ponder is this:

Where in your life has your own vulnerability hindered or enhanced the ways you perceive yourself and others?