Set Free To Dream

On Choosing Art

Though I never abandoned my artistic practice, there was a moment when the slings and arrows of my outrageous career made me consider quitting. At 40-something I was burned out by backstage drama, bored by conventional plays, and bound and determined not spend the rest of my life in a darkened theatre. So, I decided to become a doctor; or rather, I reconsidered becoming a doctor.

You see, medicine was something of a tradition in my extended family. My grandfather, uncle, and sister-in-law—as well as her mother and father— were all medical practitioners. Poignantly, although my mother was admitted to University of Michigan’s medical school in 1942, she was NOT a doctor. This is because she was abruptly disqualified when she became engaged to my dad. Michigan’s rule was no married women in our medical school.

Despite this sexist blow, my mother never abandoned medicine. She held onto her medical textbooks and stayed current on medical advances. She was the person that our family and friends consulted when they felt ill; and her advice was often better than the local GP’s.

Growing up, I revered my mom’s medical know-how and understood her not-so-secret wish that I become the family’s first woman doctor. In 1972, my mom celebrated the passage of Title IX, which made it illegal to deny women educational opportunities based on their sex or marital status. She proclaimed that now I could study any subject and become anything. Helen Reddy’s “I am Woman, hear me Roar” played on repeat in the secret garden of my mind.

The 70’s were heady times for a 13-year-old girl contemplating her future. Although I wanted to avenge my mother’s honor, my growing intoxication with Art soon overpowered my sense of duty. Rather than taking chemistry and biology in high school, I auditioned for plays and spent my weekends in art museums. My mom was disappointed that I planned to attend an arts conservatory, rather than study pre-med at an Ivy League, but she understood that the power of Title IX was to set young women free.

Medicine had been my mom’s dream. Art would be mine.

I went off to art school, but medicine remained my fallback through my undergraduate years. Medicine was the sensible path I would pursue if my creative career cratered. Fortunately, after graduation, I advanced quickly into professional theatre, but I maintained my interest in the healing professions.

And I noticed—especially when I moved to California— that medicine was changing. Doctors were no longer officious men in white coats who chastised patients over their weight and sexual activity, but women who displayed empathy and acted as partners in health care. The medical fields were expanding too, with new sub-specialties that aligned with the emotional, psychological and somatic aspects that I revered in the arts.

Staring down my mid-life monsters, I believed that medicine could be my second act. Earnestly, I consulted several doctor-friends, all of whom vehemently declared, “Don’t do it.”

They had a litany of reasons why I should NOT pursue medicine:

“You’ll have at least 8 years of training, and by that age you’ll be too old to start your own medical practice, so you’ll be stuck working for a health care system and paying off med school loans for the rest of your life.”

Furthermore…

“Our vocation has been degraded by those managed care f&*ckers.”

Not to mention…

“Your work-life balance will suck!”

Clearly, doctors were more burned-out than we theatre folk.

Although this was dispiriting news, my creative spirit came to my rescue. Over the next 10 years, I followed a winding path leading me to more expansive understanding of the purpose and practice of Art. I left the theatre, where I had worked since I was 25, to found my own creative business. I consulted for museums and taught at universities, while earning a graduate degree in creative writing. At the same time, I met the great love of my life and remarried, helped care for my mother as her cognition declined; and raised my two beautiful sons. Eventually I accepted a job at my alma mater, the arts conservatory, where among many other creative efforts, I supported collaborative research between dancers and doctors to better support patients with Parkinson’s.

Sadly in 2016 my husband Bruno was diagnosed with an incurable cancer. Where Medicine could offer us no cure, Art brought us healing. While we endured chemotherapy, radiation, surgery, and ultimately hospice; Bruno played music and I wrote prose and poetry. Every day. Making art brought us laughter, joy, solace, and profound love.

Day 507

At hospice now, you are still making music. The room grows crowded with family gathered to cheer you onto the finish line.

You said most of what we know about a person is a memory, that the Bruno we know is recorded in our minds, and so what we know as Bruno will live forever through others.

Before long your mother, brother, sons and friends and I will have to create a “Bruno” from remnants. You will become a myth we write to console ourselves.

What shatters my heart is losing the future Bruno. And losing the future of Corey and Bruno. There will be no “we” soon. We’ve spent 5000 days together. 500 days fighting this beast, cancer.

You lived 45 years before we met. I only know that former Bruno through your stories. Those myths you wrote to make sense of what happened to you.

The living Bruno is sacred. The creative, breathing, kissing Bruno—and I will never have enough of him. But I am grateful for the days I spent with you. There is a grace in every day of living.

Despite the tattered edge of our unfinished work, what we had was divine.

I came to understand that while there is much that Medicine can do for us, there is more that it cannot. This is where Art comes in—and why it was the path I chose when I was set free to dream.

Marriage
The center
The mirror
That holds
And reflects
Our life
Together

To be with
Someone
Who knows
And loves you
To travel life
Companioned

And yet
Certainly
This Love
Will die
& Leave you
Or you
Will leave
Them

Soul mate
We live
For each other
We die
For each other
Too

Loss
Echoes
Love
Eternally

Listen
Nothing
Nothing
Nothing
& Everything
Remains
Between
Us