Self-esteem

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When one is designated as an “adult” psychiatrist,” that basically means the person who walks into your office (or is wheeled in or staggers in) has the insurance for which you are approved and an age somewhere between 18 and infinity.

Those who are closer to 18 usually have as at least one of their complaints, “I guess I need to go to school or find a job or something.” Read more on What Do You Want To Do When You Grow Up?…

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Like many others, I am of the type who has been made to feel less.  Less than healthy, less than human; whatever, the kind of feeling that sells diet food and diet plans. Read more on A Few Extra Pounds Might Not Be So Bad…

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Mattel's Bald Barbie dollMattel really got it right with this one.  The “Bald and Beautiful” Barbie for young girls with cancer is a truly beautiful thing.

I would certainly not consider myself an authority on the relationship girls have to dolls.  I was never terribly excited about them.

I hated fashion dolls as they were thin.  My mother had explained to me early on that none of the women in our family were thin — so I would never be.  She tried to find me a chubbier doll, but I was not fond of clothes then.  Maybe I could have related to a doll that looked fat enough to need to shop at Lane Bryant for clothes that fit.  There was no such doll then. Read more on A Company With Heart — The Bald Barbie Story…

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Down the hall she came making sounds of distress and physical effort.  When she got to my door, it didn’t get any easier.  She had to push her way through the narrow doorway, one of those doors designed for thinner people of years past.

I saw a wildly obese 23 year old, with suicidal ideation, who told me her life was worthless.  Doctors had found a rare uterine cancer and done a total hysterectomy.  She was told that she could have no hormone replacement.  So she was dealing with some symptomatic treatments of hot flashes that weren’t doing very much.

I was pretty much impressed by the doctors who had made a rare save.  She seemed to be cancer-free now, although she was not “crazy” about the abdominal wall hernia repair that had been necessary to hold her stomach together.  Also, she was not enthusiastic about the bimonthly pap smears.  But she was alive, and granted, she could not have hormone replacement.  She sat in front of me telling me all about how the doctors had taken care of her.

She was crying and depressed.  It was not hard to figure out why.

“I will never have children.  I will never be a mommy.” Read more on What Can You Do With Your Life?…

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