November 3, 2005

We threw a small Halloween party last Monday night for those patients who wished to attend.  Some dressed up in costumes that the aides helped them construct.  One lady was a gypsy.  An elderly man was a priest.  A small group came in their pajamas as "sleepwalkers."  Nothing too scary, although one I found to be disheartening.  A young woman here made a crude wedding dress out of a sheet and a pillowcase.  Like most costumes, she was fantasizing about being something she will most assuredly never be.  There have been marriages among patients in the past, but it's rare and really only for their peace of mind.  No shared quarters are allowed.

The only requirement we have for the Halloween parties is that no facial coverings are permitted.  We need to know who is where at all times.  This year, as I watched the patients mingle, nodding their heads and stretching their mouths into a smile, an odd realization came over me.  They are wearing masks.  And so are we all.

Each day when I greet the residents, I squint my eyes and force a gentle grin.  The nurses do the same.  When I venture out to the local mall, the salesgirl hands me my purchase with a smile and says, "Have a nice day."  She really doesn't care what kind of day I'm going to have.  But the trick is that it looks like she does.  She wears the mask well.

The truth is, we need these masks.  When a man loses his job and tells his family with confidence in his eyes that everything will be all right, he's wearing a mask.  He has no idea that everything will be all right.  Debts climb and houses are foreclosed.  But his wife and children need to see that assurance he puts on his face.  It will get them through the day.

Likewise, doctors do the same.  My patients need to see happiness in my face.  It will get them through the day.

And the mask isn't just for them, it's for me as well.  Like the young girl who fantasized she was a bride for an evening, I need to pretend that I'm happy.

It will get me through the day.