I remember two things from my lone sociology class in college.  Somebody name Emile Durkheim—given that I cut almost every lecture, I continue to amaze myself that I spelled his name correctly—he did something about suicide rates, and one thing about inherent fear—we are born with knowledge of two types of fear; heights and loud noises.  I was born with a third, the fear that comes from thinking that one day I might slip out the door wearing white shoes after Labor day—see how timely this is?

There’s been a common thread for the last few days among the social media-ites—sometimes you are forced to make up a word or two.  The thread of which I write is fear, a fear that started in anticipation, and has been building since last week.  Muculent palms, jitters, slight schizophrenia.  The anticipation of the voices, “And he did hear a sound rising over the snow. It started in low… then it started to grow.”  Sorry for the Grinch reference, I’m trying to work through this.

It starts with notifications; emails, letters.  Doctor’s name and phone number.  Emergency contact information.  Write it three times in case we lose the first two.  Then comes the demand for tools—don’t dare go to sleep without completing this; pencils, scissors, crayons…Backpacks.  Lunch boxes.  I can’t wake them up.  They open one, look at me, and roll over.  They say things like, “This is what all the kids are wearing.”  They look you in the eye and lie, “I brushed my teeth.”  “If you don’t fill out the forms I can’t go back tomorrow.”

They fail to recognize that we have multiple degrees.  And if they did realize it, they would not care.  You may be a big shot between 8 and 5, but right now you’re just dad, and why don’t we have any fruit roll-ups for my lunch.

So, how was your day?  For me the voices have subsided, but the sweaty palms will return just prior to the school buses.

I look at healthcare reform and EHR and think, the only thing to fear is reform itself.

I’ve been asking friends for their input about our conversations here, and somebody whose opinion I value highly suggested I write what my audience wants to hear.  I can’t do that—that’s what the other bloggers do—feel good, but this, but that, cheerleaders.

This is difficult, at least if you want it to work.  There’s no shame in asking for help.