Writing for Our Lives: Physician Narratives and Medical Practice

The Continuous Thread of Revelation

Having grown up with 11 siblings, I learned at an early age that there often existed multiple, contradictory versions of what I thought should stand as a singular truth (my own). We 12 lived a pluripotent family history in the very moments of its making, trendsetters, perhaps, for the later emergence of the deconstruction movement. And as the decades passed, even the “hard facts” tethering our disparate recollections frequently dissolved in the fog of collective memory: “No, it was Uncle Bill who dropped the meatloaf,” or, “You're wrong! It was on Christmas day that you ruined my life forever.”

The passionate certitude with which each of us recounted diverse memories of our childhood always amazed me. Official accounts of family history frequently were formed and re-formed by a reigning consensus, dependent upon the particular sibling mix gathered on a particular holiday. Years would pass before I finally understood—and, more notably, trusted—the legitimacy of each differently narrated experience. By all accounts, mealtimes spent around the table were dreary and fun, rancorous and dull, harmonious and adversarial. The youngest, no, the eldest, no, the middle siblings had the easiest time.

From these beginnings, in a dozen different ways, I learned that the construction of personal narratives is, indeed, personal. That it is fueled by highly individualized needs and desires to make sense of one's unique life. Our family provided the context in which 12 separate experiences would hatch—a potential space, particular and relevant, but without a singular or fixed meaning. Personal narratives would evolve into shapes made apparent by each sibling's life rubbing up against the others' within the larger framework of family. These shapes would also shift over time as each member's sensibilities ripened and as definitions of “family” evolved to expand or contract the context in which we related. …