Eleanor Menzin is a pediatrician.
I can hear my husband chuckling from the cavern of journal piles and stacks of free conference tote bags he refers to as his home office. “I am looking at a graph of your publications,” he calls out to me as I putter around the house. An inauspicious start.
As I look over his shoulder at the laptop screen, he shows the tiny dot representing my singular publication—work I did as …
When my parents were 22, they were two years out of college. My mother was married and commuting from Dallas to graduate school in Houston, on the verge of another cross-country move and a metaphorical world away from her New York City upbringing. My father was the officer running the kitchen on a United States Navy frigate somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea, a literal world away from his Brooklyn childhood.
When …
When my children were in preschool, parents often commented at school events that they did not know I worked or was a physician. I never knew how to handle that double-edged sword. Ostensibly a compliment, their surprise at a working parent’s presence at school felt like an insult; their shock over my medical life cast doubt on my professionalism. I smiled benignly and changed the subject.
For years, I worked in …
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