An audio version of this essay is available on Substack here.
Bedside manner (noun): A person’s manner when dealing with others. Merriam-Webster Dictionary
Chloé died in December. She had put up with me and a rotation of the kids for 14 years, in the same apartment on rue Manuel in Aix-en-Provence. Our relationship could get strained, but I did love that cat’s presence in the home, and she appreciated my reliable catering service. The final day was blue.
Displays of empathy
Our vet has a magical way with animals. I made only a couple of appointments with him through the years, as Chloé would fight tooth and switchblade claw against getting in that red plastic travel box. Oven mitts were required to scoop her up and I would still take some bloody nicks from those flailing paws of furry. For the short walk through town she’d be wailing a lament so defiant and intense that everyone on the street turned to stare; that evil man is torturing this sweet kitty! But once on the vet’s table she was as calm and compliant as a med school cadaver to his prods and pokes.
Chloé’s kidneys were failing and there was little to be done. The vet ran some tests and kept her for the day, and when I returned that evening he laid out the options. When I decided to put her down the vet concurred, with a bedside manner of incredible tenderness and empathy, as if the decision was as difficult for him as me. He left the exam room to prepare the injection but gave us as much time alone as desired, despite the late hour. I stroked Chloé’s sedated head and reminisced through her greatest hits of wayward behavior: the digs and sudden scratches; the piddled blankets and ruined furniture; the mad bolts for our building’s basement. Damn it Chloé, I’ll miss you. Then, a deciding shot and she was gone.
It wasn’t easy to bid Chloé adieu, but the vet’s soft bedside manner eased the grief. It struck me, walking home that evening with the empty carrier, that his heartfelt display of emotional intelligence was increasingly rare in today’s world. Acts of kindness and compassion are considered reflections of weakness. Inflictions of cruelty and callous indifference signs of strength.
Displays of cruelty
The most vulnerable are suffering the greatest. In Gaza, almost 18,000 children have been killed in the past 16 months and that small sandy strip “is home to the largest cohort of child amputees in modern history,” according to the United Nations. These horrors are rationalised with a dismissive well they started it shrug of indifference.
In the US, massive “soft sided” internment camps are being planned to contain tens of thousands of immigrant families while their cases are reviewed. For many parents the options will be (1) leave this land of promise as a unit and deprive their children of hope and opportunity, much less personal safety, or (2) leave the kids on American soil, to be raised by relatives or put up for adoption, and suffer unbearable separation, perhaps permanently. This nightmarish choice is being casually swatted away with a well, that’s their call shrug of indifference.
The bluntness with which men like Itamar Ben-Gvir, Stephen Miller, and Tom Homan can dispel with any hint of person reflection and humanity is staggering. The peace and love idealism of the ‘60s died at Altamont, folks. Move the f*ck on. (Google it.)
I’m a weak man. I see a young girl crying out for her even younger brother on the evening news and tear up. Watching a family frog marched out of their home, into a van, and away from the years of memories and hopes that had fuelled their American dream; this crushes me as well.
My Scots-Irish immigrant grandfather gave my dad the most precious of gifts: the possibility of a bountiful life. And my parents, in turn, shared this blessing with me. I made something of it, and want everyone on the planet to equally have that chance. This is naïve, I know. There will always be suffering, I know. Life ain’t faire, I know. I accept these inequities, but can take a page from our vet’s playbook and at least treat those less blessed with humility and compassion. This makes a difference and costs me nothing, just a bit of gentle bedside manner.
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