We hadn’t spoken for months. I felt guilty. Beth (and that is not her name) had been very ill for some time. But I had not been well either. That is not an excuse. It’s an explanation.
I had sent her a Christmas card that was returned. Oh my! I googled her address. According to Onondaga County, it was still hers. I googled her name, searching for any good or bad, mostly fearing that I might find bad. I called and left a message. Yes, I know, I should have called first, but fear sometimes wins out.
She returned my call and we settled in. Catching up was good. At the end of the call, I apologized. “I’m sorry that I haven’t called. I know that this is a lame excuse, but I haven’t had much good news to share.”
Even before I could finish, she laughed, and said, “I didn’t call you either and for the same reason. Who wants to hear about how bad you feel? No one. You just sit home and stew in your own miserableness.”
Both of us tend to enjoy the giddy side of existence, so I suggested that we start a club that meets once a week just to share our miseries.
And why not? We celebrate the changes of young life. What do you do with the changes that accompany the aging process? So many of us are ailing, dragging ourselves through lonely days, living on ibuprofen or other meds and wishing that we were whole again. And, as it seems to us that we have become people to avoid, at least to avoid talking with. The fact that we don’t call or visit is also part of the problem.
It is hard to find those parts of our lives that stand out beyond that which has “befallen” what was once whole. The aching back takes precedence over the painting that we did or the hours we spent with our grandchildren. Doctor visits have supplanted gardening or knitting. Counting pills has taken up the time during which we read good books. Don’t ask about the hours on the internet researching some odd sensation that has suddenly appeared.
I said to my doctor the other day that his job must be in some ways like that of an assistant principal.The only kids the assistant principal sees are the bad ones. Akin to listening to the evening news over and over again. He smiled and said that, for some, just telling him about their complaints was therapy.
So that seals it, there should be a “Whiners Club,” meeting as often as necessary where each member can unload all of the pain, disappointment, frustration and anger without anyone tuning out…
Perhaps there should be a format similar to the evening news…you know, so many minutes devoted to each topic: one minute for recent doctor visits, two minutes to review results of doctor visits, three minutes for a discussion of how one’s meds work or not. We might have an open forum or a community rail against “providers” that refuse to prescribe stronger pain meds and who make bogus suggestions for pain relief that are no better than having a glass of water. In other words, just what does acetaminophen actually do?
We might consider lightening up the conversation by relating stories of friends who actually got better and how that was achieved. For a kind of dessert, we could hand out lists of “senior citizen” discounts, discuss where you can find a chair yoga class and comment about how Tom Selleck has aged so well.
We could consider the following as alternate topics: Whose recuperation took the longest? Physical therapy short cuts. What happens when you forget which medicine you took when? The price of dental work vs. taking a vacation or buying a car? How long it takes to move around in the morning without the concurrent moaning and complaining. Memories of picking things up from the floor. Food to avoid for the coming future.
Oh, there are so many likely issues that come to mind, so many things that no one wants to hear about. Yes, there are parts that may be missing or only partially working, but there is so much that still has value and draws interest and ideas and laughs…
But my doctor was right, sometimes you just need someone to listen sympathetically and if that sympathy can also be empathy, so much the better. Being not well is lonely, less than who you are. Knowing that someone else has experienced what you are experiencing, who is willing to listen, who cares that you are not whole will make you feel whole or at least as close to it as possible.
