Slap Five.

Do you believe in the "turn the other cheek" aphorism, or do you really want to just punch people in the face?


I'm a punch some people it the face kind of girl, I guess.  Deep down, I think certain people really have it coming.  The thing is, I don't...  I don't ever punch anyone in the face.  I don't even punch a pillow while imagining it's someone else's face.  I don't have any violent tendencies or even urges to actually hurt another human being.  But, I think about it:  like I see myself being awesome and just knocking someone out after they've been a complete mofo to me or my family.  I guess that makes me a bad person who doesn't do bad things?  Or a good person who only sometimes thinks about doing bad things?  I wield a sharp tongue and use it occasionally. Does that count?
Gosh, I feel a rush of appreciation when someone wants to fight for me.  They want to defend my honor and teach that bastard a lesson.  I love it.  I love to imagine it all play out.  Let someone else do the dirty work?

...But then I think about it, and I don't want anyone to be hurt...  not for me or because of me.  Even in a hypothetical, absolutely never really happen dream, I don't even want to hurt the boy who raped me when I was 17.  Not because he hurt me.  I survived.

If a person threatened my life or my children, I would fight to the death.  I was the only one in my you-need-gym-credits-to-graduate-self-defense-college-course who enthusiastically responded to the instructor's question, "Would you maim or kill if your life was being threatened?", "Absolutely.  I would maim or kill that bastard."  Then I realized that maybe that was a rhetorical question and that no one else had verbalized a positive response.  And I was smiling.  I think the other girls and one boy in that class were a little scared of me.  My roommate certainly raised her eyebrows and elbowed me.  Don't worry, Em, I had your back.

Aren't we really the hardest on ourselves?  Don't we cause ourselves harm, in ways we wouldn't consider inflicting on someone else?  I think we do.  I often think I've given it a good go, and it's time to give everyone in my life a chance to have someone super-great and wonderful to fill in for me... I mean, in a way, I was the fill-in, and they would finally get the real thing... Right?  Or, I think:  My kids deserve better than what I've got.  I don't want to ruin there lives with my health-related nonsense.  They shoot horses, don't they?  

I would never let someone I love think that way, or talk that way.  I would do everything I could to convince them that they mattered.  I don't do that for myself.  Not very often; not anymore.  I sometimes think I've given it a really good shot, or God has given me a really good shot and I kind of blew it.  No one should be tired all the time.  I think someone else would do a whole lot better at being me.  I honestly think I'm a huge disappointment, that my stupid body has failed me, and I'll never feel okay again.  I don't want to be sick anymore.  I don't want to schedule that MRI, and go to a sleep clinic, and have more blood tests, and...  I was fine just a few years ago.  I was fine.  

Unfortunately, I don't think I can maim or kill this thing who has taken over my being and made me less than what is needed for living...  I can't yell at it or lecture it into submission.  I've tried.  I'm home alone a whole lot, so I can yell stuff whenever I want, and the kids won't worry that "mommy has gone off the deep end."  "Stop it!  Just leave me alone!  Let me wake up, you %^#!%$*&!"  Or, when I can barely lift my limbs, and breathing seems like an effort, I whisper, "Please, not today...  Let me be a good mother."  Because, you know, compared to who I was, my kids probably think I've already fallen off that cliff.  I hope it's not true. 
Sigh...  Maybe when I hit the bottom, I was sleeping, so I didn't feel a thing.  Maybe I'm still falling and haven't encountered that impact.  Maybe I'm floating to the bottom, in a dream, in slow motion--No adrenaline rush. 

Nothin'.

Truer Than Truth.

“A thing may happen and be a total lie; another thing may not happen and be truer than the truth.”

― Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried

          Tim O'Brien is a good friend of mine.  We've never actually met, but he has spoken to me so many times.  Each time his words dig deep into my brain, and enrich my thinking about a whole lot of things...  Not just about Vietnam...  Not just about being a foot soldier in Vietnam.  I don't know another author who has inspired my ideas about humanity, storytelling, memory, and truth more than O'Brien.   

Does truth matter?  If we are expressing the emotion, or tragedy, or the beauty of the story of our lives, does it matter if we speak only truth.  Do we want others to know what we experienced or feel what we experienced?  Tim O'Brien talks about the truth not mattering when one is telling his or her story, or getting at the emotions behind a memory.  A lie can be truer than the truth.  

“It wasn't a question of deceit. Just the opposite; he wanted to heat up the truth, to make it burn so hot that you would feel exactly what he felt.”

― Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried  

Is it acceptable--human-nature even--to protect people with lies, or half-truths, or omissions?  Why was the term, "white lie," conceived?  The very definition of "white lie" states that it is a minor or unimportant lie, especially one uttered in the interests of tact or politeness.  So... It's polite to lie?  

For Example:  Don't do this.  Hold back the truth.

I know whenever anyone asks me how I have been doing, or how I am,  they expect me to respond in a positive manner.  It's sort of a rhetorical question.  It's one of the first things that comes to many people's minds when they see or talk to someone they haven't seen or talked to in a while.  How are you? It might be polite or tactful for us to say, "Fine, thank you, and how have you been?" even if we feel terrible, or life is beating the crap out of us.

You: "I'm great, thanks for asking.  How are you?"

Acquaintance:  "Good to hear, I'm great too.  In fact, yesterday I... Blah, be, de, blah, blah..."

I tested the "non-polite" approach today, and I don't totally recommend it.  I had a bi-annual dentist appointment, and honestly, I looked like shit when I went, so no surprise that I wasn't "great."  I took a shower this morning, put my hair in a messy ponytail, and clipped my bangs off my face with a barrette and put on sweatpants and a tank top... Then I cleaned the house and worked on a pastel drawing.  The kids had to be picked up early, and I didn't realize what time it was until I suddenly was supposed to be in the car, right about that second, on my way to get them...  I started to cry (Luteal Phase Fun Times), pulled on jeans and a flannel shirt over my tank top, literally started gagging and threw up on our bedroom floor as I was pushing my arms through the sleeves, then drove on up to their school.

They wanted my attention.  I tried to be non-crying/puking mommy, which was successful.  Luckily my mom was able to watch them so I didn't have to drag them to the dentist with me.  While she was here, I made two huge pans of stuffed shells for our dinner still filling the pasta 5 minutes before I was supposed to be at the dentist's office.  I threw on my Kickstarter Veronica Mars T-Shirt, no makeup, brushed my teeth and went.

The Hygienist asked, "How are you doing?"  I said, "Pretty okay."  Hmmm...  She said, "Oh, well...  good."  I talked about the kids after that, which makes everyone feel happier.

 
When the doctor came in he also asked, "How have you been?"  I said, "Today?  Today has been crap."  (So, I can say his wife works at the high school where I was formally employed, so he knows a bit of my back story, but he obviously was not expecting that answer).  I explained my allergies and stuff, and then smiled and pretended I was "two-enthusiastic-thumbs-up-Great"...  Because that's the answer people want, yo.  Don't mess with rhetorical questions.  Just shut up.

Sometimes it cracked me up when I was out with my grandparents and people asked my grandfather that question because he would tell them the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him, God.  He would describe his ailments, my grandmother's health, and just about anything that might be worrisome, at the time, in our entire extended family.  He would always end this monologue with a request for prayers for "the family."  "Please, say some prayers for us, we'd really appreciate it."  And he had a right to ask:  Grampy and Nanny prayed for a whole lot of people, identifying them by name, every night.  It was really only a month ago that my 87-year-old grandmother told me she finally stopped listing all the names and started saying, "my family and friends," because she worried she was getting forgetful and would leave someone out.  And, she said she was tired.

“The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping that others might then dream along with you, and in this way, memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in the head. There is the illusion of aliveness.”

― Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried

For me, I think I'm learning that I'm all for omissions.   I always believed lies were deal breakers when it came to important relationships. But telling someone everything, that leaves us open to ridicule, judgment and ultimately, rejection.   Besides, my eyes show everything I am feeling.  I can't hide the truth of my feelings, or thoughts...  Not when someone can see me...  The truth, which makes so much sense in my own head, sounds pretty scary when it comes out of my mouth, or off my fingertips.  Yikes... Joanna needs a filter.  It is polite to lie sometimes.  Not saying all the truth that is that very moment I am experiencing would be tactful and spare other people's feelings.  Shut up, Joanna.  No seriously:  SHUT. UP.  

“My heart tells me to stop right here, to offer quiet benediction and call it the end. But the truth won't allow it. Because there is no end, happy or otherwise. Nothing is fixed, nothing solved. The facts, such as they are, finally spin off into the void of things missing, the inconclusiveness of us. Who are we? Where do we go? The ambiguity may be dissatisfying, even irritating, but this is a love story. There is no tidiness. Blame it on the human heart. One way or another, it seems, we all perform vanishing tricks, effacing history, locking up our lives and slipping day by day into the graying shadows. Our whereabouts are uncertain. All secrets lead to the dark, and beyond the dark there is only maybe.”

― Tim O'Brien

Do people, the ones who truly love us, see our truth, no matter if the words spilling from our mouths are perfectly true and accurate, or blatant lies?  Can't they see it in our eyes?  Filters don't work on them, right?  Right...

But... a person who cares about us, hears everything we don't say...  They must.  Don't they see our eyes shift as we speak, the slight lack of emotion in our voice, the fact that we are trying to focus attention away from ourselves? We don't want to lie to them, but we don't want to tell the truth either. We aren't even omitting real-life truth because we want to be dishonest, or we mean to be dishonest; we just don't want to talk about it.  We're too tired to talk about it.

And sometimes we've gotta just keep out mouths shut to make other people happy.  Questa è la vita.

“And in the end, of course, a true war story is never about war. It's about sunlight. It's about the special way that dawn spreads out on a river when you know you must cross the river and march into the mountains and do things you are afraid to do. It's about love and memory. It's about sorrow. It's about sisters who never write back and people who never listen.”

― Tim O'Brien

That's some catch...

Have the super, best day ever!

I've learned something disturbing.  Now that I am aimlessly floating in the sea of "normal" healthcare, I understand that actually getting cared for is kind of a joke.  For example: Say, you're sobbing into your hands while sitting on the edge of the examination table, crying, "I can't live like this.  I don't know what to do..." The response will be:  "I can order some more tests.  Alrighty, make an appointment at the front desk as you leave, for four weeks from now.  Have a great day."  And, as you wipe your eyes and nose on the sleeve on your shirt, before pulling on your jacket to cover your wet sleeve, you tell the receptionist that you need an appointment in four weeks.  She clickity-clacks on the computer and says, "I don't have anything in four weeks, but I do have an opening on May blah, blah, blah."  That will be about six weeks from today, you figure in your head.  That's fun.  Super!  "Okay... um, okay."
She'll smile and say, "Alright, you're all scheduled, have a nice day!"

Now, I'm not sure about your reaction, but in real life, mine was to sort of throw up in my mouth, and think:  Shut up!  I will not have a nice day.   I don't like you.  (Or "F.U.C.K. YOU"... except I don't really swear a lot in real life).  I didn't smile.

See, my family's physician, (and when I say family, I mean entire extended family), retired this past summer.  He is a genius.  He knew our family health history like it was his job... It was his job.  (I am almost positive that is why he retired).  "Dr. Wally" took care of us.  He took care of me.  If I didn't feel well, I could make an appointment with him within the week, and if it were an emergency, that day.  He would stay late to see any of us.  We could email him if we had a question and he would respond.

Here's a thing.

I don't have a doctor now.  I'll surmise that there is a deficit of actual physicians in this area.  Most people
have a regular Physician's Assistant now, not a doctor.  There is no doctor to step on in when the old assistant doesn't know what the Hell he or she is doing.

My P.A. ordered a complete blood panel along with a full physical at my first appointment.  I received a letter stating my blood tests were great, with the exception of one thing: I have "small red blood cells," which can point to anemia, but requires further tests, if I have any questions I can call the office and..." I saw her again a month later.  She would order more blood tests.  When I told her that my thyroid had to be messing with my body, that it made sense that it was my thyroid, she told me I didn't have access to the information doctors had.  Some people don't like it when you figure stuff out yourself, I guess.  I said, "Actually I do.  I can access almost all the relevant medical studies and journal which are referenced in the public health publications." She said she would order tests to check my Thyroid functionality.

My Ferritin and Hematocrit levels were very low.  (Well, very low for a healthy adult woman; under the "normal range" on the lab scale which encompasses all of humanity.  Those are blood problems).  My Free T4 is at the very lowest end of normal.  The rest of the tests hadn't come back yet.  Now, I would not even know the results of these tests if I didn't happen to see Dr. A. the very day after I got my blood drawn, and if I hadn't told the lab tech to send him the results as well as my fun P.A. lady.  I don't see her until mid-May, so she probably won't send the letter telling me I'm going to die until early May, I would say.  Dr. A doesn't do the whole blood and thyroid thing.  He did want me to see an endocrinologist.  He did call a very big practice in a very big hospital.  They said they could see me in June if he sent along my entire medical history and all his notes, and all my blood tests, and a small biopsy sample of my liver...

No...  They didn't need a sample of my liver.

I was sobbing all over my shirt because I can barely hold my head up most days, I'm very depressed some days, and I'm living in a foggy-headed malaise every day.  I guess that's pretty A-Okay in the current, "normal" health care system.  You have to feel really, really sick to get an appointment with a doctor.  If your sickness isn't an "emergency," you may eventually see a medical professional, but not get help until she orders some tests.  Get some tests, but you need to see a specialist.  You can see a specialist...  in June.

I mean, this super old man, with crooked knees and a crooked back, wearing a VFW hat and leaning heavily on a cane, whom I did smile at sincerely as I left the health care center, got his toe cut off and sewed back on.  That's not A-Okay.  Is it?

He told me about his toe as I drove him home in the rain.  See, his foot was hurting something awful and he didn't think he could walk all that way.  He didn't ask me for a ride.  I just happened to smile at him, and he happened to tell me that as was reaching for my hood, ready to run through the April showers and icy puddles to my car.
Are you waiting for a ride? 
 I'm getting up the nerve to start walking.  
I can drive you home.  
Could you truly, young lady?  Thank you.  I would appreciate that quite a bit.