Be Kind…Be Patient…And Smile

When I was diagnosed with lymphoma in November 2010, I made a promise—to myself, to G-d, to the universe. I vowed that if I were to make a complete recovery, I would never, ever, ever again sweat the small stuff, or be rattled by petty annoyances. I also pledged to use all my senses to experience life on a visceral level, rather than going through the motions in a preoccupied, disconnected state.

From now on, I would revel in experiences through which I had previously sleepwalked: the warmth seeping into my pores on the first sunny day of spring; the joy and wonder of a baby wrapping her soft fist around my finger; the decadent delight of a food coma brought on by a sumptuous meal; the satisfying crunch I hear when walking through piles of dried leaves on a chilly November day; the consuming love I feel when both my boys are home and the entire family squashes itself on the couch to watch National Lampoon’s Animal House (or some similarly silly movie). Cancer had slapped me upside the head and hollered, “I hope now you realize what’s really important in life.” I had no doubt I would straighten up and follow those instructions.

I’m sure you can guess what came next. Once my doctor declared me to be “cured,” I went back to my former life, in more ways than one. I could go out and run errands because I no longer had to worry about being exposed to other people’s germs. I could eat salad and fresh fruit again. I didn’t have to go to the hospital every day for radiation treatments. I could get manicures and pedicures, and go to the dentist (yippee!). Eventually I could walk around without a cap and not resemble an egg.

But it wasn’t just the rhythms and activities of my daily life, that reverted to the way they had been before a routine CAT scan showed a misshapen lump growing under my left arm. Little by little—like an icicle melting as the weather warms–my outlook, my attitude, and my ability to tolerate inconsequential irritations returned to their pre-November 2010 state. I became angry when the cable guy was an hour late and called the dispatcher, saying awful, condescending things to him.  When we went to see Hamilton, and the understudy (who by the way was excellent) was substituting for Lin Manuel-Miranda, I fumed for the entire show. Instead of being appreciative that I had hair again, I cursed its frizzy texture. In fact, I hadn’t learned much from my life-threatening illness.

I recently made the acquaintance of a young woman named Aubin Mandel. She was diagnosed with esophageal cancer on October 27th, 2016. Aubin is 37 years old and had become engaged shortly before her diagnosis. This past winter, she underwent five rounds of chemotherapy and 28 rounds of radiation. On February 14th of this year, she had major surgery. Two months later, in April, they found a new mass on her liver, later diagnosed as stage 4 metastatic cancer for which she is currently undergoing another round of chemotherapy.

Aubin is remarkable in many ways, not the least of which is her optimism. She recently wrote a piece that she has graciously allowed me to share with you:

“Be kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.”

This quote really resonates with me, and is something I try and do everyday. Everyone leads a different life with different struggles. I believe we are all struggling in some capacity and I know for certain that we will all face adversity and hardship in our lives, some more than others.

I have been able to keep my hair, this round of chemo and the last, and I look relatively healthy. I hear it all the time: “Omg. You would never know!!! ” I am extremely grateful for this, for my own mental strength, to not be reminded every single time I look in the mirror, and for being able to go out and face the world and not be looked at and treated as “sick.”

From the outside, for people that don’t know my story, life looks pretty darn easy, yet nothing could be further from the truth. Life is difficult right now. I struggle, I feel terrible for weeks at a time, I get sad, I have sleepless nights, I am scared, I am confused, I get angry with life and for everything I have had to go through, and for everything that has been taken from me. A lot goes on behind closed doors that most people know nothing about. And this is true for ALL of us.

“We have NO idea what it took for someone to get out of bed in the morning, to look and feel presentable, and to face the day.”

Be kind and good to those around you. The taxi driver. The waitress. The barista. The person in line in front of you. Your spouse. Your friend. Your mom. Have patience. Be understanding. Be compassionate. And, smile. We all have the ability to bring light and energy into someone else’s day. What a powerful thing.

“We cannot change the cards we have been dealt, just how we play the hand.” I am beginning to embrace my journey when I view it as a learning tool for myself or an inspiration for others.”

I am thankful everyday for the people that show me kindness. ❤️🙏🏻

Round 4, here we go!!!!

I have read Aubin’s powerful words again and again and again. They inspire me, as well as cause me to reflect on myself. My friends and I often bemoan the fact that we are getting “so old.” We wish we were teenagers, or back in college, or new parents enjoying our sweet little babies. We want to look young and feel young, be attractive and energetic. Truthfully, youth is beautiful. However, thinking about Aubin reminds me how vain and foolish and superficial these yearnings are–and how lucky I am simply to be alive.

Aubin embraces everything in her life, both the good and the awful. For me, the takeaway message is this: When you spot a new wrinkle on your forehead, or turn away from the mirror so you don’t have to see the skin under your arms sagging like an empty pouch, don’t beat yourself up. The paunch many of us now have, courtesy of time and gravity, is not a calamity. In fact, we are in a way fortunate to be saggy and have cellulite and gray hair, as the following quote reminds us:

“Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.” (Anonymous)

–*–*–*–

To end on a lighter note, in my last post I promised to “translate” the acronyms in the sample conversation at the end of the post. So here we go…SFLR: Sorry for late response; AFK: Away from keyboard; NP: No problem; WU: What’s up; NM: Not much; CYT: See you tonight; SLAP: Sounds like a plan; GR8: Great; GTG: Got to go; POS: Parent over shoulder; TBC: To be continued; TTYL: Talk to you later. Thanks for reading.

A Failure To Communicate

When I was growing up, my family ate dinner together every night. Yes, that’s right. Every. Night. Much of the meal was “Comedy Hour.” My father, a civil engineer, worked with someone who had an apparently endless supply of jokes. You’re probably not surprised; engineers have a legendary reputation for their wacky sense of humor.

At every dinner, my dad would tell us the jokes he had heard that day from Morty (who we began to refer to as the Great Morty). There almost always were two or three new ones. Many of them were corny, Borscht Belt-type shtick, but we didn’t care. We laughed long and hard, often until it hurt or we choked on what we were eating.

After a while, we developed favorites and would make requests. We had memorized every word of these favorites, yet still delighted in hearing our dad tell them from start to finish. As time passed, we developed a shorthand. We didn’t need to hear the full joke. My dad, or one of us, would say the punchline and the four of us would laugh as heartily as if we were hearing the entire joke for the first time. “Don’t blame me if you get a ringing in your ears.” “Oh, you want Greenberg the spy. He’s on the fourth floor.” “You stupid yenta! Everyone knows the number 3 bus doesn’t go to Coney Island.” None of these mean anything to those of you reading this, but I promise you I am laughing as I type these punchlines I first heard over 50 years ago.

As my father delivered his routine, we paid rapt attention to every word. We didn’t want to miss his delivery or the joke. Fast forward to 2017. Imagine a dinner at which, miraculously, every family member is present. It might go something like this…

Me: Tells joke. Waits for reaction.
Silence.
Me: Looks around the table and sees this—

 

 

Me: Hey! Zombies! Can you all look up from your screens for a minute?
They raise their heads, eyes glassy and unfocused as they adjust their vision from staring at something a few inches from their faces to looking at me at the other end of the table. They are as disoriented as when I wake them in the morning for school.
Son #1: Wait, what?
Me: Did either of you hear the joke I just told?
Sons #1 and #2 exchange a glance.
Son #2: Oh yeah, sure Mom. It was hilarious.
Son #1: I heard it. It just wasn’t funny.
Son #2: Sorry Mom.
Son #1: Mumbles something I can’t hear.
Me: Any possibility we can get through a meal without the two of you checking your phones?
Son #2: I’m making plans for tonight.
Son #1 Doesn’t even bother to answer.
Eye rolls from both, then they look back down at their phones again.

I am more than certain that many of you have had similar experiences. Often, when I try to communicate with my offspring, I feel as if I am a dinosaur who has somehow been teleported from prehistoric times to the present. Mostly I feel that way because my kids tell me this, or something equally as insulting.

In the 1960s and 1970s, the concept of “the generation gap” entered the vernacular. It was a hot topic for the nightly news, magazine cover stories, newspaper feature articles and opinion pieces. Our parents and their friends were confounded by this rupture in their lives that now had a name. Girls no longer wore sweet, tidy dresses to school; these were replaced by bell bottom jeans, frayed at the hem from dragging on the floor. Boys’ neatly combed crew cuts gave way to long hair, often past shoulder length. Instead of the tolerable music of The Beach Boys, our transistor radios blared the harsh, dissonant sounds of Led Zeppelin and Jimi Hendrix.

Then there were the words and idioms we used, verbal tools to solidify the wall we were building (that no one had to pay for) between us and them. Some of our favorite (and rather ridiculous) adjectives were “groovy,” “right on,” or “far out.” Events or activities we enjoyed were “out of sight” while those not to our liking were “not my bag.” You could “dig” something without needing a shovel, and you avoided “the fuzz” at all costs, because they might find the “grass” hidden in the pocket of your Wrangler jeans.

Communication is fundamental—in fact critical—to forging connections with other human beings. In our teens and twenties, we recognized this, and made up words and phrases specifically intended to block (or at least hinder) communication with the older generation. And who did we consider the “older generation”? A popular expression warned us not to “trust anyone over thirty.” I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at that. From my current perspective, people in their thirties are babies.

Forty plus years removed from our youth, we try to show our kids that hey, we’re not as “lame” (i.e., old and out of touch) as they believe we are. We watch Netflix and Amazon and Hulu rather than broadcast television. We know who Drake and Sia are. We use social media, and believe the way we dress strikes a perfect balance between up-to-date and age appropriate. But deep down, we know we have stepped into our parents’ shoes. The generation gap is alive and well, patently obvious in the way our kids communicate with one another, using a set of conventions that make us feel as if we are sitting on the sidelines without a play book. Our kids have modern, shiny objects at their disposal to assist them in disassociating from old people like us. All we had were words and music. Different means, but the same message: Hey old people, you are not invited to the party.

Remember what a godsend we thought answering machines were, enabling us to either (a) not miss an important call from an actual or potential significant other if we weren’t home, or (b) screen our calls to avoid telemarketers, crazy ex SOs, and parents? Answering machines are relics of the 20th century; now voice mail serves the same purpose.  Well, maybe not for everyone. Here’s a scenario that both educated me, and made me feel old at the same time. Kudos to my son for being efficient and killing two birds with one stone!
Son #1: Did you call?
Me: Yes I did. How are you today?
Son #1: Fine. Why did you call?
Me : Didn’t you listen to my message?
Son #1: No, I never listen to voice messages.
Me (after a moment of stunned silence): May I ask why not?
Son #1: I can see on my phone that you called. If I’m gonna call you back, why should I listen to the same thing twice?
I proceed to repeat everything I just said into the phone a short while ago. I guess the takeaway from this encounter is that it’s better for me to say the same thing twice than for him to have to listen to the same thing twice.

Son #2 and I recently had an in-person, face-to-face, real live conversation! True story! He told me he had a date with a girl he recently met at a party. I then asked what I believed was a simple question. Hah!
Me: So, you guys talked at the party and then you called her and asked her out?
Son #2 (eyes narrowed with derision, mouth clamped to stifle loud, mocking laughter): Mom, no one calls anymore. (Unable to keep his composure any longer he snorts.) We text.
Me: Why? Isn’t it easier just to talk to someone?
Son #2: No. (Shakes his head and rolls his eyes)
I hang my head and shuffle off in disgrace. As I leave, I hear him ask, “Hey mom! What are you making for dinner tonight?” Why is he asking me, I wonder? Wouldn’t it have been easier to send me a text?

I quickly deduced that if you want to connect with your kids, texting is the way to go. (Warning: Do NOT send an email if you want a response any time before the year 2025. It is the rare millennial who checks his or her email with any frequency.) However, this means of communication is not without its frustrations, as illustrated by the following conversation (conducted entirely via text messaging):
Son #1: Do you know where my birth certificate is?
Me: Sure. Why?
Fifteen minutes pass with no response.
Son #1: I need it to get my new driver’s license. Also, do you still have my Sega Genesis games?
Now even I know that Sega Genesis is from the 1990’s. I know I threw those games away a long time ago. I also know that, like myself, Son #1 is a saver of things of marginal/no value, and will pitch a fit if the answer is no. I decide to buy myself some time.
Me: I don’t know. I’ll have to look in the basement. Why do you need them?
Again, nothing new appears on my screen, this time for twelve minutes. Yes, I am just that petty and annoyed that I actually time it. I have watched my sons text their friends, and I know there is no pause in those conversations.
Son #1: I saw an old console on Craig’s List and I thought I might buy it if we still have the cassettes. Let me know.

In all likelihood he did not type “let me know.” He undoubtedly typed “LMK.” Which brings me to my next topic—the pervasive replacement of real words with acronyms. When they first began appearing in messages and yes, even emails, I thought this was quite clever. I applauded the convenience of substituting letters for commonly used phrases. OMG, acronyms were so great! IDK how we ever managed without them.

However, those original acronyms appear to have been a bit promiscuous, spawning hundreds of next generation acronyms. Presumably, using them saves time. But how much? I would like to ask my kids, “How much time could you possibly be saving? Enough to make a great scientific discovery or write a highly acclaimed novel?”  As I said above, I do get it–but in moderation.

In addition, using an acronym can misfire if the recipient is unfamiliar with it. One time I was texting with Son #2 and he used the acronym “SMDH.” I hit the ceiling. The only words I could think of to fit those letters were pornographic and not something you should say to your mother.
Me: What was that? What does that mean?
Son #2: Shaking my damn head. What did you think it means?
Me (relieved): Never mind. (Had I instead typed NVM, I could have saved myself at least two seconds. Hopefully I won’t make that mistake again.)

I can imagine one of my kids having the following text chat with a friend…
Friend: SFLR. AFK.
Son: NP. WU?
Friend: NM. CYT?
Son: SLAP.
Friend: GR8.
Son: GTG. POS.
Friend: TBC. TTYL.

I would love you to hear your guesses regarding what the above means. Send me your thoughts via the Comments section of this site. In other words, LMK. I will share some of the answers in my next post, as well as translate the above for you.

In the meantime, I continue to SMDH.