It's complicated

Thanks, Aunt Nancy for the mot juste.

I love Nancy.  She is my wife's Aunt.  Nancy has been a devoted blog reader since I began writing these in 2010.

She lives in Vermont with husband Miles.  We were visiting the other day. Since my last hospitalization, we have felt the need to see family.

Over  simple lentil soup and turkey sandwiches, Nancy turned to Cyn and said “You have complicated lives.”

          This opened a floodgate. We’ve used endless, sad adjectives to describe our fate  We cannot shake the suspicion that at some point in history, I, or one of my past incarnations , stole a golden monkey from a mummy’s tomb or mocked a blind gypsy woman. Karma’s a bitch.

         “Why us?”  Cyn asks. “Why have we been saddled with an unending succession of treatments, side effects, and infections?”

The real question is: “Why not us?”  Nancy has a complicated life. Her mom lived well into her 90s and was severely debilitated for much of her final decade. Nancy couldn’t travel far from Burlington, she spent much time caring for her mom.  Nancy had a rocky childhood.

It’s a vicious cycle.  Our friends express  pity, and this feeds back and amplifies itself into prolonged attacks of anger and despair. Why bother when the Universe gives you the middle finger?

I am now on disability leave, vowing to return to work.  At work, my patients express a similar sentiment. “We feel so bad for you, Dr. Weinreb. We are praying for you.”

They ask how I am doing.

‘” Well,” I complain.  “The medication to control the GVHD isn’t working, and I am short of breath.”  I then realize I am talking to someone who just lost her husband of 40 years.

         “I’m  so sorry for your loss,” I say, when I suddenly remember, pulling myself back from the abyss of self-pity.

         If only a non-judgmental, non-angst-laden word existed to describe our current situation.

The word is “complicated.”  Our lives are complicated.   I spend my days taking pills, giving myself insulin shots and pouring 40 ounces of formula through my G tube to gain back the 30 pounds I lost. Cyn is burdened with making sure I don’t accidentally kill myself, a situation that arises far more often than you would think.

         My life is complicated but I am not disabled. We just saw daughter Abby and boyfriend Sam and his parents. We visited dear  Aunt Nancy and Uncle Miles. There were moments of joy interlaced with the complexities.

But, the point is, everyone  has a complicated life.

Cousin Carol cares for my elderly Aunt.

We all have complicated lives.  Our pain is not unique or special. It is time consuming, but my children are healthy. I know several  people who spend their days caring for sick children   We all have something.

Cynthia and I derive comfort from Nancy’s definition.

Our lives are complicated. Everyone’s life is.