Complaints Department
I've come up with a brilliant idea. Imma start a complaints department for chemo patients.
It's not a place where you can come and gripe about the quality of your care. That's for some other schmuck to deal with. Not handling malpractice suits here! No, this is a safe space for the day-in-day-out complaining that comes along with standard treatments for cancer. Someone who's available 24/7 to listen to every bizarre ailment afflicting the poor, pathetic cancer patient.
I'm telling you. This one's a winner.
I'm deep in the valley today, y'all.
Deep. In. It.
It’s one of those days where making sure I have pants on is a BIG WIN.
I have made a couple of realizations. One of them, for which I'm eternally and profoundly grateful, is just what that ringing, buzzing sound in my ears reminds me of.
I know what the sound is. It's tinnitus. Just another one of those awesome side effects that can come along with chemo treatments. I've stopped looking them up to see if they're normal. First, I now find the word "normal" offensive, and B, if I'm having the side effect, it's probably listed somewhere. I no longer need validation from Web MD, thank-you-very-much.
Anyhoo. The sound.
Cicadas.
I grew up in Texas. One of hallmarks of summer is the song of the cicadas that stretches out endlessly and serenades the heartsick listener throughout the long, hot nights. It's the sound of my childhood.
Ah, nostalgia.
It's an incessant buzzing in my ear as I'm trying to find a cool spot on the ****ing pillow.
But now that it's been identified, I can at least lie awake thinking, "Well, I know what it sounds like!"
Small victories, y'all. And sometimes they're really small.
The other realization I made is that complaints have a shelf life. There's only so much one can hear of another's suffering before nature just shuts that whole thing down (and yes, for anyone who recognized that word choice, it was intentional, and yes, it was sarcastic).
Parents know what I'm talking about. At some point, it all becomes background noise.
And what, you ask, is the upstart of this realization?
Here it is. In order for me to continue complaining, Imma have to find new ears to listen.
It's not fair of me to continue to b!tch and moan about my problems to the first person willing to listen. Our human capacity for empathy has an inverse relationship to the enormity of the complaints offered.
At this point, some kind soul typically steps in and says, "But, Ben, it's okay. You can complain to me whenever you'd like. I can take it."
And yes, theoretically, that may be true. However, if you've offered it to me, you've more than likely offered it to someone else and possibly their neighbor. One person can only take so much pain and suffering. Our souls were not made to be dumping grounds. We have to be able to unload from time to time.
One of the things I've taken to saying when someone asks me how I'm doing is, "How much emotional bandwidth do you have right now? Serious question." If they say, "High," I dump. And then they're more careful the second time around.
I've also learned to appreciate those with the gift of listening with compassion. It's a big deal when someone's willing to sit with you in the $#!+ you're serving up, partake of the whole gruesome meal, and then offer the delicious, delectable dessert of their understanding.
Here's the other other thing, though. Complaining yields nothing but more complaining.
Another light bulb moment offered by my adventures in chemo--pain tends to multiply pain. Whatever thing on which I choose to focus tends to stand out in stark relief. So if I'm constantly elaborating on that which causes me grief, only grief can follow.
Maybe. I dunno. It looked good when I typed it.
I've found relief, in brief moments, when someone's been willing to listen to my pain. I've also found that if I keep digging in that vein, the hole I'm creating starts to swallow me whole.
So, back to my original premise. I'm gonna start a complaints department for cancer patients.
I think it's a fantastic idea.
-----------------
Tomorrow we explore the ins and outs of hospital billing.
Next post.
 |
| This feels right. |
It's not a place where you can come and gripe about the quality of your care. That's for some other schmuck to deal with. Not handling malpractice suits here! No, this is a safe space for the day-in-day-out complaining that comes along with standard treatments for cancer. Someone who's available 24/7 to listen to every bizarre ailment afflicting the poor, pathetic cancer patient.
I'm telling you. This one's a winner.
 |
| Why did I fully expect a barrage of Charlie Sheen memes when I looked this one up? |
I'm deep in the valley today, y'all.
Deep. In. It.
It’s one of those days where making sure I have pants on is a BIG WIN.
I have made a couple of realizations. One of them, for which I'm eternally and profoundly grateful, is just what that ringing, buzzing sound in my ears reminds me of.
I know what the sound is. It's tinnitus. Just another one of those awesome side effects that can come along with chemo treatments. I've stopped looking them up to see if they're normal. First, I now find the word "normal" offensive, and B, if I'm having the side effect, it's probably listed somewhere. I no longer need validation from Web MD, thank-you-very-much.
Anyhoo. The sound.
Cicadas.
 |
| Check out that bad boy. |
I grew up in Texas. One of hallmarks of summer is the song of the cicadas that stretches out endlessly and serenades the heartsick listener throughout the long, hot nights. It's the sound of my childhood.
Ah, nostalgia.
It's an incessant buzzing in my ear as I'm trying to find a cool spot on the ****ing pillow.
But now that it's been identified, I can at least lie awake thinking, "Well, I know what it sounds like!"
Small victories, y'all. And sometimes they're really small.
The other realization I made is that complaints have a shelf life. There's only so much one can hear of another's suffering before nature just shuts that whole thing down (and yes, for anyone who recognized that word choice, it was intentional, and yes, it was sarcastic).
Parents know what I'm talking about. At some point, it all becomes background noise.
And what, you ask, is the upstart of this realization?
Here it is. In order for me to continue complaining, Imma have to find new ears to listen.
It's not fair of me to continue to b!tch and moan about my problems to the first person willing to listen. Our human capacity for empathy has an inverse relationship to the enormity of the complaints offered.
 |
| Something like this. I dunno. I'm an actor. |
At this point, some kind soul typically steps in and says, "But, Ben, it's okay. You can complain to me whenever you'd like. I can take it."
And yes, theoretically, that may be true. However, if you've offered it to me, you've more than likely offered it to someone else and possibly their neighbor. One person can only take so much pain and suffering. Our souls were not made to be dumping grounds. We have to be able to unload from time to time.
One of the things I've taken to saying when someone asks me how I'm doing is, "How much emotional bandwidth do you have right now? Serious question." If they say, "High," I dump. And then they're more careful the second time around.
I've also learned to appreciate those with the gift of listening with compassion. It's a big deal when someone's willing to sit with you in the $#!+ you're serving up, partake of the whole gruesome meal, and then offer the delicious, delectable dessert of their understanding.
Here's the other other thing, though. Complaining yields nothing but more complaining.
Another light bulb moment offered by my adventures in chemo--pain tends to multiply pain. Whatever thing on which I choose to focus tends to stand out in stark relief. So if I'm constantly elaborating on that which causes me grief, only grief can follow.
Maybe. I dunno. It looked good when I typed it.
I've found relief, in brief moments, when someone's been willing to listen to my pain. I've also found that if I keep digging in that vein, the hole I'm creating starts to swallow me whole.
So, back to my original premise. I'm gonna start a complaints department for cancer patients.
I think it's a fantastic idea.
-----------------
Tomorrow we explore the ins and outs of hospital billing.
 |
| Bend over and... well, you know the rest. |
Next post.
When my husband died, I quickly learned that a lot of people - maybe even MOST people - really don't want to hear about someone else's pain. Someone at Church asked me how I was doing, and when I started to tell them I was struggling to even get out of bed, they said, "That's nice" and walked off! What the #$$%&%$! So, I learned to say that I was coping. The vast majority still said "That's nice" and walked away, but at least it didn't hurt as much. The rare individual who stopped to ask what I meant would sometimes get the truth about my misery - but that was extremely rare. I told my pillow, my journal, and my Heavenly Father, and that got me through. So, for what it's worth, Ben, I hear you. And you are in our prayers.
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