Eve Gave Adam An Apple A Day

A friend of mine recently had a medical issue. I asked her, "Have you made your peace with what happened and are you confident that you'll make a full recovery?" She said, "Yes". I then took a bold step and said [paraphrasing here], "Great. Let's change the subject. I don't want to hear anything else about your medical issue. It's not that I don't care, it's simply that there are people in your life who have a special obligation to listen and commiserate with you about the labyrinthian inner-workings of your body, your Kafkaesque encounters with your insurance agency, and the wild speculations and overwrought diagnoses you're naturally prone to make about your own condition – and I am not one of those people".

Yes, I am an asshole.

I was also raised by a mother who would praise me when I fell and skinned my knee: "Good job! You fell really well. Very impressive…" etc.; all smiles and adoration. Of course, she did this because she knew that if her own distress and worry registered on her face, I would become convinced that my life was in jeopardy and would burst into tears. Consequently, I equate failure with success and have no patience for the suffering of others.

It may be rude of me to blame my parents for my psycho-pathologies, but I'm convinced that I potentially pose a greater threat to their happiness than they ever posed to mine. This brings me to my own intolerably self-involved medical epic. Early today I was sitting in a hospital waiting room, trying to manage my internal pain with whatever stoicism and sangfroid I could muster. The doctor was running behind schedule and the waiting room was small.

My three companions in the waiting room consisted of an older couple and their adult son, who sat between them. The son works in radio, and was using this quality time with his parents to subject them to a loud, bullying, ceaseless, obnoxious, jargon-laden monologue about radio towers, real estate values, the FCC, and every other goddamn thing about radio that popped into his bloated head. My heart went out to that poor elderly couple, victims of their own asshole-of-a-son, even after I realized that I have subjected my own parents to the same kind behavior… even after I realized that I, myself, am an asshole.

Finally, the parents of this monster were ushered into an examining room (probably to be fitted for diapers or some such indignity), and I was ushered into another room to be diddled by an old man (all perfectly medical and legitimate, but an indignity nonetheless).

I'm left with the cold comfort that while I may be an asshole, at least I'm a terrific asshole.