The Talmud says you can learn a lot about a person by judging, not their proficiency at the three R’s, but the three K’s -
Kohwsow – Their Cup; can they hold their liquor?
Kahsow – Their Temper; quick or slow to anger?
Keysow – Their Wallet; generous or cheap?
I’ve often wondered if a modernized version might expand Wallet to include how you protect your valuables. Are you a paranoid nut who wears one of those motorcycle chains to gird it to your pants? Or do you causally leave it on top of your car like a hot cup of coffee or box of donuts and then drive off? (You know who you are)
I like to think of myself as an in-betweener. I’m that guy who keeps his wallet inside my jacket but then drops it somewhere in the house and spends hours looking for it. Its somewhat frustrating, but I can deal with that because I know it didn’t just up and walk off on its own.
But, let me lose my wallet for real, and I go out of my mind. I’ve got Experian and TransUnion on my speed-dialer for those “just in case” situations.
Imagine then how I felt pulling into a popular gas station the other day and spying a credit card on the ground right at my feet. In my minds-eye I could see this poor person frantically driving across town, retracing their steps, calling the credit unions to block their accounts and tearing their hair out worrying about restoring their precious credit score.
I looked closely at the card and realized that I knew this person! In fact, I taught her son two years ago, and their youngest child still attended the school where I teach. Whoa! Talk about Divine Providence!
I quickly called the school and got both her home and cell numbers. A call to the cell put me straight to voice mail and my heart pounded a little faster. Was I too late? Was she already hysterically tying up the line with banking institutions? I left a lengthy message on the house phone calmly assuring her that someone she knew had the card and not to worry, and then sat down to wait and see what would happen.
About thirty minutes later my phone rang.
Hello?” I said.
“Hi!” She chirped.
“I got your message. Thanks for calling me. You know, I wasn’t sure I had lost it or not, and was going to look in my purse when I got home. But I got your call first. Wow! That is like, so nice of you to call. So I guess you want to get the card back to me?…..”
What?!!
Where was the sense of urgency? Where was the gasp of relief that the card was in my hands and not those of a hoodlum quickly burying her credit line to the hilt? I know some people can be pretty blase about money, but this was really over the top! Especially since she is not from a well-heeled family.
I don’t know. Part of me wants to say that this is a classic Chicken Soup for the Soul story save for one missing ingredient…. a grateful recipient who understands that she just witnessed a miracle. On the other hand, I am so intrigued by her lack of concern and easygoing nature. Maybe she’s onto something?
The Good Word for Today is: Take a deep breath and remember – Its only money.
LJ
Dr. No
Posted December 15, 2009 by Lee LowensteinCategories: Commentary, Forgiveness
Tags: weird virus, illness, doctors, chiropractors, pain, suffering
If the stats for this site were an EKG, the time to declare the patient a goner has long since past. I’ve been flat-lining for more than twenty days now, and thankfully it was just the website – it could have been a lot worse.
I’ve picked up some really weird viruses in my lifetime. Like the one I got in Venezuela (not Hugo Chavez) that messed up my inner-ear and made me feel like I was going downhill in a roller coaster – even when sitting still. Or the ear infections when I was eleven that had to be drained weekly with a siphon.
For four-weeks now I have been nearly out of commission with the worst and strangest bug ever. It started as a mild case of the flu, but from there something went horribly wrong.
The virus attacked my neuro-muscular system and may have even gotten into my bones as well. At times I felt like someone was putting their foot in the center of my back while gripping my shoulders, and lifting up with their full force. It felt like I was being broken in two – no kidding.
I couldn’t breathe, sit or lie down without incredible pain. I sweated so badly at night I broke out in a horrible rash. I could only walk by swinging my entire body from side to side, and a short trip would leave me winded and ready for bed. If this is what eighty-years old feels like, I am not sure I am looking forward to it.
Mild relief came in the form of 1000 milligrams of Advil every three or four hours. While Percocet did a great job of getting me stoned out of my mind – I couldn’t exactly enjoy it because it did nothing for the pain (we are talking serious pain).
Here is the part where the reader gets to play my mother: “Haven’t you seen a Doctor yet?”
Mom actually went so far as to insist I roll up to the drive-thru window at our local Mt. Sinai and have myself admitted (for….being in pain, I guess).
Yes, I did consult with our GP many times – three in fact. On each occasion he would look me over and sigh and say: “I’ve been seeing a lot of people with similar pains – I think it’s a virus. Drink plenty of fluids and take this muscle relaxant (which did nothing except increase the high to psychedelic levels), and call me if it gets worse.”
That was that.
I accepted his pronouncement the first time with a slight grunt as I stumbled out of the office. After the second “useless” visit (and a negative blood test for Lymes Disease – my suggestion, he thought I was nuts but went along for the ride) I began to wonder if I should give my chiropractor buddy Mark a call. I wasn’t really sure what he could do since my back was so tight it simply could not be manipulated, even by a thousand monkeys typing on a thousand typewriters, but the pain was demanding action and anything seemed better than this Obama-like wait-and-see policy.
Men have been known to drop dead at their desks, less on account of sheer boredom, than from their amazing ability to rationalize away significant pain. I don’t think of myself as having the patience of Job, but I soon found myself again sitting on the crispy-white paper examining table wondering what other pearls of wisdom the good doctor had for me that day. By now I was really, seriously, conclusively going to pick up the phone and give Mark a call if the boy cried wolf one more time.
Cue the sigh – cue the look of concern and the pat on the back with an encouraging: “Well, at least this time you are able to sit for longer with less pain! That should count for something.” As I grumbled while putting on my clothes, he reminded me again that I was not the only case of strange inexplicable pains he was treating.
“Be patient” was the best he could offer. I hope that wasn’t some kind of weird doctor pun.
Did I pick up the phone and call Mark? No, I didn’t. I really dont know why. Something was just not letting me make that move.
Friday night rolls around and I am feeling much better. I can actually walk with only a few spasms slowing me down. People aren’t stopping to look at me anymore. I bump into my friend Mark and that opens up the floodgates. I pour out my weeks of misery to him and tell him how frustrated I have been with “those conventional docs.” He just smiles as he listens and nods his head.
“Well, its a good thing you didn’t call me,” he says.
“Because I have been laid up in bed with the same thing for two weeks now. I too was talking to Dr. So and So and he gave me the identical advice!”
The good word for today is: Trust your doctor, but trust your gut even more.
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