TheBanyanTree: I Have Issues

[Janice Money]

Who doesn't have issues?  Only the comatose, I think.  Those people are
certainly mentally stable, poor things.  The rest of us, from time to time,
go up and down, get anxious, angry, fearful, tense, excited, deliriously
happy, whatever.  Our moods are always changing.  I suppose the only
question is whether the mood is appropriate to the circumstance, and who can
know that except the person who's having the mood, and even they may not
know - so much can be hidden by us from ourselves.

For instance, some years ago my husband  came to me while I was in the
kitchen making breakfast for the family and feeling the pressure to get it
done quickly because we were running late.  He asked me if I knew where his
keys were.  Suddenly I felt frustrated and put upon.  That quickly turned
into rage whereupon, to his great surprise, I lashed out at him verbally,
loudly, accusing him, among other things, of always expecting me to drop
everything and rush around after him.  In response, he floored me by saying
he didn't expect that at all.  He just wanted to know if I knew where his
keys were and if I didn't he would continue looking for them himself. 

I couldn't believe it.  Everything inside me told me that when a man asks if
you know where something is he expects you immediately to drop everything
you're doing and help him find whatever it is.  Then, in the silence, as we
stared at each other, it came to me - the memory of my father's voice not
just expecting help but demanding it; he of the short temper and heavy hands
who I loved and feared in almost equal measure, who would stand in the
centre of the house, loudly directing the rest of us as we scurried about to
do his will and avoid his real displeasure.  So that was one hidden issue
unearthed and dealt with.  Over the years there have been a few others and
there have also been the ordinary issues of being a human being.

Here's one.  I had an appointment with the medical oncologist last week.  It
turned out that my cancer is oestrogen sensitive, I had told them that I
take a low dose of oestrogen to manage certain menopausal symptoms and they
have to get on record that I have been advised of the risks of doing that
and of the very small benefit that might accrue to me if I start taking an
anti-oestrogen drug.  (It's not going to happen.  I'd rather die younger
after several years of feeling reasonably comfortable than older after more
years of feeling uncomfortable to miserable.  And besides, as far as I know
the thing has all been cut out.)  So this really nice, friendly fellow asked
me my age and, for the first time, I had to say it out loud.  It came out
easily enough but then I started to feel an odd feeling that I can't really
describe without feeling odd all over again.  Disgust?  What's there to be
disgusted about in being my age?  Disbelief?  What reason do I have to
disbelieve it?  Maybe it's just that I've arrived at what always seemed so
far off, that my body has become what I don't want it to be - old,
unreliable, wrinkly - and the proof is in that number.  On the other hand,
I'm quite glad to be old if only because I expect the next few decades to be
not fun ones to be alive in and, lucky me, I'll be dead and gone and won't
have to endure them.  

Yeah.  And I've also got posterior vitreous separation but I only see
shimmering spots and only notice them in some lights.  I'd rather not tear
my retina so I try to avoid getting dehydrated, but if it happens I'll deal
with that then.  In the meantime there's no point worrying.

Do I have issues?  Of course!  Do I listen for God to speak to me about
them?  Well, I don't expect him to do it audibly but, yes, I listen.
Sometimes I hear him in the words and actions of other people.  Sometimes I
hear him in the events, ordinary or extraordinary, of daily life.  Sometimes
I hear him in the words telling of what he has done.  I'll certainly listen
to you if you want to talk.  Maybe he will speak to me through you.  

Janice


-----Original Message-----
From: thebanyantree-bounces at lists.remsset.com
[mailto:thebanyantree-bounces at lists.remsset.com] On Behalf Of Jim Miller
Sent: Saturday, 30 November 2013 1:30 PM
To: The Banyan Tree
Subject: TheBanyanTree: I Have Issues

What do you feel when I tell you; I have issues? I sense your judgment. I
want to shout out, like the woman in the commercial, “Don’t hate me because
I’m beautiful.” Now, I don’t expect you to think me beautiful. I don’t think
me beautiful, well maybe modestly handsome, but I digress. The truth is,
most will run from a relationship with a person who has issues. Those people
tend to be oppressive and overbearing. We rush to judgment because our
cultural conditioning persuades us to assume that persons with issues are
mentally unstable. Of course, that’s what I’ve always understood. I was
wrong; . . . . . . . some of the time anyway.



I began having these thoughts a week ago. Today, my thoughts are unusually
heavy. I don’t know why. Maybe it has something to do with being
exceptionally happy about life yesterday, as I used the Thanksgiving Holiday
to count my blessing. Yin and yang; give and take; for every action, there
is an equal and opposite reaction. Today it’s issues. ALL my issues.



The day dawned in a shroud of battleship gray, laced with frost, and tinged
in an eerie mist. No, I wasn’t awake to see it. Now it’s later in the day,
and nothing has changed. I slept late due to a late night; or rather, an
early morning. I was passionately engrossed in the lives of elite assassins,
brutal drug cartel psychopaths, despicable and corrupt politicians, lazy and
worthless bureaucrats, a handful of incorruptible federales, and beautiful
women. All good stories have beautiful women. Not all of them nice ladies,
but all beautiful. I’m quite fond of beautiful women.



OK, I confess, I was also awake because, even with all the tryptophan I
consumed, I indulged my weakness for hot caffeinated beverage late in the
day. The earthy sweet nectar resulting from the rare convergence of the
finest Indonesian Sumatra coffee beans from one of the most ideal growing
regions on the high plateau, dark roasted to just the appropriate acidity,
fresh ground, perfectly brewed at precisely 196 degrees Fahrenheit, and
served immediately. I drank more than a quart, and savored every drop.
Coffee doesn’t get better than that.



Back to my issues. Are you still with me, or have you run off? I AM NOT
mentally unstable. Whether I’m engaged in blissful denial or not, it is my
reality and I will remain in this reality until my final breath. Let’s move
on. My reality is that I’m getting old. I’m finding it difficult to accept,
but I have mirrors and I’m not blind. Maybe a little blind. Then, I continue
to receive these disparaging emails, like I should relate. How can I relate
when I have all my teeth. Ya Ya, a mouth full of porcelain crowns with a
smattering of implants, but that has nothing to do with my issues. I paid a
lot for this smile and I like it. Where do I start?



Maybe I should just start at the top of my issue priority list and work
down. Would you prefer that I start with the major issues, working through
to the trivia; or take trivial first? Trivial wins.

1.     1. I have dry scalp. I know; nothing to you, but it’s driving me
nuts. The dermatologist says, “Use this once a day for a month.” My scalp
turns bright red, burns like fire, and three months late flakes again. This
has been going on for 4 years.

2.     2. I have toenail fungus. The podiatrist says, “50% of you (unspoken
“elderly”) have it. I could give you an oral medication that works about 35%
of the time. You don’t want to know what it does to your liver. Or you can
just ignore it.” Will beautiful women notice my yellow toenails at the
beach?

3.      3. My hair is getting thinner by the day. I had great hair. This
wasn’t supposed to happen.

4.      4. Every time I visit the dermatologist, he attempts to keep a
straight face, but I can see through the façade. The glee is there, in the
wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Looking through his jeweler’s loop he
says, “We’ll need to remove this growth . . . . . . and that one, and we’ll
just burn off these 11 pre-cancerous spots.”  Ka-ching, ka-ching.  What is
this WE? I’m the one who looks like they went through a back room
interrogation and the other guy had a lit cigarette.



Do you believe me? I have issues. There are bigger issues.



5.      5. My thyroid and gall bladder have been taken and I was completely
in the dark. Anesthesia will do that I’m told.

6.      6. My right shoulder droops. We don’t know if that’s because I
carried a heavy instrument in the 5th grade, or the surgeon nicked a nerve
during the 2007 cancer surgery when everything on the right side went numb.
I’m not really uptight about this issue. The physical therapist is working
on it, although I opened a car door the other day, at the wrong angle,
something snapped, and now everything hurts.

7.      7. Six weeks ago, I had surgery on my right foot, to remove a
bunion and fix a hammer toe. I couldn’t drive for 4 weeks. Now everything is
swollen, one toe no longer bends and it’s still sore. Maybe prescription
shoes would have been a wiser choice.

8.      8. I breathe through a hole in my neck. Adults are freaked and kids
are curious. Blowing your neck instead of your nose is a little weird. I
don’t smell odors well. (which has its advantages) Vocal cords are gone, but
I’ve learned to talk. You don’t want to know how, although it’s not how some
people think. Now I sound like The Donald. NOT Donald Trump; Donald Duck. I
have a mechanical voice for a backup. The kids love to play with it. I have
to keep buying batteries.

9.      9. Then, of course there is The Heart. It’s on loan from someone
else. Lucky me; it’s a good one. People say, “Do you notice that some things
are different now?” I don’t put much stock in ‘Cell Memory’, although
proponents swear it’s real. I don’t believe I act or think differently, but
I have issues. Who am I to judge me?

10.    10. Finally, I have eye issues. I’ve always had great eyes. I have
used mild reading glasses only for twenty five years, and I finally got
glasses with a little correction. This is a new issue. It’s called Posterior
Vitreous Separation. Apparently 50% of those over 50 experience it. The
worry is in tearing the retina. I’m good so far, but I now have what appears
to be an apparition floating center stage in my left eye.
Actually it more closely resembles a constantly changing, transparent,
Rorschach image. I find myself sitting staring at it wondering what I’d tell
a shrink I see. Sooo Much Sexxxx. (That should perk him/her up.) I did see a
turkey, a shrinking galaxy, a tornado, rabbit on a log. Then there were the
disembodied heads with scorpion tails dangling out of their mouths. That’s
the Sinaloa Cartel’s calling card. I’d better quit reading such gruesome
fiction. I’m told this issue may remain for the rest of my life.



Good Grief, I have issues. What am I going to do? I’m never sure how much
longer I’ll have to deal with these issues. Fifteen years ago, Linda and I
had our 35th anniversary. The goal was to make it to 50. We celebrated 50
last Saturday. At times I feel like a cat with nine lives and I’ve used at
least 4 of them. I’m not counting the close calls where an angel had to
interven. Like the time I scrambled off the mountain in the dark, over giant
boulders with lightning dancing off the rocks ALL around me. Or the time I
slid my car in the snow within 6 inches of an 85 foot drop into the icy St
Joe River. The time I tripped at a construction site and missed piercing my
heart with rebar by inches. Then just a few months ago, I was returning from
a cross state conference. It was midnight when I woke up doing 100 kph
clearing brush on the side of the road. By reflex I pulled back and lost it.
I was reasonably certain that I was the main character in a one car roll
over show; over and over, and over. I knew there was no possibility of
recovery, and just like that, the car corrected and settled into straight
line. Maybe I’d better count Angel interventions. I’m probably on auxiliary
lives by now. Well, what the heck. So I have issues.
No point in giving in and slowing now. On the other hand; should I hire a
driver.



In 1996, I wrote a rant about listening for God to talk to me. I think that
I worried Janice. She wrote that she would be happy to listen if I wanted to
talk. Janice, I still haven’t had an audible rap with God.  I have loads of
issues. Are you still ready to talk?


Jim