I heard you raise your voice at my husband. I also heard my husband’s kind and polite non-confrontational way of responding. His take, generous creature that he always has been until pushed too far, is that you’re very emotional… My take is you’re an asshole. I’ve always suspected this, but you proved it twice over the day I came home from the hospital and you chose (because these are choices people make) to raise your voice at a kind man who, without having to, was sharing with you a private family matter. You were, actually, pissed off because we didn’t inform you and your wife that I was having gynecological surgery.
Let that sink in…
I am not as kind, patient and generous as my beloved better half. He IS my better half. He is, by far, the best one of us. I am not as forgiving or as patient as my beloved husband is. Like Mr. Darcy, I fear, “my good opinion once lost is lost forever.”
Sounds harsh, doesn’t it? I know, I know. You were “worried” or “concerned” or “alarmed” or thought you were entitled to know about something that, quite honestly, is none of your business. In the middle of your impassioned speeches (TWO of them…you couldn’t stick to just one pass, could you?) I wanted to get out of bed, which I wasn’t really able to do with the alacrity the situation required. OK, it wasn’t just the alacrity required, but the one I’m accustomed to…I wanted to jump up, and all I could do was roll and squirm like a turtle on its back.
This morning, when I finally decided I could go check the mailbox without being exhausted by the excursion, you had the unmitigated gall to yell at me from your driveway. I decided (because I am older and I guess wiser) to just do the cursory wave and say nothing. No smile. No nod. Just cursory wave and propel my tired forward into the house.
Had I been in the mood for an actual confrontation, it would not have been good for either one of us.
I would have told you how selfish it was of you to berate a man who has been sitting on the news that his wife has to have surgery for seventeen days, and who sat in a waiting room for over eight hours the day before.
I would have told you that whatever is going on with my body is none of your business; that my husband and I discussed how we were going to handle this information and we agreed that, to keep our son calm and our nerves in check, we would be discreet and private about my surgery.
I would have told you that, regardless of what you think our relationship is, we are neighbors. We’ve known you for less than two years, and we are not part of each other’s inner circles. There is no intimacy in our relationship; the closeness you share with other neighbors you’ve known longer, and who are privy to your life’s ups and downs over the years, is never going to happen with us.
We are older than you are. We are not the social bugs that you and your friends are. We are not prone to revelations of intimate matters because that’s not the way we live our lives. We are the parents of an adult with a disability; our minds, our priorities, our concerns are elsewhere.
Did you even stop to think that we’d been preparing for a life-altering, routine-disrupting procedure by taking into consideration the needs of our son? I spent the sixteen days prior to my surgery cleaning, organizing, stocking up, making sure that our documents were in order just in case things didn’t go to plan?
My husband told you, you imbecile, that not even our oldest son and his wife were informed until AFTER the surgery. My sister didn’t find out until AFTER the surgery. People who have inhabited my body, and who were there when my body came into this world were not informed. These people were upset they weren’t told, but they understood why we took that tack, and they respected our decision.
You, on the other hand, decided that your hurt feelings, your sense of entitlement were more important.
You raised your voice at a man whose mother died of ovarian cancer; a man who would be single-handedly caring for his disabled son (a young man you’ve only interacted with maybe twice?) and his convalescing wife; a man who was wondering if the eviction of the uterus, cervix and fallopian tubes would be the end of what was a very, very long trial for his family. The same fears he had when his mother was ill, dying, were revisited as he waited for my surgery (four-plus hours) and my biopsies (a weeklong wait) were completed.
You made finding out about my surgery the day I came home about you. You made it about your sense of outrage for not being informed about a private health matter. You made it about raising your voice at a man who is older and kinder than you, a man who wouldn’t dream of doing the same thing to you. If you asked for help or gave us news about your family, we would help you without berating or assuming we’re entitled to any information you’ve withheld.
We would try to be supportive. We would try to be encouraging. We would be there for you when and if you needed us.
Showing people you care doesn’t require being offended when you’re not included in a private matter.
You put no thought into your interactions with my husband. You didn’t stop to think about him, about me, about our son, about us. You thought about yourself; you opted to put your sense of outrage and exclusion ahead of my husband’s relief at seeing me at home, at knowing he was gracefully handling the challenge of taking care of our son while I, the primary caregiver…the constant…the anchor, was on the sidelines recovering.
Letting people in on personal matters is a matter of trust. We know you and your wife take things entirely too much to heart, and we know you have plenty of issues you have to deal with on a daily basis. We respect that deeply. We took that into consideration when we made the decision to keep a private matter private. We know you both, for your own personal reasons, think you have to be 100% present for everyone, and we’ve seen people take advantage of your kindness and willingness to help. We’ve seen you leave your wife overloaded with worries, work and the added impositions of friends while you leave to play golf every weekend. When you’re around, there’s no saying no to you; you want to be so generous that you never stop to think of the people on whom you’re imposing your generosity.
We kept our private life private because that’s what makes us happy, what gives us comfort. You felt offended by our desire to be comforted, supported and consoled by each other. For some reason, discussing a gynecological procedure didn’t seem like the thing to do. That we shared I’d been in hospital after the fact should have elicited a different response, but what we got was a raised voice, outraged at our desire to keep ourselves to ourselves until we felt comfortable sharing any news.
So, no…I didn’t do more than the cursory wave because otherwise I would’ve marched up to you and treated you in the way that you treated my husband. It would have upset you (I dread thinking of what that might have elicited from you) and it would have upset your wife. Our neighborly relationship would have been damaged even more than you already damaged it by behaving like a total ass.
We’re not better than you, neighbor, but we are more considerate and thoughtful. A line, however, was crossed, and a new one has been drawn. Any remote possibility that we would have established closer bonds based on the sharing of private information has been erased. You raised your voice at one of the people I will not accept being treated in such a way. If you raised your voice at a man who can reason and respond kindly to any conversation, what would you do if confronted with J’s clumsy way of handling social interactions?
I regret to say, neighbor, I cannot trust that you will respect our feelings, decisions, space or us. Cursory waves it is…