Deadly Lies

It's hard to admit you might need help. A lie of "I'm okay" comes much easier than admitting you might not be so great and a little help could be needed. That lie could prove deadly on certain occasions.

Hello everyone, this is the Curmudgeon Gal coming to you today from beautiful Baja California Mexico on June 16^th, that started off with the sun and has now turned into clouds. Such is life on the west coast of this great continent!

I've been out of touch for a while. Several weeks ago someone dear to me, Enrique Zavala, passed away quietly in his sleep at home in Tijuana. I had seen him a few days before at his business and he looked healthy and perky as we snuggled and kissed in greeting as we always did - he was my novio, or sweetheart. I had to go across the border into California for several days to take a friend, Joann, to the hospital and make sure she was getting the right treatment. When I got back, one of his workers called to tell me he was gone. What a shock!

Between dragging Joann to the hospital and Enrique passing away so suddenly, I started to think about how all of us, friends and family, lie to each other all the time.

You call a loved one to just say "hi" and see how they are. When you ask, the most common response is, "I'm fine, how are you." And you respond with something like "I'm Okay too." When in fact, neither of you are really okay.

Enrique had one lung and suffered from chronic bronchitis, he was a partner in an iron works business with a place of business fronted, as common in Mexico, by a dirt parking area. There was a lot of traffic and lots of dust from the road, the parking area and an open field across the street. He often had problems breathing, but you wouldn't know he was ill from looking at him. He had lovely soft brown Mexican skin, made darker by being in the sun most of the day. You couldn't tell how he felt by looking, like those of us of pale skinned Northern European descent who immediately turn an unhealthy pallor when we're ill. He had a whole cabinet of medications and a oxygen concentrator he was to use at least overnight – all of which he would frequently forget to do.

So, when his son would call and ask how he was, he would summon up his usual perky response and say "Oh, I'm fine, just fine." And his son, like the rest of us, would believe him; after all, he was a nice honest man, why would he lie to us? And I'm sure he didn't think of it as lying. It was the polite response ingrained in all of us.

Joann, on the other hand, was in pain during our usual bridge game. She had severe pains in her abdomen and it had gone on for a day before. The next day the pains were still there and I offered to take her to the hospital. She refused and insisted she was all right. Later, she spoke to another friend and admitted the pain had increased. We conferred; it was time to take her to the hospital. Maggie, friend, neighbor and fellow bridge player, and I went to her house and told her she was going to the emergency room with us and she should gather up what she might need for the trip. We didn't ask her; we just announced what was going to happen. We meant business and she acquiesced as she could tell we wouldn't take no for an answer. She spent three days in the hospital with tests to find out what was wrong and to take care of the pain. I don't want to go so far as to say we saved her life, but maybe we saved her from a more grave condition. At least she received the care she needed and was spared more pain.

If Enrique had admitted it when he felt sick and couldn't breathe, could friends or family have saved him? I don't know and never will, but it's a question we will always have in the back of our minds. I either saw or spoke with him every day, and would ask if he had used his oxygen and taken his meds. Did he tell me the truth when he said he had? I'm not so sure.

We've all joked about asking someone how they were and getting an ad nauseum list of complaints and possible diagnoses. Generally, we flee from such a response and make mental notes to never ask that person how they are again. Come on, we've all done it, admit it.

As we age, the common responses no longer are useful. If you are sad and depressed, saying so might bring a friend over for a cup of coffee or an invitation to a cocktail hour to watch the sunset. If you're in pain, saying so can bring a ride to the nearest hospital with a caring buddy.

But it's hard to do. We've been brain washed to believe we must be able to do it all alone and never ask for help. Somehow, it's an admission of defeat to say we can't do something by ourselves and it makes us feel guilty or weak. I don't know if women are worse than men at this. I know women's reluctance to ask for assistance goes back at least to the women's movement of the 1960's where we needed acknowledgement that we could do it all ourselves. Also, maybe in the back of our minds we have the fear of being rejected, of hearing "no."

A few years ago I was in the hospital in Tijuana and many friends came to visit. Enrique even spent nights on the couch in my room. Melinda called me and asked if there was something she could bring. I told her I was hungry and the hospital food was not doing it for me as it was all liquid. She arrived with a pastry cooked with meat and cheese inside and some fruit and I almost took her fingers off when I saw it. I certainly showed I was not as well trained as my dogs in taking a treat!

I always notice people who have visitors in hospitals seem to get more attention. It's a nasty and insidious prejudice I think stems from the nurses' unconscious belief that if no one comes to visit a patient, they mustn't be worth much, or no one is overlooking the kind of treatment they're receiving. So if anyone I care about is in the hospital, I always try to visit whenever possible. It's the place where everyone needs an advocate.

I don't really want to hear a list of complaints, but I do want to know if a friend is ill or lonely where I can help or do something useful. I'm ready to drive to the doctor or hospital or the nearest bar if that's what's needed, just give me a call and I'm ready to go.

It's not easy to ask for a helping hand. I know I'm the worst and feel an interior cringe coming on if I have to ask for help. It somehow seems an admission of weakness on my part, when in fact; I know it takes more strength to ask for help. It's just not easy to bargain or ask on your own behalf, sort of like trying to deal with the boss for a raise…not easy to be your own negotiator. You can feel sick and slough it off, you don't want to be a bother, maybe it will go away, we'll see how it is tomorrow.

I was at my home in Spain years ago and had terrible cramps in my abdomen for two days, unable to sleep and writhing in pain. My husband thought I just had food poisoning. I went along for two days of excruciating pain thinking that it would pass and not wanting to make a fuss. I felt myself weaken and finally insisted I must see a doctor. When I got medical attention it was for an emergency operation to correct a grave situation that if left for little more time might have killed me or, at the very least, left me physically impaired for life. It was an unpleasant lesson to learn.

So, put your pride in your pocket for the moment, call a good friend who you suspect might need some help and meet them for a cup of coffee. Have this conversation with them and let them know you'll be there for them if they need you. Maybe someday the favor might be returned in kind.

I'm off to the beach for a sundowner cocktail hour with my buddies at the moment. We all understand the concept and are forever giving each other rides. Maybe because we're an ex-pat community in Mexico we tend to stick together more than if we were in the states. After all, we are strangers in a strange land.