Alan C. Fox

I had enjoyed Dinner at the home of my wife’s parents, but this time as we were leaving something bizarre happened.   We were saying our goodbyes in the hallway when my mother-in-law, I’ll call her “M” for “Mean,” suddenly reached out and pinched me – hard — on my stomach.  I was too shocked to respond.

A few weeks later, after our next dinner at “M’s” house, she did the same thing, so I talked to my wife Susan about it on our way home.

“When we were leaving your mother pinched me.  Hard.  This is the second time she has done it. If it happens again, I’m going to confront her.  I don’t like to be pinched.”  A memory of being pinched on the cheek by my own mother’s friends when I was three or four years old flickered in my head.

Susan seemed surprised to hear about this and agreed I should say something.

The next dinner was at our house, a formal celebration of some sort, and I was ready.  Before “M” arrived I decided that if she engaged in her usual habit of saying something nasty at the dinner table under the cover of everyone else having to be “polite,” I would confront her directly.  She must have picked up on my vibe. She was pleasant throughout the entire meal for once.

But when it came time to leave, sure enough, M’s right hand darted toward my stomach.  I caught her wrist in mid-flight.

This time she was surprised. “Why did you do that?”

“Because the last two times I left your house you pinched me.  I don’t like being pinched.”

M flashed her mean little smirk.  “What’s the matter, Alan.” she said.  “Can’t take it?”

There are people who attack under the cover of your need to be “polite” in a social situation.  After all, are you going to yell at your aunt who asks inappropriate personal questions in front of everyone at family gatherings? Are you going to confront your boss if she goes on a political diatribe at a lunch even though she knows you disagree with her?  Will you make a scene when your best friend gets overly loud and rowdy at your Super Bowl party?  Probably not.

But it’s a matter of your priorities – to keep the peace, or to confront the behavior.  My personal rules are:

1. The first time is a “freebie” (unless the behavior is outrageous). The first time M pinched me I was too surprised to react, other than by moving away quickly.
2. The second time establishes a pattern. With M, however, I didn’t want to offend my wife so I let it pass.
3. The third time I will not let it pass. If I do, I become a passive victim who won’t stand up for himself because I don’t want to be seen as a troublemaker.  But I’ll tell you – when M or anyone else becomes a consistent aggressor I will not let it pass.

What to do in a pinch?  Tell the pincher to stop.

Can I “take it”?  Yes.

Am I willing to “take it”?

No.  I’m nice, but no one should ever be willing to take unwarranted abuse.  That is one of my top priorities.

Alan

My son Steven, a doctor, called me this past Saturday.

“You better check on Grandpa.  He’s had a pain in his stomach for three or four days and I think he should go to an emergency room.  He needs to have tests that can’t be done at an Urgent Care.  Take him to a good hospital.”

An hour later I was on an airplane back to Los Angeles. My dad is 102 years old. The caretaker who usually stays with him had been on vacation for almost two weeks and she wouldn’t be back until the Tuesday after Labor Day weekend.

“Hi, Dad.  How are you?” I asked as soon as I arrived at his house.

“I’m fine.  But I’ve had this pain in my stomach for three or four days.  My doctor is out of town.  If it wasn’t a long weekend I would just wait to see him on Monday.”  Understandably, Dad doesn’t like hospitals. He especially doesn’t like the expense. He hates to pay his Medicare co-pay. Even so, I followed Steven’s advice and drove Dad to the emergency room at the UCLA Medical Center.  He didn’t complain, which was a pretty good indication that he was in significant pain.

We found the usual surge of holiday weekend patients waiting to be seen.  Dad was examined after about forty-five minutes.  The emergency room doctors ordered an MRI of his abdomen as well as an ultrasound.  They also started him on three IV antibiotics, including Vancomycin.  (I paid the $75.00 co-pay charged by the emergency room).

I’m not a doctor. I don’t know much about the practice of medicine.  I do know that a few seconds after the nurse took Dad’s blood pressure (which, incidentally, is better than mine), he suddenly became unresponsive and stopped talking.  Then his eyes rolled back into his head.

The nurse called for a doctor.  The next thirty seconds seemed like a lifetime.  Or a deathtime. I was terrified.   I thought to myself, “This is it.  In a few minutes my father is going to be dead.”

The doctor arrived, and didn’t seem especially concerned.

I know that any of us can die at any given moment. Even so, none of us are prepared for the sudden death of a loved one, or for the moments just before.  I remembered my young assistant Cecile who died ten years ago when her sports car flew off a dark mountain road and landed two hundred feet below.  I wasn’t prepared for her death, and I certainly wasn’t prepared for my dad to die in a hospital emergency room two days ago.

Our experience of time is always subjective, but after forever my father came out of his daze.

It’s now Monday, and Dad is scheduled to go home tomorrow.  With the help of antibiotics he has experienced his usual quick recovery, an outcome for which I’m very grateful.

My message to you, and to myself, is this:  Cherish every moment.

Poof.

Alan