Learned Helplessness

By wisequack  “A cloudy diagnosis is no match for a sunny disposition.”

On the rare occasions when I need to make amends on the home front, I find it easiest to buy roses. The florist and I have subsequently become fast friends. “You’re late today Doc,” she smiles, “will that be the usual?”  Her pleasant face winces as she sweeps the thorns off the stems, pricking her busy fingers yet again. I was reminded of the old adage I’d heard a thousand times as a child; “Get your fingers out of there!” as well as the other old adage, “Instead of complaining that roses have thorns, be grateful that thorns have roses.”

“A cloudy diagnosis is no match for a sunny disposition.”

On the rare occasions when I need to make amends on the home front, I find it easiest to buy roses. The florist and I have subsequently become fast friends. “You’re late today Doc,” she smiles, “will that be the usual?”  Her pleasant face winces as she sweeps the thorns off the stems, pricking her busy fingers yet again. I was reminded of the old adage I’d heard a thousand times as a child; “Get your fingers out of there!” as well as the other old adage, “Instead of complaining that roses have thorns, be grateful that thorns have roses.”

Ted, 41, had brought his son into the office with an ear infection. But glancing at Ted, I noted his eyes were yellowish and inquired as to how he’d been feeling. “Just fine Doc. The yellow is probably ’cause I’ve got to find your washroom in a hurry” he joked. Concerned, I conducted a few tests to discover to my dismay that Ted was breeding pancreatic cancer, a brand of cancer that scares every doctor. When I visited him a few days later in the hospital, he grinned at me and declared he was doing great. “I have my own TV, the nurses are top notch and the food is superb.” Either this man was sicker than I thought or he’d been given an enormous amount of mind-altering drugs. But the nurses were likewise drawn to Ted’s upbeat nature, explaining that he never, ever complained. Two months later he was back in hospital, the cancer and the treatment having left him gaunt and wasted. “Look at this, Doc, thinnest I’ve been in years.” As I tried to discuss the gravity of his situation, he interrupted and reminded me “Everyone has to die sometime and I’ve lived a very rich life.” A few weeks later he died. Several nurses went to his funeral.

Taking the chart out of the door I noted that my first patient of the day was Ruth. I knew what to expect. Unhappy Ruth would blame someone else for something gone askew, would want a CT scan for every sniffle and complain that she was never well. I don’t recall ever having heard Ruth laugh or even having seen her smile. Constantly beset by a myriad of “problems”, she reeked pessimism from every pore...Continue reading...