We have a few friends who worry a lot, so much so that Barbara and I worry that our friends are spending too much of their time and energy pursuing their worries. I have on several occasion told these worry-warts that they have crossed the line. They’ve gone beyond worrying and are in fact obsessing, and that’s not good. What do you mean I’m obsessing? If you are letting someone or something live rent free in your brain, you are obsessing. (Imagine your washing machine filled to the brim, endlessly cycling, and never getting your clothes clean. That’s what it’s like.)

One of our friends has diligently cultivated his obsessions over a period of time and has made a point of sharing them with us. (Remember, sharing is caring!) There was an election recently in – if not a galaxy far away – then a country across the sea with a candidate not to his liking. Now I can see why our friend is upset. Lots of people we know share his concern of what this politician might attempt. But ____, you’re not living there. Take it down a notch. OK, you have family living there, but it’s on them. Let them decide for themselves if life remains worth living where they are. If not…… Meanwhile, with little or no effort, we can create a list of more immediate things for you to be concerned about. Just don’t transfer your troubles from there to here. Pack up all your cares and woe…

The opposite of being obsessive, piling worry on top of worry, is being pro-active, figuring out what needs to be done and then doing it.  Like getting appropriate medical attention as needed or dealing with a child’s poor performance at school. By the way, does everyone in your family have a valid passport that won’t expire when you’re on your way to the airport? Maybe you should check.

Of course, the best advice is that which you take yourself. I’m proud to say that’s what I did…

It’s 3 o’clock in the morning and I’m wide awake…

How are we going to get to the hospital Sat. night before my procedure? If we take a cab, how will Barbara get back home? Maybe Dudu, the cab driver we always use, could take us there and wait around to take Barbara back. Or if we take the light rail, that’s a long way back for her late at night. I need her with me part of the time, but she has to be home to take care of the cats, especially Pooms, who does most of her eating between midnight and 6AM. What about the street cats I take care of? I don’t even know what time they want me to show up at the hospital. What time does Shabbat end Feb. 28? Maybe I should skip going back to shul for mincha-maariv and Nachum’s shiur. What about Purim? That’s two days later. Maybe I could plan to prepare the food for the seudah in advance and freeze it. Even so, that’s a lot to do at the last minute. How will I feel; will I even be up to it?

All of these thoughts were going are going round and round in my head, as I lay awake at 3AM. And it occurred to me: I could keep doing this. I could be wide awake at 3AM for the next four months, worrying about being in the hospital for laser surgery. Isn’t that what I’ve been telling our friend not to do, worrying to the point of obsession. Shouldn’t I take my own advice and take it down a notch? March 1 is four months from now. That’s plenty of time to figure out the best way to take care of all the loose ends, none of which should be insurmountable. So let me stop worrying. Change the topic in my head. Turn over and try to go back to sleep. It does work.

Being pro-active often involves getting some information. I did intend, closer to the date, to speak with a friend who had the same procedure and who knows what’s what. There’s one thing, however, I should find out about now, just to ease my mind. If I’m in the hospital on Sun., how will that affect Purim? And in response, I was essentially nominated for the ‘Silly Person, you’ award.

If they’re working on me on Sunday, I’m not being discharged until Tues. That seems to be what’s going to happen. Forget the seudah; I probably won’t even get to hear the Megillah.

Don’t they read the megillah at the hospital for the patients? Sure they do, but there’s a catch. Purim, for most of the world – including Ma’ale Adumim – is Mon. night and Tues., when I’ll be in the hospital in Jerusalem. For all of the walled-city folks – including Hadassah Hospital – Shushan Purim will be Tues. night and Wed., when I should be back in Ma’ale Adumim. I will be in the wrong place at the wrong time; either it will be too early or too late to hear the Megillah – unless I read it to myself in English. As for a seudah, I won’t be cooking, I won’t even be attending. I will be recuperating. Perhaps a bowl of cereal, a hamantaschen, and a cup of Powers coffee. It’s on the rest of you this time for your festive meal.

It Could Be Worse

Another friend of ours developed an infection in her mouth, pretty much out of the blue, which required immediate treatment at the E.R. As they were wheeling her in, our friend’s phone rang. Her 93-year-old mother had just died (not unexpectedly).  Most people ‘sit shiva’ by sitting. As our friend explained, she began her shiva lying flat on her back in the hospital. If going without Purim is something you don’t want to happen, how much worse is missing out on your mother’s funeral.

At some point, it occurred to me: in which section of the Oy Vey Club would our friend fit? Like me, if she hadn’t received the medical treatment that is now routine in this country, well… So, she was temporarily in the Oy Vey Iz Mir section, for people with serious complaints, and then, fortunately, she joined the rest of us run-of-the-mill shleppers in the main Oy Vey group. But what about her double whammy, having a medical and emotional trauma at the same time? That doesn’t happen too often – which is a good thing. There was no one I could turn to for guidance on this matter, so on my own authority, I created a special section for our friend and, I hope, not too many others with similar misfortunes, the Oy Gevalt group. I hope not to see you there at their annual reunion.

Tying Up Some Loose Ends

I’m much calmer now. We made an appointment with our regular doctor, Adam Albert. He reviewed all the material we got from the hospital and gave us a list of all the tests I’ll need to do for the pre-op appointment in Feb. Nothing out-of-the-ordinary; plenty of time to get it all done; plenty of time to get the paperwork in order. The good doctor made a phone call to the nurses’ office. Turns out I might be able to get my catheter changed the end of December in the comfort of our apartment – rather than having to head to the E.R.  How cool is that! So now that all of these concerns have been evicted from my cranial cavity, I have all this spare room upstairs to fret about elections – past, present, and future – on two continents. I can hardly wait!