WHAT I KNOW ABOUT COMPLIMENTS AND FLIRTING

Every time I see nonsensical comments on a post about harassment of women, I’m here shaking my head. One particular woman in a video clip said she made a practice of handling harassment with grace, not taking compliments as an insult. She preferred to stroke someone’s ego so as not to offend them while she politely declined. The responses were, “Now that’s a lady!” “You can’t be nice to a woman these days without her taking it as an insult and going all ‘Me Too’ on you. No wonder guys are confused!” “Here’s someone who can handle herself, unlike some of these feminists.”

It’s especially upsetting now while we’re headed backwards after the many gains and the level of respect we achieved.

None of us knows what every woman has gone through in life. Or any man for that matter, but for men who’ve experienced harassment, this is for you as well. And I highly doubt this lovely lady who handles compliments with grace would disagree with anything I’m going to say next.

It’s painfully obvious to me that dichotomous thinking will continue to keep many of us light years apart. The matter of harassment does not have a one size fits all solution. The answer is not one extreme or the other. We need context.

I realize there are people who act horribly when someone innocently compliments them or tries to flirt with them, even in a bar where most people expect that. Women responding with “Ew,” a look of disgust or a scowl is harsh. I get it. I like to think most people wouldn’t do that unless the culprit said or did something vile.

But just to throw out some comparisons, I can honestly say that anyone telling me I was beautiful did not insult me unless they were assaulting or raping me. It is also not the same as when, in the middle of the workplace, a woman walks by, and a man stops dead in his tracks and says, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Damn, you’ve got a great body!” Or leaning in to tell her how delectably well-endowed she is while trying to get a peek down her blouse. It’s sure not the same as someone coming up to you on the street and grabbing your breasts or your ass.

Humiliating, degrading, frightening, and deceiving a person is not flattering. That’s why stalking, catcalling, and love bombing is neither innocent nor flattering.

Another variable is where someone draws the line. There are women who like all of it, women who don’t like any of it, and everything in between. That may sound complicated, but it’s simple. Problems arise mostly when the aggressor disregards boundaries. That’s the key word—boundaries. Respecting them. When someone doesn’t respect them, it’s harassment. If someone is sending mixed signals, a noncombative conversation might help. If someone seems to enjoy man handling or playing cat and mouse, and all is consensual, no problem.

“Those who get angry when you set a boundary are the ones you need to set boundaries for.”– J.S. Wolfe, The Pathology of Innocence

Men have smiled at me and said hello on the street. I smiled and said hello back. Men have hugged me when I didn’t feel it was appropriate. Once or twice, at an office party, I chalked it up to, he’s drunk, etc. or what not, and slipped away. Most of us are not unreasonable and, if anything, are probably too quick to be kind.

What some people don’t understand is, a compliment is a compliment until it isn’t. Until it goes beyond the part you are okay with. So many men and women out there get it; I know. It’s just that the ones who don’t are dangerous. And it’s tragically sad, all of it, when the only thing required to fix this is empathy. Yes, empathy—something many people who think they are of good moral standing suddenly despise.

“Creating an atmosphere of mutual respect and consideration for boundaries, can lead you to the path of personal happiness.”– Nancy B. Urbach

I Survived My Scary Ambulance Emergency Thing

So, here is the story of what happened this weekend.

I had a stereotactic guided core needle biopsy scheduled for Friday, August 16th. The place where I was having the procedure is affiliated with a good hospital.

Before the procedure, a nurse told me they would be using a local anesthetic called Lidocaine to numb the biopsy area. They cautioned me about driving. I live, maybe, four blocks away from this place and said I would walk. She thought that was a long walk! I don’t know, but I am from Queens, and we walked all over the damn place—nearly a mile, no sweat. Some people out here on Long Island are the same, but others think even two blocks is too far to walk. 😲

For the biopsy procedure, they had me sit in a chair, so they could take tissue samples to test. I didn’t feel a thing. It took a while and then even longer for them to come back and tell me they had biopsied the wrong area and had to do it all over again. I was reluctant because, at that point, I didn’t even know if I wanted to use their facility again. They told me my insurance would cover the second procedure. That was ridiculous because my out of pocket for that procedure was $600. I told them that wasn’t happening, and they suddenly decided I wouldn’t have to pay the second time.

I left then, and no one asked if I was okay. I’d forgotten all about the Lidocaine myself, to be honest. I made it about ¾ of the way home and then just fell like I was sliding into home plate. A woman came along and helped me to stand, but I couldn’t without her assistance. Then a second woman and two men came over and tried to get me to sit. They called an ambulance for me. I heard the EMTs talking in the back, and one said, “She was given Lidocaine for a biopsy. That could have made her dizzy.”

Once in the hospital, they took a bunch of x-rays. That was almost the worst of it, getting slung from bed to table and back again a bunch of times, but you hear people saying all this nice stuff about you. They were like, “Oh, this one’s easy, she’s light.” And, “You’re young.” Don’t know how many times I heard that, but okay. My son is thirty-four, but if you think I’m young, I’m not going to argue with you.

According to the x-rays, I fractured my left hip and also have something they called an impacted, nondisplaced left transcervical femoral neck fracture. The for-sure worst thing had to be the spasms that would shoot from my thigh down the leg, making me want to jump out of my body. The doctor said the nerve does that when the bone is broken. They did a hip pin where they placed a screw in there to hold it together. That stops the nerve from spasming like that. The surgeon did a fantastic job.

By now, however, I am an old hand at this fracture stuff. I sprained my arm at 15 when my friends and I got drunk once. I sprained my ankle twice as an adult and fractured my foot a couple of years ago. Maybe I am just too preoccupied with everything around me, always processing. HA! That’s probably not the reason, but life seems to fascinate me, no matter what is going on. I’m in the ambulance, I’m fascinated. Being wheeled into the OR, I’m fascinated. Giving birth, talking to people, eating, walking, listening to what happened to the patient next to me, I’m fascinated. It’s all so fantastic when you think about it. I know I can’t be the only one. There must be kindred spirits out there who feel the same way.

And things just amuse me so much.. Nurse: “When you go from walker to chair, just make sure the chair is under you.” Don’t know why I should find that so funny after what just happened to me, but she said, “You’d be surprised!”

I was thinking then; now I will be picturing that all day and laughing.

One of the doctors told me it could take almost a year for my hip to be 100% back to normal. When my physical therapist was here, I asked him about that, and he was shaking his head. He said, “I know you only five minutes, and I can already tell you’ll heal a lot faster than that. It isn’t going to take anywhere near that long.”

He is super kind, and the home care nurse was, too. She was at the door, all nervous, saying, “I’m the nurse.” I was like, “Well, hello, the nurse.” She laughed then. They must always be apprehensive about what they’re walking into because they deal with a lot of nastiness, people who are upset, angry, and scared. I’ve witnessed that with other people receiving care. I’m sure the home care team has to cut those people a lot of slack because they are patients and they’re sick, but these empathetic healers deserve way more appreciation and respect than they get.

Anyway, every experience, whether I want it or need it or deserve it or not has taught me so much about myself and others. And also, what to do, what not to do. It reinforces for me, too, in a divine way, really, that there are angels out there with beautiful hearts, and that most people do tend to have kind hearts.

What helps me, too, is everything I learned in recovery. Like the idea that you must accept the things you can’t control, control whatever is in your power to control. And then, there’s the part I added where you step up and embrace the challenge. If I hadn’t been able to do that in my life, I wouldn’t be here today.

Oh yes, and I have since looked up whether it’s common for a doctor or radiologist to biopsy the wrong area, and the truth seems to depend on who you ask. I found this cancer forum where laypeople thought it was unacceptable and would never go to that facility again. Medical professionals seemed to have more of an understanding of how that kind of thing can happen. One thing for sure is; you always get a second opinion, especially with biopsies. I knew a woman who thought she had ovarian cancer. I told her to get a second opinion and then a third if the second was different from the first. She did not have cancer.