Lucky/Unlucky

My poor father, born in the mean streets of the Whitechapel district of London to an impoverished tin peddlar and his illiterate wife, used to shake his head bitterly when something bad happened and cry, "Goddamn-stinkin'-rotten-lousy-LUCK!" Naturally, that meant he had none. And the truth was, he didn't have a lot, but probably could have made more of what he had (or at least that was my mother's view).

So it's no wonder that a theme of I've-got-bad-luck runs through my life. It's so pervasive as my complaint, my fear, my attempt at manipulating the gods through guilt, that I smile when I hear myself thinking it. "Oh, poor you," mocked a therapist once, "As if whatever happens that you don't like is just luck." Her big theory was that I was mentally cowardly and lazy, dooming myself to self-fulfilling prophecies when I should be upbeat, positive and optimistic about my bright future. Which would get me nowhere, given my lousy luck.

What happens when a hypochondriac gets sick is similar to what happens when the bad-luck girl gets a diagnosis of cancer for the second time, out of the blue. It feels like the gods are picking on her...as usual. Take that, therapist; did I deserve this? Did I?

Yes, poor me, dammit.

Part of my luck fixation is a (yes, I admit it) irrational envy of those who have good luck. This might take the form of inherited money, but usually centers on acute Real Estate Envy (which shows I'm a New Yorker): the rent controlled or rent stabilized who happened to stay in the right place at the right time, or the recipients of gifts from well-off parents. They never seem to ask or doubt whether they deserve this largesse. Because here's what's odd: I don't at all envy those who accomplish or achieve by being smart, talented, or hard-working. I see the justice of that and don't begrudge their prizes and acclaim, even their financial rewards. I don't even envy the beautiful or the young; I consider that almost a fleeting kind of talent, or at least a state of grace.

The form my irrationality takes right now is Health Envy: I look around at everyone I know who is my age, and overwhelmingly, I see healthy breasts and people with minor complaints who bitch about them endlessly. There are friends who rarely or never go to doctors -- and have absolutely nothing wrong with them, who never even get bladder infections. Why?

And then I think of the exceptions: a childhood friend who was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease and died this year after only 13 months of (terrifying) illness, or a friend's wife whose multiple sclerosis is getting worse. It all seems to come down to...luck. Good luck, or bad. And which was mine, if I get past this roller coaster month and live?