Empathy or Sympathy
One
night, the cluster headaches started relatively early, so I was in the bathroom
icing my head with cold water when Kristin called. She asked why my voice was so weak, so I finally told her about
the cluster headaches and the broken
rib. Frankly, I wanted
some empathy, sympathy, or at least a word of compassion.
After hearing what I told her, including that cluster headaches are also called "suicide headache," Kristin replied that she had emailed me another one of her homework assignments and that I needed to "proof it," which by this time actually meant 'rewrite it,' and send it back to her "now," and then got off the phone without saying anything else. There was not an iota of empathy, sympathy or compassion.
I hung up the phone, hung my head and sat there, repeating to myself through the pain pounding in my head, "Wow... she doesn't love me."
But something else was at play than just the lack of love. Even if an enemy or a dog were in that much pain, it's human nature to feel at least compassion and sympathy for that suffering enemy or dog. When the word got out among the people I knew in China about what I was dealing with, people whom I hardly knew contacted me to express their sympathy and to ask if there is anything they can do to help me. Yet, after hearing me tell her through a groggy voice that I was in the midst of "suicide headaches," here was my fiancée sharing not even one word of compassion, but instead telling me in an icy voice to rewrite her homework assignment. This was an additional evidence that I was now dealing with a new and totally different alter, one who didn't seem to have the capacity for sympathy or empathy, let alone love.
My cluster headaches eventually dissipated, my rib healed for the most part, and my seventh semester in China drew to a close. But it had been a rough semester. I felt worn out and in need of rest.