How are you?

Thursday 8 August 2019

The lift doors are about to close but I squeeze in just in time. It’s 7:50am and I am on the way to the fourteenth floor to start my day.

A work colleague is standing in the back corner and she smiles at me. In her early thirties, she is someone I know by name, but not particularly well.

“Good morning,” she enthuses. “How are you?” 

It’s a rhetorical question, one for which a standard response is expected rather than an actual exchange of information. But her manner is earnest, as if she has a genuine interest in my well-being today and I hesitate in my answer. A series of options races through my mind. 

Option 1. I can lie and tell her I’m fine.

Option 2. I can tell her that I had five hours sleep last night, awake since 3am tossing and turning until 6. Again. That I am dreading the day ahead and the thought of another bout of orthostatic hypotension like I had yesterday, almost fainting several times and needing to lie down in the first aid room in the early afternoon. That I am afraid of losing my voice in a client meeting, as has started to happen occasionally. That I’m anxious about the heart palpitations that have returned recently. That I simply want to keep my head down all day and avoid any human interaction until I can slip away home quietly.

Option 3. I say something in between and put a positive spin on it. Something along the lines of: 

“Well actually I’m a bit tired; haven’t been sleeping well this week. But I can’t complain. The sun is shining and I have some holiday coming up soon. How are you? Did you go anywhere nice this summer?”

Option 4. I can invoke a little black humour:

“To be honest I’m feeling pretty crap today.” (Smile.) “I have this disease called Parkinson’s which makes me really tired. But it’s the perfect excuse for leaving work social events early. How about you? Do you have a tale of woe today?”

Option 5. I can babble on like an idiot:

“I can give you the real answer to that question if you like. It’s funny how we all say that but don’t really expect an answer. It’s a kind of ritual isn’t it? Like commenting on the weather. Or talking about pets. A way of making human contact….”

I snap out of my reverie. The initially momentary pause is now starting to become awkward. Decision time. Should I tell her the truth? Should I unload my woes?

But in the end, my response is – of course – the predictable one.

“I’m fine. How are you?”