In my fantasy life, I am easygoing.
MONDAY 9:20 AM – I would go get Wally a cinnamon bun from Panera, except it means I have to pass by the nurses’ station and I don’t want to pass by the nurses’ station, not after the little exchange I had with the nurse who said “It doesn’t matter” regarding something that matters to me. I promised myself I wasn’t going to say anything. Turns out, the words “it doesn’t matter” can provoke even a person of strong resolve to violate vows of silence.
“You didn’t say anything wrong,” Wally assures me, but it’s a long-established fact he can’t be counted upon for an objective opinion about anything related to me. He has a blind spot that always works in my favor.
MY OLDEST and DEAREST FRIEND visited over the weekend. Fifty years we’ve been friends. Or 51. We went back and forth on that one. She flew up from Florida. The visit was planned months ago, as soon as I learned the musical “Beautiful” was coming to Louisville. At 6:00 AM on December 1st, the very minute tickets went on sale, I was online nailing down the two best seats I could get.
Did I forget or was it intentional, my not telling her before she came that Wally was back in treatment? Did I fear should wouldn’t come? She still would have come. Anyway, the news came out in conversation between the two of them Friday evening. That’s when it dawned on me I hadn’t told her earlier.
“I’m not easygoing anymore,” I tell her.
She doesn’t buy it. Of course she doesn’t. I’ve been relaxed and smiling since she arrived.
“Seriously,” I say.
She looks to Wally for confirmation, despite the long-established fact (see above). . .
“I’ve been trying to remember lately what I was like when I was young. Was I really easygoing then or is that just a myth I’ve believed all these years?”
THIS is the beauty of having a friend who’s been a eyewitness to your life: They can help straighten things out for you. And then, in a way that is inexplicable, but it seems to often happen, as they help you, something that needed straightening in their life comes to the fore and is also addressed. So you’re never owing a friend for having burdened her with your stuff. She has stuff, too.
MONDAY 9:41 AM – I muster courage and step into the hospital corridor. I fetch cinnamon buns, plus 2 plastic forks, napkins, one hazelnut coffee and one light roast. We have a little nosh.
I apologize to the nurse, who claims not to recall me snapping at her.
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Clinical Trial Wk #1 – Morning People
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Clinical Trial Wk #3 – Intentionally Getting Out