They sat in the waiting room.
A handsome black gentleman walked by, nodding good morning.
“Hope he’s not a doctor,” the old woman mumbled.
I sighed at our generational difference in attitudes.
And then it was our turn.
“I’m Dr. O,” the man offered.
The old woman stared.
“Interesting accent,” I smiled at him.
So there you have it. Both a Friday 55 and Part 3 of “Adventures with Auntie”.
Yes, it’s all true….the handsome gentleman turned out to be her doctor. Sadly, the stroke has altered Auntie’s perception to the point she often says things that perhaps in the past she would've kept to herself. To be polite. She would never purposely hurt anyone. Yet I still find myself shocked when such an ugly, old south attitude raises it’s head. But she’s 80 and that’s the way things were in her generation. To this day she STILL believes men know more than women. Sigh.
Guess that gave Doc half a chance.
So to the update: Her ride was on time. Doc was 15 minutes late. Auntie could still earn an Academy award for her continuing performance of “I was depressed, but now I’m not.” I was asked to stay, which presents a conundrum: the idea is to allow her private access to freely share her feelings with a stranger. My staying seems like an intrusion. Considering that she merely stared at Doc for the first 5 minutes, I guess it was good he at least had me to talk to.
Turned out between Doc’s accent and the word mangling left from her stroke, I became the equivalent of an U.N. translator. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Erring on the side of caution, so I wouldn’t earn my own medication, I smiled and interjected myself only when necessary. Like when Doc heard the answer to his question, “Why were you feeling depressed?” as “I’m tired of resisting.” I saw a puzzled look in his eye and before he could voice interest in exactly what she was resisting, I kinda butt in. I’d heard her answer and it was important.
Because for once, she was telling the truth.
“You know,” I said, turning towards her, a fellow sinus sufferer, “my ears are all blocked up today with this pollen. Would you please say that again?”
She nodded understandingly. She’s perhaps the only person on the planet who uses as much tissue as I do. Trees probably cower at the mere mention of our names.
In a very strong, clear voice she repeated, “I’m tired of existing.”
The light dawned in Doc’s eyes and he scribbled a new note.
Who wouldn’t be? I thought to myself, offering her a smile. She took my reaction to mean she’d done well and grinned as if she’d received an A+ on her report card.
I suddenly seemed to have something in my eye. Now where’s that darn box of tissues when you need them?