I had a busy day today. I went to see an eye doctor and got stuck doing one test after another in her office. Roberta's own appointment was at 2:30 pm, so I hurried to make sure that we wouldn't be late for it. Park had to come from his job of directing the choir and go to the doctor with us. Actually, I tried to play a second fiddle to him because of his jealousy for my friendship with her. When he showed up, he and she went to doctor in his car, and I - in mine. I didn't want to depend on him for anything.
A few months ago, Park went with us to that same doctor and swayed him to his side. Dr. Hites of San Leandro, CA,
didn't try to talk to Roberta, his client, or me to get his facts straight. The Good Ol' Boys' network mentality won again, and he absolutely humiliated me in front of Roberta.
|Yep, they can celebrate!|
Now we came back there. The doc walked into the room, greeted Park and Roberta warmly but ignored and turned his back on me. I swallowed my resentment and focused on trying to help Roberta. We told him of her frequent vomiting. He seemed concerned and asked a lot of questions. Park piped in, saying that, perhaps, the bad smell from Roberta's poop was also due to her sickness. They live in a small room with a bathroom adjacent to it, and "the little girl" Park gets all disturbed about, what he calls, an unusually bad odor, when she uses the toilet. Fortunately, Dr. Hites payed no attention to him.
All in all, it was not a bad visit. It seemed that, the doctor decided to take my and Roberta's voice into consideration this time.
Park took Roberta home. I went to pick up Sonny from BART (Metro) station. An hour and a half after that, I departed to a first meeting of my Weight Management Program.
I thought that, today would be last day when I can eat normal food. It turned out that, it will be the next Monday. Good bye, tasty meals! Hello, chalky shakes and powdery soups! At least, I have one more week to indulge my taste buds. It's too bad that I have not so much money to really live it up!
Mary tried to call and text me last weekend. I didn't answer her.
It's hard for me to not only explain to you what I've been feeling these few days, but even to sort it out for myself. I am 55. I should be able to spend my ripe old age not moping around, but I can not shake the blues that the incident with Doris last Saturday brought down on me. I do all the stuff that I should; I talk and laugh with others, all the while not answering the calls from my friends and thinking that, I don't ever want to get close to anyone to avoid feeling the past misery.
I'm 55. Not 16, not 19. At 55, as soon as a similar situation arises, I jump back into the skin of a teenager, who never believed that she was wanted and worthy of a close friendship, and her neediness created that reality in her life. It's one thing to know, what's the right thing to do. It's another thing to do it!