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Kitchen Sink

Pretty Moody Sometimes (You Do The Acronym)

April 18th, 2008

It’s just that I’m frustrated. I haven’t wanted to post because I’m irritated, disconcerted, and befouled (does that mean I crapped my pants?). I’ve been bemoaning the state of the medical profession in Southern California, the U.S., the world, although I think healthcare is better in France? Also, maybe Germany? I don’t know. I still bemoan it.

 

You don’t want to hear any more about my right upper quadrant issues, but let me just ask, if you were a doctor giving test results to someone would you just say “oh, it’s a gallbladder polyp, which is benign in 95% of cases, and a fatty liver, and goodbye.” ?

 

And then when the patient persists in asking you annoying questions, would you give one word answers and act pissed? Then, would you give no further information and hurry off the phone? And also, would you speak broken English, sometimes leaving out ENTIRE words that link sentences and when the patient doesn’t understand you, get silent and hang up?

 

If the answer is yes to any of my questions, please take your things and quietly leave the medical profession. And take an English as a Second Language class, and also refresher courses in pre-med, and med and re-do your internship and residency, then call me and I’ll decide whether you can be a doctor again.

 

So I’ve been upset. I couldn’t post. Because anger gets old, no? So I tried to do something lighthearted, like a writing prompt.

 

I selected this one:

 

Writing Prompt #10 – Faking It

 

Write a story about someone faking a skill to gain the attention of someone else, but it only forces him/her into a situation where s/he must use this skill in order to save him/herself from a bigger threat.

Include:

a cast-iron lamp,

a signed Gibson guitar,

two nuns giggling in the corner.

 

And so I started it with the below:

 

Yeah,” I sniffed. “I’m pretty good with the ladies.”

Like how?” the bartender asked. “Like romantically speaking?”

Yep,” I ran my fingers through my hair. One snagged on my dreadlock.

Maybe it’s the hair,” he suggested.

No, I don’t think so, they just seem to like me.” I shrugged. “Truthfully, I wish they didn’t. It gets so complicated.”

He looked around the bar. “Well what about them?”

The nuns looked up at the bartender’s pointing finger and began to giggle.

 

Gay, right? Soon as I made that realization, I stopped the prompt and became befouled again.

 

SO, I decided to write down memories. Things that happened in the past, things already done and over with, things that no longer held the power to befoul and bemoan me.

 

And that’s what I’m going to do. Until I feel better, I’m posting memories.

 

 

Memory #1

 

I can’t find my dad. I walk throughout the store, looking down each aisle, hoping to spot the white “I’m Not Married and I Don’t Have Kids” letters on his navy t-shirt. I’ve just learned to read, and I’m pretty good at it, spending hours laying on our living room couch, reading book after book.

 

I love looking at the ceiling fans, the light fixtures, the paint. It smells like wood and turpertine, and I can hear the murmur of other customers, a beeping cash register in the distance. I pretend I’m decorating a playhouse and eventually, I stop in front of a fake fireplace, watching the orange light lick the logs. I want to reach up, pull the glass doors aside and stick my hand in the pretend flames.

 

But someone grabs my hand and we stay there, gazing at the fireplace for several long seconds. My dad found me, and I squeeze his hand. I’m hypnotized by the fire, but soon, my eyes shift focus to the reflection in the fireplace’s doors and I note that the person standing next to me is wearing a faded blue long-sleeved shirt and tan pants. My eyes slide from our clasped hands, up his arm, to his face. A man about my dad’s age looks down at me, except he’s not balding, instead his sandy brown hair is cut close to his head and he has a wide, white face and flat nose. I unweave my fingers from his and he watches me walk away.

 

I guess that memory is a little befoulsome. Sorry.

 

On April 18th, 2008, Jenn @ Juggling Life said:

That is one scary memory.

As far as the Dr. goes, I’m sure you’re thinking second opinion. Ask your current doctor’s office for all your films and test results (so you don’t have to repeat them), and get thee to a different doctor.

On April 18th, 2008, Amanda said:

I thought of you this morning (because of mixed cds) and I think this might give you a bit of a laugh.

I sometimes like to make mix cds as well. You know, ones to help trying for a baby more fun. My husband’s mom borrowed his car this morning. And guess what happened to be blaring when she turned it on? My mix titled “Friday Night.” I think it was a Kylie Minougue song titled “After Dark.” Daniel was like you might not want to listen to that. My mom-in-law replied, “I am going to see what you are listening to” and drove off. She called my husband while driving “What’s this? So sexy, your body?” Just rubbing it in. My husband was totally embarrassed. I am just thankful that it wasn’t the mix with all the Janet Jackson songs! Haha!:)

On April 18th, 2008, Jamie said:

Holy crap. That memory, which is brilliantly told, freaks my freak out. Poor you.

And the doctor … I vote for second opinion too. And third.

On April 18th, 2008, San Diego Momma said:

Thanks Jenn and Jamie. I’m seeing a gastoent. on Tues., so hope to get more insight then.

And Amanda! HA! That’s def. NOT a mother-in-law mix…
(But a tip: download Paula Cole’s “Feelin’ Love” for your next Friday Night mix — but be sure to lock it up when you’re done listening. :)

On April 19th, 2008, mommypie said:

That memory gave me chills. You’re such an amazing writer. And I’m with Jamie — go for a second and a third if necessary. And this may sound sexist, but go to a woman. I’ve had nothing but bad luck with male physicians — they’ve never listened OR explained things well AT ALL. The female physicians I’ve seen have always been ‘real’ with me.
And now … since you’re in a writing funk, I have a solution. Thaaaat’s right — I tagged you AGAIN! I think this is one you’ll like. If not, feel free to curse me to your little heart’s content.

On April 19th, 2008, mommypie said:

And, “does that mean I crapped my pants?” That slayed me.

On April 19th, 2008, kendra said:

I am beginning to think that social medicine is the way to go. Half the time I feel like I am sitting in a clinic anyway, only to get in the office and find much of what you did.

On April 19th, 2008, sandiegomomma.com » Blog Archive » Blodder, Blodder, Blodder! Get Your Blodder Here! said:

[…] was stalked: I’m going to write a memory about it, but circa 1996 in Los Angeles, a former boyfriend stalked me for several months. I […]

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