nothing to fear except...

...bloody everything.

We stand outside the doctor's office, waiting. Slowly, Maria is getting more and more psyched. Sunday night was not good. Maria's hernia was looking bad - this I have to assume because, well gentle reader it has to be said, because I am a wimp. I don't look at it closely and I (without having any control of my body) physically recoil at the slightest query that starts "Would you like to touch it?" Maria was not a happy-camper. She has had bad experiences under the knife and had made a vow that she would never go under again. However, this was a previous life, a life that she no longer cared for - now, in her new life, she wants to live again, have a life again, have a future. Sunday night she came to terms with having to face one of her greatest fears but (big BUT here) she had to face them with me. She knows me. She knows that there are several things that I just "don't do". Just a few things I don't do are:

I don't do sick. I really can't cope with people being sick, actually throwing up. I am a sympathy-puker. Someone throws up, I throw up.

I don't do spiders. Yes, I know, ironic isn't it! I lurve Spider-Man but hate spiders. Live with it.

I don't do insects, animals or anything that has an IQ in the single digits. [I realise that someone, somewhere will tell me that dogs/pigs/dolphins/kumquats are very intelligent but I have never seen one score over 10 in an IQ test!]

And I don't do doctors, dentists and hospitals.

All of these things I don't do. Except when something else over-rides my fear. On the whole, and from experience, I can say that the one thing that over-rides all my fears is LOVE. I will hold back the hair of a loved one as they throw-up. I will kill big spiders that are terrorising my children. I will chase cockroaches around the kitchen (they are fast mofos). I will let dogs sniff my groin. I will tag along to doctors/dentists/hospitals if you need me. Some of Sunday's badness was over the fact that I might not be supportive enough of Maria in her hour of need. No matter how often I tried to assure her that I would "be there for her" she wasn't convinced. I promised, I vowed, I swore, I held her. She ended up with an appointment time to see the doctor when I was at work. I failed.

And then the god of relationships smiled uponeth me. The appointment time got changed and I could be there! Yeah the boyfriend!!

We've arrived at the doctor's surgery early, five minutes early. The journey has mainly been covered with Maria on the phone, talking to her sister. Recounting the conversation has taken up the rest of the time and we are stood outside a dark, deserted office. She phones the doctor, he is 15 minutes away, she starts to pace and nerves kick in. I watch her switch from cool-calm-collected to I-don't-fucking-want-to-do-this. I talk to her. I try to think of conversations that will take her mind off the problem. But no matter where I start we always end up at the fact that we are standing outside a doctor's surgery and he ain't here.

So why do you hate doctors, dentists, hospitals?

It's never good news is it. You never go see a doctor when you are well. You never get to see a doctor at the appointed time - case in point. When you are ill you sort it out yourself. Quick visit to the pharmacy and buy yourself some drugs! But, if that fails it means you are really ill. Really fucking ill. So, you bite the bullet and decide to see a doctor. First you have to get past the receptionist who is convinced that you are a time waster (this I know as a fact - my mother was a doctor's receptionist for some time and, during that time, became a fully qualified medical expert. Diagnosing and treating illnesses over the phone in her fully qualified position as "a person who can answer the phone and type 140wpm"). You arrive at the doctor's surgery on time (if you are late then you lose the appointment and have to stand through a fifteen minute lecture from my mum) and yet you never, never get to see the doctor on time. I have even had the first appointment of the day and it has still started 30 minutes late. During this time you tend to freak out even more. The illness that you have arrived with has turned into a fatal disease - gotta lurve the way the mind works. And then, finally, when you actually get to see the doctor the first words out of their mouth are: "What's wrong with you?" Shit, ask the receptionist or do some doctoring - one of us is qualified to answer the question and it ain't me. The bottom line is that, whatever the doctor tells you, it ain't good news. You is ill.

Never met a dentist (and I have never met a dentist at the time of the appointment either) who has looked in my mouth and gone: "OK, you can go!" Never met a car mechanic who has looked at my car and said: "Take it out of here, it's running perfectly!" Never been to hospital and had a good time. (Just realised that as I sat down to write this post I was going to go through my ten visits to hospital but, seeing how much I have written already, maybe I'll pass).

The doctor arrives, we enter his office, I look at my watch, 35 minutes after the agreed time the appointment starts. I sit beside Maria. The conversation is in Spanish. I watch the body language. Maria settles, she seems happy, she seems very happy. She is back to calm. Everything is going to be fine. Everything is going to be OK. Everything is going to be great. We stand to go and in the back of my head I know that the thermometer in hell is plummeting, soon it will be freezing over, I have just had a good visit to the doctor's. Maria is very, very happy. The doctor is a plastic surgeon but is willing to do her hernia and will leave no scar! Her beautiful, beautiful body will be as perfect as it is. He will go in through her tummy button, the scar will be unnoticeable and (even better) he will not be charging an arm and a leg - just a tummy button! The jinx is broken. I can leave a doctor's without any worries. I smile, I stick out my hand, shake hands, thank him, thank him profusely and he looks me in the eye and says:

"And after your girlfriend - maybe a little liposuction for you?"

Bastard! BASTARD!! BASTARD!!!

Comments

[Alan]

Now I appreciate that this is a serious post, and I'm glad to hear that Maria will be fine, but...... since you signed your last email to me "love Will", does that mean you will come to the hospital with me when I am sick? Time zones excepted?

;)Only joking, glad Maria is going to be OK :)