Just when you think it can’t get much worse, you get that phone call…
Mom: “Daddy and I just read your blog.”
WHY??!! My father won’t touch computers. Just last week, I tried to give my mother my Nook (so I could get the color upgrade) and she SWORE she NEVER reads. They’ve never shown more than a passing wisp of interest in Cats Working, and I could probably count on one hand the number of times, combined, they’ve ever read it. Yet suddenly they’re curious.
I must have been acting suspicious at their house on Father’s Day. It couldn’t have been anything I said, because I said very little. My sister was there.
My mother’s slightly confrontive tone instantly flashed me back to a day in the ‘70s when my father announced he’d been reading my diary and advised me to burn it because it wasn’t exactly brimming with praise for my mother.
Me: “Yeah, so?”
Mom: “What’s going on?”
Were my last few posts in Chinese, or did she really expect me to recite it all AGAIN for her benefit?
I gave her the Reader’s Digest version, which turned into a third-degree about what the doctors told me, what I asked the doctors, are the doctors any good, yada, yada.
The fact is, all the players in this game are total strangers. My gynecologist’s office is getting the results, which will probably go straight into my file because he doesn’t know me from Eve. The first time he’ll see them will be in those seconds he stands outside the exam room door before he does next my Pap smear some day.
Then my mother said the thing I most dreaded…
“When’s your appointment? I think I should go with you.”
Subconsciously, I’ve been on edge since the ultrasound. I wake up every morning having dry heaves, and my blood pressure yesterday was 150/90-something. Thanks to the sketchy grasp of the situation I’ve been given so far, and its leisurely timeline, I want to scream whenever I think of it. And now I should be subjected to my mother embarrassing me like a 5-year-old in front of the breast cancer specialist (who may be someone I’ll need on my side if this doesn’t go my way)?
Well, I squashed that idea like a cockroach. However, I will give my mother credit for one thing: I feel calmer. Compared to dealing with her (don’t get me wrong, I know she means well, but we don’t have a good track record), this biopsy now seems like a piece of cake.