Tag Archives: Audrey

Getting It Over With

sue fitz

In the middle of the night I woke up obsessing about something I do all the time.  I just want to get things over with.  Mostly bad, unpleasant things, but often simple ordinary ones too that aren’t horrible at all, until I make them dreadful by wishing them away.  Like the last two hours of a work shift.  The time spent on a plane.  A road trip across the country which has me wanting to whine like a little kid – “Are we there yet??”  Waiting to do something or be somewhere or be totally finished with something.  I’m not always very good at enjoying the journey.

This wasn’t a dream, because I was awake, tossing around,  trying to find a comfortable sleeping position.  I imagined myself way back before my life began, in another dimension, with a group of old souls about to embark on our next life adventure.  There was excitement, anticipation, high hopes, elation.  And me, saying, okay, I’m ready, let’s just get this over with.

Well, I don’t think I can be held totally accountable for the all the weird things my brain comes up with at three a.m.

This morning I drove in to the city to the clinic where my needle biopsy was booked.  I made a conscious effort to enjoy the drive through Old Strathcona.  Rush hour was over, the sun was shining, I hit lots of green lights.  Found a parking spot on P3, took the parking lot elevator to the main floor, walked to the patient elevators and zipped up to the second floor of the clinic.  Checked myself in and was told the doctor was running behind.  Cheerily said, hey, that’s okay, and sat down to wait.

And wait, and wait, and wait.  There was a television blatting away behind my head, so I moved to the front of the room to get away from it.  Many different nurses called the names of many different patients for many different doctors.  None of them were me.  They called for Amelia, and got no response.  Same thing with Audrey.  After that, every five minutes someone called for either Audrey or Amelia.  Finally Amelia sauntered in from God Knows Where.  And eventually Audrey and her husband showed up too.  Amelia didn’t take long to be seen, but Audrey took for flaming ever.  I began to blame Audrey for making my doctor get so far behind.  I imagined giving Audrey a little lecture on the importance of not leaving the waiting room. I wondered why Audrey was so damned special and didn’t lose her place in line.  I wondered if I could get away with leaving the waiting room to grab a coffee.  Stupid annoying Audrey did it.  I imagined my file had been misplaced and everyone had forgotten all about me.  What the hell were they doing to Audrey, anyway?  Amputating her legs?

Eventually Audrey returned with a huge cast on her arm.  I decided I shouldn’t hate her anymore.  Because obviously we weren’t seeing the same guy.  Finally, my name was called (two hours and many magazines later) and I was led down a three-mile long corridor to a little room where two medical students and a doctor introduced themselves to me and asked me lots of questions, gave me lots of information and asked me to read and sign a consent form for the procedure.  All three of them took turns poking and prodding at my neck.  ( Is there any discomfort?  Well there is now. )

I’ve had a needle biopsy before, many years ago, for my thyroid.  It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t horrific either.  The doctor had to do it twice to get a sufficient number of cells.  So when the first student was wielding the needle with the doctor hovering over her shoulder giving her instructions and they decided it should be done again, I wasn’t really surprised.  The second student was more aggressive and less afraid to go deep, so her sample was good.  Yay.  Are we done yet?

I got a band-aid but no lollipop.  I was a good patient and helped in the training of two future medical professionals.  So good for me.  I got that over with.

Deep breaths.  Back through the clinic to the parking elevators, remembered where I left the car, paid twelve dollars to get it out of there, did some shopping in a store close to home and then after a quick lunch, crashed for a two hour nap.  All that useless hating on poor Audrey zapped a lot of energy I guess.

Tomorrow I will try yet again not to wish so hard for things to be over and done with.  It’s so pointless.  Everything ends, whether you wish for it or not.  Focus on the journey.  That’s probably how Audrey lives her life.

What keeps you going isn’t some fine destination, but just the road you’re on, and the fact that you know how to drive.  (Barbara Kingsolver)

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The Purple Dress

Pullip in purple dress
Pullip in purple dress (Photo credit: Hegemony77 doll clothes)

I am nine years old the first time I defy my grandmother.

Everyone is always saying how much they love her, what a kind and generous soul she is, always doing things for other people with never a thought for herself.  It’s true, no one leaves our house without produce from the garden, preserves from our cellar, a well read book, some little knickknack, a few cut flowers or a potted plant. Grandma gives and gives.

This particular day grandma decides to do something nice for my younger cousin Audrey. She rifles through my closet,  pulls something out and holds it up.  Audrey will look lovely in purple, she declares.

I am aghast.  It is the purple dress I love to death and haven’t yet outgrown. I try to protest but grandma isn’t listening. She tells Audrey to try it on.  If she likes it she can take it home with her today. Won’t that be nice?

I think it will not be nice at all. My head is suddenly black with childish rage. I scream NO, rush between them, pluck the dress from their hands and turn and run away with it.

I am clutching my dress and sobbing in the kitchen to my mother at the unfairness of it all.  And to top it off, now I am no doubt in deep trouble for being so selfish and for disrespecting grandma.

But mom surprises me and says I’m right.  Grandma should not have tried to make one person happy at the expense of another. The dress is not going anywhere until I’m ready to give it away on my own.

It’s the first time I’ve ever known a kid to be right and an adult to be wrong.  I feel empowered as I tell grandma how her thoughtlessness made me feel.

Well why didn’t you say something, she asks with a shrug.  Then off she goes to find something else she can give away.  This time with a little less drama.

trifecta button
Trifecta Challenge Week 105:  Between 33 and 333 words using the 3rd definition of the word “pluck”

1: to pull or pick off or out
2 a : to remove something (as hairs) from by or
as if by plucking <pluck one’s eyebrows>
b : rob, fleece
3: to move,
remove, or separate forcibly or abruptly <plucked the child from the middle
of the street>

4 a : to pick, pull, or grasp at
b : to play by
sounding the strings with the fingers or a pick