As we waited for the doctor at the end, I heard him outside the door, "Oh.... well now. That's interesting."
Interesting, in the clinical setting, is by definition bad. Especially in that sad, flat tone he used.
But this is not a story about PTSD or flashbacks. I sighed, but didn't feel the bottom of yet another cliff come rushing toward us. Which is, I suppose, progress. Maybe I'm finally growing up too.
Turns out his comment had nothing to do with us and he pronounced her heart repair nigh perfect. Come back in 2 years.
In the waiting room, before the bribes and the all clear, there had been 3 children giving my daughter the side eye. At one point the oldest hissed loudly at her brother to STOP STARING. I ignored them because I do not need to school every human being with whom my daughter comes into contact. Their mother eventually came out holding a very small baby, gave my girl a hard look, then suggested her children all say goodbye to their Friend in a too bright voice. The voice that meant Very Special Friend, capitalized, and that makes my teeth hurt from its forced gaiety and saccharine. I ignored her too because I am not going sanction such awkwardness and the kids hadn't even been playing together and ffs, lady, really?
Except she turned as she was leaving and her baby had the most beautiful almond eyes....
I dimly remember stalking people in the grocery store and stumbling over myself and my words when my girl was small and I didn't know What This All Meant (also capitalized). We have come such a long way. I hope that mother and all her Very Special Friends find peace. I wish whatever the doctor was reading was only mildly interesting and didn't involve his newest patient. I think maybe I could try to be less of a dick around strangers.
|Top of Mt Tam in CA - no cliffs involved.|