I’ve been going it alone for a long time.
I grew up in an era when we didn’t see a doctor for cuts and colds and constipation like people do now.
Other than dental and chiropractic care, I could count on all my digits how many times I’ve been to a doctor without using any twice. I don’t trust them. Not even a little.
Which explains why I’m here at an ophthalmologist office pacing the room like a crazy person about ready to pass out from anxiety. If you offered me a chance to have my teeth drilled instead of this, I’d take it in a heartbeat.
My eyesight has been going south for a few years. At first I bought some cute reading glasses to get me by. But as I became more and more illiterate without some visual aid, I became obsessed with buying dollar store glasses and placing them in every nook and cranny in our house, in my car, at my office, my purse, book bags.
But that’s not why I’m writing.
I’m writing a story about friendships.
Warren and I were watching a TV show the other day where two of the main characters are best of best friends. They were in the military together, and now ER docs together. They would literally die for one another.
Now, I’m not asking for a girl friend who would literally die for me. But having a one who understands that I am overly insecure and fearful when it comes to anything that compromises my physical prowess, and would accompany me to an eye appointment so I could cry on her shoulder, would be really nice.
This isn’t a pity party. I’m making a point that this is how I set my life up. And I’m sad about it. I don’t think I’m alone in this. I think some people have Bestest Friends living in the same zip code, and some don’t. Some people found a way to hold a person so spiritually and physically close to them that they could experience the every day menial and profound and boring and exciting trials of growing older, and some didn’t. And I think it’s one of the most under-rated qualities of life.
I’m sad that I have evolved to be a person who somehow shunned such intimacy – whether by a result of my upbringing, my shame for being needy, or my tendency to move every few years — that I can feel so alone with matters so trivial like going to an eye doctor. I like being independent, but I wish I had figured out a compromise. Especially today.