I still love my pediatrician after twelve years of clandestine meetings in an intimate exam room with no windows. Dr. B is a rare gem. I took two of my boys to him yesterday for a well child check ups. It's been five years since their last, gasp, even though well child checks are 100% covered by our insurance. Bad Mommy! This doctor truly loves children though he and his wife never chose to have any themselves. He shows genuine interest in the boy's questions, drawings, gadgets. The nurse turned off the light first to get a good look at Peace's glow-in-the-dark real scorpion key chain. Then Dr. B asked for a turn to snuff the lights and handle the trinket. He also asked after my health and well-being. There was some mystery surrounding a vaccination given or not to Tator at the health department, of which I had a vague and fading memory from 1998. The health department had no record when the nurse called over, but I insisted, if I actually could remember that far back and that many children ago, he did have one particular immunization. Dr. B suggested we call detective Guy Noir to get to the bottom of it. I suggested perhaps Dr. B might like to join my campaign to elect Garrison Keller for President of the United States this next go round. Wouldn't you just love to listen to the State of the Union Address in Prairie Home Companion Style?
The nurse ended up figuring out perhaps Tator's shot was given under his former foster child last name and called the health department back to verify he'd already had the shot. Since she's so very smart, maybe we'll ask her to run for President.
After the appointment, my children begged to hit the used book store just down the street. Two of my boys scurried to the _Calvin and Hobbs_ and other comics section, another looked for Japanese robot books, and Pooh Bear and I browsed the children's storybook section to find anything but Barbies or books not based on any cartoon. I don't know about you, but I hate to read books about Care Bears or Ariel when perfectly great classic stories like _Madeline_ , _The Honest to Goodness Truth_ , or _Ping_ are available. When Buck's not with me at the bookstore, I have to keep up with the children. I cannot feed my hungry book addiction and get hopelessly lost in the aisles for an hour or two; plus I have six books on my queue already.
Out of the corner of my eye, I think I spied my therapist, Wilhelmina from B.C.E. (before the children era of my life). A hundred years ago, Wilhelmina helped a great deal in my inner formation. I was torn about whether to approach her in the store. I gave myself a few moments to think it over by absorbing myself in Pooh Bear's search for acceptable literature. By the time I weakly resolved to introduce my dear children to her, she was gone.
I have to share something slightly ironic about the situation. Perhaps Wilhelmina's been to therapy for herself in the past twelve years. Obviously she's worked on some personal issues, because I distinctly remember her telling me she hated used books. Why? Because of the germs of previous readers. She didn't like library books either. Everyone has their own quirks- even therapists.
What would you have done if you ran into your old therapist on the street? Or someone who knew all your stuff? Would you make eye contact? Would you speak? It must be something like running into an old lover...
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