City of Hope

It's a hospital in Pasadena.  A really GOOD hospital. 

Cancer is their specialty.

The physicians are experts in their field(s).  Consequently, they flock to the place.

So...this guy I know had his appointment with Dr. Kawachi yesterday.  I call him Dr. Hibachi.  It's not that I'm irreverant, I adore Hibachi's.

I did the research. It's all going to work out fine.  My guy doesn't know how much I worry.  I lie to him, endlessly.I get upset, act foolish, drink wine and embarass myself over the issue.  He has no idea that my fear guides me lately.

He's made it clear he doesn't need me now that it's all squared away.  In my mind's eye I can see my father and how small he appeared in the hospital bed....he seemed to shrink. A few days later...he wasn't there.

My old boyfriend shrank too when he was in the hospital.  It made me feel protective.  I was there, I held his hand. I grasped his arm from the wheelchair and put him in my car.  I paid the valet (it was a swanky hospital) and I turned up the heat.

Then, when I was in the hospital...I must not have shrunk because I was not on the receiving end of protection.   As if my momentary vulnerability made me anathema to him. When he drove me home he took the top down on the convertible as if we were in a parade.  Sun glaring and me doubled over in pain. To this day he thinks I broke up with him because he put the top down on the convertible.

Being a woman is different then being a man.  As a women, you can't show real weakness.  Fake weakness, perhaps.  Blond bimbo weakness (because it's manufactured) just not real weakness.

When I visited my mother in the hospital, she didn't shrink.  She got bigger.  She started wondering around the sterile halls in the cute green jogging outfit I purchased for her.  Maybe she could do that because she knew I was there to protect her.   Under my watchfull eye...she was safe.

Who is watching over me?  The answer is...nobody.

That's just life. It's a rollercoaster of opportunites missed and grabbed.