Adventures in the Café

And To You I Leave...Melodrama

Rage and I got home to the usual scene on Monday night, the dog is racing around snapping at Boris and Natasha, Boris is meowing incessantly for his treat, Rage is saying "ah, gookie?" certain in the knowledge that I missed the other nine thousand times he told me he wanted a cookie. Anyway, the dog goes out, the cats get treats, the baby gets coat and hat off and then gets his blasted cookie. Now it is time to check the messages. We usually get one from some Russian guy with a truck offering to move us, but today there was a message from my family doctor.

I had an appointment a month ago wherein they leeched me of some fluids and gave me an ECG. They always tell you that if they don't call then assume no news is good news. She was calling. Holy fuck. I tried calling the office back, but they were closed. My message went thusly:

"Uh, hi, this is Lynx, the doctor called and left a message asking that I call her back, so I am. Um, if anyone is still there could you please call me back and let me know why she was calling? 'Cause now I think I'm dying. I mean, I know everyone is dying, but I think I'm dying NOW. So, if anyone is around call me back at home."

No one called back. Then I called my mother. She's the perfect audience for this sort of paranoia because she thinks like I do. If the doctor calls it means your number's up. The great shepherd is calling you back to his holy flock. You're taking the big sleep. Checking into the eternal hotel. She informed me that she would not be able to sleep until she knew what was wrong with me. I immediately felt better. It's always nice to have someone else overreact with you. I couldn't dwell on this, though, 'cause there were many other people to shore up support with.

Some of you might be wondering what Rage was doing while I was on the phone planning my funeral. I have no idea, but it's possible he created a concerto or two.

I also called the boy's mother. Not just to tell her I was likely dying, but also to see how her day was. He later told me that she hesitantly suggested I might want to take it down a thousand. Clearly not a subscriber to my and my mother's school of potential news.

Before everyone automatically assumes I'm the human equivalent of Eeyore, I'd like to remind you all that I do the same thing with possible good news. Remember that killer job I applied for with the government? Yeah. I was spending my new paycheque and redecorating my house the same day I sent my application in, so the overreacting goes both ways.

I heard nothing back that night from my doctor, and while I was in bed I thought about how my decline in health would progress. I actually started to cry thinking about all the milestones of Rage's life I'd miss, and the things I wouldn't get to do. I wondered who the boy would love after me. I worried about all the debt I'd be leaving my parents to deal with and whether that would cripple them financially.

I couldn't get through to the doctor's office in the morning and left another sketchbag message for them. I wonder why they wouldn't want to call back right away? I told all the girls in the office my tale of woe and my boss looked at me and said, "No, you can tell when people are sick. They look sick. You, you don't look sick." Well, there you have it. So I spent the morning mooning away and making my little plans.

All of this for some jumped up female complaint she'd been calling about for a month and was thinking of just forgetting about 'cause it really wasn't a big deal.

The children are right to laugh at me.