“Saint” Reagan, my mass!
Two? Three? Thursdays ago, G met me at the metro station closest to his work and drove me to my shrink appointment. While “above and beyond” as always that’s not why I chose the title of this blog (it’s not actually a lyric of the ZZ Top song but poetic license and all that). He treated me to dinner at Great Sage after my appointment–and meeting Dr. A (she’s often shaken her head, sighed and said it’s too bad G and I can’t be more than good friends; and to think she used to terrify me). Nope, still not the reason for the title, as generous as it was (and fun).
No, the individual for whom I named this post was none other than Dr. A herself. Why? The prescriptions she handed me–three months’ worth with no refills. Apparently she didn’t take kindly to the male doctor nor my pharmacist accusing me of being a junkie. Oh yes, I bloody well told her. Hello! That’s why I see her. And why I’ll see less of my “quick to judge” pharmacist who, by the way, gave me the cold shoulder (tres unprofessional) when I picked up said prescriptions today. But had Zappa’s vet called in his appetite stimulant, I kindly asked.
She muttered that it would be under my pet’s name. And that was all it took to play my hand. While the assistant found it I splayed them on the table: “Oh, thank goodness. I was diagnosed with lung cancer and had a suddenly dying cat two days later last week.” A guilty gush of sympathy issued forth. It needn’t have turned out this way. Being kind has worked wonders for me.
Just don’t fuck with a cancer patient.