NM is exercising her usual drama. She demanded an x-ray because she was in pain. EF spent the day in the emergency room catering to the tantrum. Nothing wrong with the bones. It’s the muscle. I could have told them that for nothing.
Their money. Their time.
Why did I feel like Mt. Vesuvius erupted inside me? Why did I decide to avoid EF for the rest of the day?
I’m learning: I didn’t stew and rant to myself; I asked God. Immediately, a memory flooded my mind. Eighteen years old, we were on vacation, and I had twisted my ankle so badly it had swollen to twice the size of a softball. NM and EF refused to take me to a doctor, let alone an emergency room.
A month later, I took myself to our family doctor. He shook his head and apologized for not being able to do anything to help me. It was too late. He informed me I needed to be put in a cast right away as I’d torn all the ligaments in my ankle. He warned me that I’d never be able to wear high heels of any kind again. My dancing days were over. And to add to the cheerful verdict, it would cause me trouble the rest of my life, including back problems. Yes, the herniated disc in my back occurred 23 years later.
The herniated disc turned out to be a weird kind of blessing. The physical therapist I was referred to taught me how to straighten my foot, helping me to return my body to proper alignment. Twelve years later and I’m still doing the exercises he taught me to strengthen my core and keep my body in alignment.
As I sorted through my thoughts, calm returned. The present wasn’t the problem. The past had made an unexpected visit. I still didn’t want to be around EF. I refused to be sympathetic to his frustration. As has happened so often, he refused to say ‘no’ and expected comfort for his plight. Nope. He chose it, over and over again.
I’m making different choices.