some people are so good looking to me! so good looking that i just wanna pass out!

old memories

I’ve gone to the same dentist my entire life. She knows everybody in my family and knows our stories. Last time I came in and was giving her all the new informational juice. After she was finished cleaning my teeth (I don’t think I’d trust anyone other than her, she’s so gentle and fun and good at what she does), she started cracking up while she was reviewing my dentist files.

Hardly breathing, she pointed towards a few of my first dentist report notes of my life. The first said “uncooperative” the second had some minor notes, but was unlike the first, apparently I had let them clean my teeth. The third said “uncooperative” and the fourth.

We sat, me in the dentist chair, and her in her own, and laughed. She pondered out loud why I wasn’t hysterical on my second visit, but that I was at the previous appointment and the one after.

I had no idea they wrote those sort of notes on my file! Uncooperative! I don’t doubt it. I’ve always been a handful for medical professionals.

When I was younger I was well adjusted child. I didn’t have anger problems, I liked most everyone and I was shy. But the second I got into a doctor’s office I behaved like a devil. I always felt like a cornered animal. Maybe it was from having to get a shot in my ass when I was 6 or so. Maybe it was from having to be tied down in the ER when I got a spider bite. I always felt so helpless and threatened.

I kicked one of the nurses in the face once. She was trying to give me a shot and I kicked her face so hard that I broke her glasses. I know it sounds silly. It sounds silly to me now but I always felt like they were trying to hurt me.

My mother used to have to trick me to get me in the car. “We’re going to get cookies from Great Harvest” usually did the trick. And then we’d end up at St. John’s to get some shot.

I remember I had mono in the fourth grade. I had to go to the doctor a lot before they finally figured it out. But every time I went they had to draw blood from me. To this day I still have enormous problems with needles and getting my blood drawn.

I loved the doctor I had then, her name was Mary Hart, and I liked that her last name reminded me of the organ. But I refused to let her have my blood. I cried for what must have been a half an hour. I screamed and pushed and I scared my mother so much that she started crying too. Eventually everyone’s patience was waning and I was still putting up a fight.

My mother called my father from his office downtown. He came into the doctor’s office and I instantly shut up. “Fuck” I thought. I never misbehaved around my dad because he scared the shit out of me. I was silent and they took my blood and I didn’t start crying again until my dad left. On the way home my mother put the convertible down on her car and we listened to something like Joni Mitchell or Mary Black. I cried all the way home. I was mad they called my dad. I was mad that they got what they wanted. I was mad that I was too scared to keep resisting.

I go over that experience a lot in my head and I work it out through writing a lot. My behavior seems so odd to me now so I try to remember how I was feeling then. I feel sorry for my mom having to deal with me. I’m really lucky she is so patient and loving.

Hahahaha, I cut myself on accident with my own fingernail. The only band aids we have in the house are “Casper” themed.