A Stoic I'm Not!

Yesterday I went to lunch with my friend Barbara but we could not find the restaurant at first.

We knew the place we usually go each week planned to move. We saw the sign at the new location but the place was locked tight. Turns out they had moved the sign without moving the restaurant.

Confusing.

After lunch we drove back to my house to sit in the garden and talk about a tragic—but all too common — development at a local church: pastor fired for “inappropriate behavior with an adult female church member”.

The local media announces the situation with an undercurrent of glee because the guy was an outspoken advocate of morality. (I think Barbara intends to write about our conversation soon, so I’ll leave this topic for now).

My world turned a bit topsy-turvy last night.

Just as Ginny got home from work, one of our daughters called informing us that she quit her job and dropped out of school. She’s broke and needs to move by the first of March.

That’s like tomorrow.

Say, in the next 24 hours.

I do not know how —or even if — we can help. Or whether we should.

Gave us something besides sex to talk about for the evening.

Our Mom & Dad instincts urge us to rush in as rescuers; our common sense cautions us to say to her, “That sounds like a real problem. What are you going to do about it”?

We want to know what role drugs play in this sudden crisis.

Hard to know how we can help her best.

My work editing the 16^th Century Diary of Puritan Richard Rogers sailed right along… until February 21^st.

That was the day I underwent a medical test on my feet to see why my hands have started shaking. There was actually nothing to the test.

Nevertheless, the experience took the wind out of my sails and I haven’t done a useful lick of work on that manuscript since.

It was not the test, per se, that took the wind from my sails but the experience of being touched. I think I have mentioned my aversion to touch a time or two or ten before in this blog. Being touched upsets me.

Generates a panic attack.

Leaves me dead in the water.

I’m just a big baby.

The reason I mention this yet again is that this morning, in about an hour, I’m scheduled for yet another medical exam. This time by a dermatologist who will check every inch of my skin to examine what another doctor termed “suspicious spots” which may or may not be skin cancers but which he thinks merit biopsies.

Oh Goody!

None of this medical stuff appears to be life-threatening for a long way down the road; it all still lies in the realm of gathering information so I can decide about future radiation treatments — or not.

The possibility of more cancer does not upset me; the possibility of being touched does. The anticipation of it bumps me into a four-alarm hissy fit.

I find this prospect so upsetting that Ginny is taking off work today to go with me and hold my hand through today’s ordeal.

Looks as though in the future I’m going to get plenty of opportunity to exercise my God-given right to whine!