October 24, 2012
Notifications, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 43
A FedEx notification on my door gave me a glimmer of hope for my journal’s return. I didn’t hesitate to drop my lunch bag on the counter, head back downstairs, and drive off to the office. It turned out to be a long, fruitless search. There were no packages for me or for my address, but the logs all showed the package was signed for and delivered to the office. Even a call to FedEx didn’t solve the mystery. I was told to check back in tomorrow, as if by magic the package would suddenly turn up.
The same afternoon I am also the recipient of an end of therapy notification. My therapist got married while I was away in Ireland. That was not a surprise, and I am truly happy for him. The surprise was that he also accepted a new position which will make him unavailable to me. Between paperwork and wrapping up, came the probably standard suggestion that I could either be referred within the same practice, or I could search out a new beginning on my own. I decline both options immediately, blurting out the truth that I probably won’t do either. I don’t want to start again. It’s the same problem I have when I try to get in to see my MD and the registrar asks if I would see someone else in the practice. The answer is always, “No.” I don’t pride myself on being complex, but I am not a simple person.
It’s agreed I have reached a plateau. I profess I am an intelligent, acutely aware person who at this point in my life would know when or if I needed re-grounding, and we both feel comfortable with that. It’s hard work staying out of the quagmire of everyday living. Truthfully, I had already started wondering each week what was left to talk about. I have been enduring a status quo that has become boring, even to me.
We laughed about how our relationship has morphed from my original reluctance to comfortableness, a shared strange sense of humor and how remarkably different I am now. It’s so true. I am no longer in that hole. Still, my current life is easily aligned with the old Henny Youngman joke: In the recovery room after hand surgery this guy says, 'Tell it to me straight, Doc. Will I be able to play the violin after my operation?'And the doctor says 'Sure.' And the guy says, 'That’s fantastic, I couldn't do it before.' That’s how it is with therapy and me. I’ve never been the bubbly type and no one should expect I ever will.
As I am getting ready to walk out of the therapy office and into coping on my own, I am thinking of ways to say goodbye. I don’t want to cry, and I don’t want to be cold. I’ve gotten a lot out of this purely professional relationship even though I had my doubts. Just as I am about to ask for a farewell hug, my therapist quirkishly offers, “I’ll see you on two weeks, then?” Caught off guard, I laugh and say, “Sure.” He asks if I need a card to remind me, and I say, “No, I can write it on the back of the one I already have…” and then pause for a second like there’s a punch-line. Because there is; and he’s already laughing. I don’t really have to say it, but I do anyway. “On the other hand,” I lead in with smile, “You might as well give me a new one since you won’t be needing these particular ones anymore.”
On my way home, having been so internally proud of myself for adapting quickly and ably resigning myself to the abrupt reality that therapy ends today, I war between annoyance at knowing I will have to face the goodbye situation again, and “thank goodness for the suggestion.” Sometimes, when you’re riding the rails of life, a fork appears, and you begin to think you have control over the veer. However, if the timing’s not right, track jumping, derailment, and crashes occur. I read somewhere recently GOD sometimes delays our arrival because there’s trouble ahead. Whether a storm, a crash, or a disappointment worse than the one we are going through now, we’re in GOD’s protection. I’m still a long way from perpetual roses and sunshine, but then again, ba-dump-bump...!
Posted by jaselin at October 24, 2012 03:34 PM