I start to cry in my GP's office as I describe what it's like to take a shower. My mother, who is sitting a foot or so away--she grabs my hand, and says, "It's okay."
The GP offers that he likes to "discourage" opioid use, but I do have this back problem, and that he understood it was affecting my "daily life activities" (a phrase I've only heard in psychiatric circles). He says he will write a prescription for Norco.
My mother says that she can keep track of the pills, lock them in the safe, and only hand out a few pills at a time that way he knows that I'm not abusing.
"I'm not worried about her abusing," my GP replies, an unusually kind statement, even for him.
***
I figured if he looked at me, maybe even held a gaze for an appropriate amount of time, that I would be able to unlock some hidden ruse in him, and finally be able to say I know--
But though he looked at me, he betrayed nothing, remained empty of affect as always--maybe he even stared a little too aggressively, not in a sexual way, but in the sense that I was a certain challenge to be undertaken and then dismissed heavily.
Of course, I couldn't know this at the time. Inside, I shuffled from fear to delight, and kept silently asking his eyes to talk to me--they stubbornly refused, and they only further confused me.
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