Nobody likes to receive the letter I found tucked under a pile of Canadian Tire flyers and local Politician’s promotional pieces.
It was a letter from my Doctor. Gasp. The letter wasn’t a notice of reassessment or to inform us that due to an office error I was required to have blood taken for their records. Just typing the word blood makes me buckle at the knees a little. Luckily, I’m sitting down.
The notice was a friendly letter telling all of her patients she was moving out of town. WHAT?
Because I am turning thirty-six this year and have not been able to turn a blind eye to the myriad of articles outlining how we are at our optimal health from the age of zero to thirty-five and the minute we turn thirty-six, our bodies are tortured by cancerous cells that invade every orifice of our now decaying selves. Bones become brittle, we begin to hunch, lose endurance, lose our sex drive (or have three kids, whatever comes first) right leg grows while left becomes dormant, appearance of half-man face/half-cougar, Polly Pocket shoes turning up in your stool, so really, this friendly, informative note relaying the happy news that our Doctor would no longer be available for a drive-by ear-infection antibiotic re-fill for the kids or to hold my hand (pinky fingers locked lest my entire hand fall off) was beyond the realm of possibility.
Didn’t they know I was turning thirty-six this year? Don’t they review their records and realize I am in that office at least once a week, sometimes with a faker, sometimes for a mandatory “healthy baby check-up,” sometimes for a vaccination (sorry kids, Polio it is, our Doctor just left town.)
At first I was enraged, followed by fearful, then….acceptance.
Why? Did my kids lick the bobbles on the colourful wiry cube too many times?
I am now feeling incredibly vulnerable and let down, not unlike when Dollarama started to add price tags to their implied “everything in this store is $1” inventory. No proxy to vote on, no email blast or survey to their most regular sticker and gift bag purchasing customers, just a $4 ceramic eagle mounted on a branch inside a snow-globe mocking me.
I’ll just have to rent an apartment in the small town she’s relocating to.
I just hope it’s not next to a Dollarama. That one still smarts.
