Doctors and Family

Well, the doctor’s appointment went well. Really well. I am on a Prednisone Pack for 6 days. Then I will be put on Humira. FOR-EV-ER (you have to have seen The Sandlot to get that one). Probably not forever, but for a while. It’s a self inject able which is convenient.

Back at the gym everyday. No matter what. At least 30 minutes of cardio and then some weights. I work out with Kate twice a week--one of those days includes her spin class. It’s crunch time. I know I need to start running, but I am going to wait a few more days for that. I am not putting it off, but I just want to make sure my cardio is up for it. Heaven forbid I hurt something. I can’t handle that. Don’t have time.

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I was thinking about family today. In particular, my family. I listen to women talk about how close they are with their mother and how wonderful their relationship is. I am not jealous so much as I am intrigued. My mother and I get along, don’t get me wrong, but not like that. Not in the “let me call her as soon as I hear some good news” or “I need to talk something out and ooo, I’ll call my mom since she is good at listening”. Those thoughts do not come through my mind…and if they do, I call CRR, my future stepmother.

It’s never been a secret that my brother is my mother’s favorite child. I know you say that mother’s can have favorites--well you have never met mine. I have to give her credit that she did stay by my side while I was in the hospital. And it was wonderful. It truly was. We haven’t spent any time together since then, but it could have been a turning point in our relationship. Nonetheless, my father has tried to compensate for this fact ever since I was a child. He paid extra attention to me--we would drive up to go see Duke basketball games on a school night, go to dinner, let me “help” during the rec basketball games, and just stuff like that. My dad is the father who would LOVE taking us to elementary and middle school events (or Skateland) just to hear us--and get to experience that part of life again through our lives. It was obviously unappreciated then, but now, I can’t tell him enough how good of a dad he was to me growing up. Again, don’t get me wrong, he is still there at EVERY SINGLE phone call. Every tear. Every fear. Every triumph. Every disappointment. He’s always there for me. Someone told me that now, my dad isn’t worried about me meeting the wrong guys, but instead, worried about me meeting the right now. Worried--why? He thinks he will lose me. He never could. I’m his little girl. Now my mother…

…She loves me in a way that I don’t understand or see as clearly. I think that now she believes and maybe sees that I am maturing--whatever that means--and she could easily lose her place. She wants to be friends or something of the sort. When I call her with the “good news” or just to chat, she is all mine for about 2 minutes. Then she is scatterbrained. Preoccupied. Vacant. It’s no use to talk to her on the phone. Sometimes, I just don’t understand her. I just hope I do not do the same to my daughter one day.


On my career:
My father is worried. Not worried. Maybe just concerned. Again, I am just his little girl in a pink ballerina outfit prancing through the house on Christmas morning in his eyes. He knows me. He of course is going to be concerned, but he knows that I have a good head on my shoulders and can judge a situation quickly and accurately. He'll ask about my day but will not want to know what happened.

My mother on the other hand is wide ass open about it. She is all about it. I guess she has seen one too many COPS shows. She just wants to stories every night. She is concerned maybe, but not like my father. She is concerned in ways I can't explain. I guess for both of them, neither one saw this coming!

She did say one thing that has stuck with me: "I have always taught you to run away from danger and here you are wanting to run into it."