"Feeling better?" one of the girls just asked me.
"I'm fine," I replied as she walked out of my office.
I keep having to remember that asking that is just one of those pleasantries of relationships. "We really don't want to know how you're doing," I thought as I turned back to the invoice I was trying to make sense of.
Luckily, Dad is back in town. He knows full well what I go through a few days before my injection. I just leaned back in my chair to look at him filling prescriptions down the hall. It is comforting to know he is home.
Earlier in the day I called Dad about the money.
"Let's wait until your injection," he said.
"Okay," I replied as I hung up feeling relieved.
We are both buying time. I've felt worried today that I have so little self control that I will be standing in Fred's dollar store buying a dollar pack of those little pink pills in a few days. I am not worried about drinking at all. Drinking even seems unpleasant to me today. Dad still thinks I am going to turn back into that unruly drunk man we managed to change a year ago through sheer determination.
I don't know all you past since I just started reading your blog - but I really admire what you've done, what you've made it through - really, I do.
ReplyDeleteOne thing about the friends we make here...we really do want to know how the other is doing. I love your honesty, Andrew.
ReplyDeleteAfter 147 days you have earned the right to not be suspected. You've done so well! Your dad will see, don't worry.
ReplyDeleteI really want to know how you are, that's why I come to visit you here!