CLINIC – PART 2

Yesterday I went to see this near-mythologized doctor (he’d blown up in my mind over the years to less than human) – and here he was, courteous, semi-retired and getting on with the paperwork. No memory of me, at least at first.

My husband reminded me when I got home that this was the only doctor in his life he’d threatened to punch in the mouth (on an entirely unrelated matter involving our son), my gentle, non-violent, pipe-smoking husband. So it wasn’t just me, since he believes in the essential goodness of everyone and provocation that would cause him to say something like that had to be extreme -

So here I was, alone in a room with him. (Imagine him in the empty chair, knee to knee) I no longer lie helpless and undressed in bed. Now we were equals, except I am still younger and I had the advantage of memories. And, for pete sakes, I find myself feeling SORRY for the guy, grown older, greyer and thinner. I see him just as a misguided human being with a big mouth. I would make a lousy executioner. I tell him my version of what happened and how I’d disliked him since.

“And now?” he says, as though he doesn’t care about the answer.

“And now I see you’ve mellowed,” I said weakly. Not quite the gunfight I’d envisioned. Still, he decides to put me off on another colleague in the future, dim memories of some of our encounters probably seeping back. Good to have done it, gotten through it with no unkindnesses or malice. Glad it didn’t come down to throwing things or shouting (though I had a whistle in my pocket and was wearing a bracelet with minature covers of banned books to remind me of all the pain writers have had, standing up before me).

Staring our villians down, only to see them diminish, maybe never actually the threats we first believed.