I wrote the letter. I went over the incident. I said that children's feelings are just as valid as adults'. I said that telling them they must deny their feelings is dangerous (thank-you, Angella) and that what the assistant had done would never have been tolerated if directed towards an adult. I didn't rant and I didn't rave, I just said what I wanted to say. I printed it, I signed it, I put it in an envelope, I addressed it. I will put a stamp on it and mail it tomorrow.
I don't want this to be an e-mail. I want it to be a real paper letter.
Here's what I'm ashamed of- I KNEW I should speak up yesterday. I knew it. When that woman had her hand on my grandson and he put his hand on hers and wanted to push it off of him but was afraid or too polite, or whatever...I should have said something.
We all know I have a huge phobia about doctors. I just do. And as much as I have diligently searched my mind for a possible reason, I can't quite figure it out. My earliest memory of a doctor is a positive one. I had strep throat and my mother took me to a pediatrician and she was a woman and she was very sweet and I have no negative feelings associated with that memory. I suppose the whole thing could have started with the flu shots I had to get from another pediatrician when I was a little older. He was actually a friend of my mother's and I knew him but I was terrified of that needle and it took him and the nurse and my mother to hold me down. Was that it? Was it?
I don't know but I do know that I have been horribly intimidated by doctors my entire life and that's probably one of the reasons home birth appealed to me so. If I was at home, no doctor could talk me into something I didn't want to do. And that turned out to be true.
You know, I don't think intimidated is the right word. And it's not just doctors. It's anyone who works in a doctor's office. I think sometimes I went to nursing school to try and work through that phobia or neurosis or whatever it is and it did not work.
I get nervous and anxious when I go to a doctor's appointment with someone I love.
I literally drive out of my way to avoid driving by the hospital. This is not sane. But I do it.
And so all of this, I suppose, is to explain why I didn't speak up yesterday. Well, all of this and also the fact that I didn't want to jump down her throat in front of Owen. I didn't want to make it worse than it was. And yet, part of me thinks that it would have been good for Owen to know that his grandmother, his family, is here to protect him.
I don't know. Maybe I'm making too much of the whole deal but I don't think so and I'm not especially proud of the way things went and maybe what I should have done was to go directly back into the office and speak to the dentist and the woman while Lily was getting the boys in the car. We were both so stunned, Lily and I. Stunned into speechlessness for that moment?
I don't know. But I have written the letter and tomorrow I will send it and I will have done my job. I have had a dream-within-a-dream day and even though there was some sort of deep wrongness in the way the yeast in my bread performed when I baked the loaf, it will still taste good as the recipe is one of my oldest favorite ones and has corn flour and whole wheat, molasses, ground cloves, raisins and lemon peel in it. I have taken leftover soup and leftover beans and corn and other things and made a different soup. A soup and a bread and clothes dried on the line and a letter and a day in my life and I think tomorrow I may let Baby and her baby out of the coop because they are partly wild-things and right now, they are up on the highest perch and that child-chick is huddled against her tiny mother, the tiny mother with her wing spread over her baby as best as she can do it.