I had been living alone (no roommates) for a number of years and my biggest fear was suffering something tragic alone in my apartment and not having anyone there. Those scenes from “Bridget Jones’ Diary” and “Sex in the City” rang loud in the back of my mind. How long before I would be found if I fell or inexplicably died? Death and illness is a scary thing for those living alone so when I suffered an injury and had to consult a chiropractor I was asked to return for my test results with someone who could serve as a second pair of ears and could ask about anything I could not think of at the time of my diagnosis.
This was serious. Who to ask? I thought of asking my mother, but though she is fluent in English her (own) issues with her accent would fluster her and probably would ask me to find someone else. I thought of asking my siblings or even my best friend but the thought of having them take time off of work was too great of a favor to ask. The doctor had suggested first to bring my husband or someone of my choice. That second “choice” made me wonder if he could read the word SINGLE flashing on my forehead.
I had been dating my honey for about 5 months and asking him to accompany me to the doctor was right down embarrassing. I had never done that! In my mind such intimacy was reserved for couples expecting a baby. When I asked him he agreed without batting an eyelash. He was there for my appointment, asked questions and charmed the doctor so much that for the next two years “Doc” would inquire about our developing relationship on every appointment.
My honey was present during a bad period! He nursed me for several weeks, and showed me that I wasn’t as trusting as I thought I was. I had trusted he would bail when I should have trusted he would be there for me.
I had been self-sufficient and independent for so long that I had not considered I could trust another with “myself”!