I’m a little nervous about this because I was conditioned by
my mother from my earliest recollection to regard the doctor as the ultimate
authority figure whose orders must be obeyed in every circumstance. Resistance
is not only useless, but very nearly a capital crime where the doctor is
concerned.
This doesn’t sit easily with me. I dislike authority figures
in all circumstances, and mostly I’m congenitally inclined to distrust them.
And that causes conflict.
Sometimes I wonder whether I’m being weak and giving in too
easily. At other times I wonder whether I’m being unreasonably bloody-minded
and refusing for the sake of refusing. Making a sensible, informed decision isn’t
easy when there’s a battle raging inside your head and you’re desperate to
quieten the maddening noise of a howitzer battery.
And so the stresses go on and life doesn’t get any easier.
* * *
And a little side note:
I was in a charity shop yesterday, browsing the random mix
of sundry, ‘pre-loved’ items laid out and waiting for a home. A young woman
with long hair came walking towards me and said:
‘Did you want to pay for something?’ At this point I
realised that my inquisitor was, in fact, a young man. At least I think it was.
I’m sorry? I asked
quizzically.
‘Did you want to pay for something?’
No.
And then he (I think) walked away and continued with
whatever business he (apparently) was engaged in. And people call me strange.
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