Every End is a New Beginning
The best family isn't always blood.
I went for a dental cleaning at a new office a couple weeks ago, and hit it off with the dental assistant.
Through check-in and between x-rays we talked about everything from our kids to what I do to what it's like to have so many allergies (apparently they actually read their patient paperwork, and apparently have a lot of allergies…), and even why I'm on so many medications.
(To note: I like people who aren’t afraid to ask personal questions—they’re in good company.)
While I was trying to succinctly (for me) explain what Celiac Disease, Mast Cell Activation Syndrome, and Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome were, the dentist came out from the back office and took a peek at my file where I could see him from around the corner of the partition. He teasingly said, "My, is there anything you're not allergic to?"
And through all my chattering about ailments, the words fell out of my mouth before my brain had a chance to filter them: "I could be the poster child for parents to actually take their children to doctors at least annually. I wouldn't have half the health issues I do if my parents had actually taken me to the doctor—a decent doctor.”
At the dental assistant’s awed expression, I added that my family was poor growing up; but she said that didn't matter—most states have programs, and there's Medicaid, to which I countered: “My dad was too proud for that."
We shared a moment of silence, looking at each other. My eyes stayed surprisingly dry. I said, "There's a reason I don't talk to my dad anymore."
"I wouldn't either," she said without hesitation.
I have a tendency to blow up relationships.