At Regular Intervals Part I

July 18, 2006 at 11:29 AM (Hospitalization) ()

Three posts about my experience of being a “patient”

1970

I’m eight, or so in a room that has at least one other bed and three other patients, happy that my mom is there because the shots hurt. I had pain in my leg from a group of two operations that summer, and the shots are supposed to make the pain go away, yet they hurt. Mom believed I was sad or scared.

Actually I was mad. Mad at medicine that was forcing my body to experience pain in order to remove pain. I cry when I am angry, furious, enraged. But to the outside observer I am just a weepy little girl that needs to get over it. As it takes effect the nurses laugh at my high verbal explosion, a high from too much of a good thing.

The hospital doesn’t exist any more. It was known as St. Alexis back then. I am still searching for proof now, medical records, school records.

Mom was diligent about being there.
My father had just passed the bar exam and of course needed to celebrate.
So he showed up very late, very briefly, and I am told, still drunk, although he did not exhibit any obnoxiousness directly to me at that time.

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