Reformation of a Chronic Yes Woman

Desiree

Reformation of a Chronic Yes Woman

Desiree
no-68481_640It can take me a while to process stuff, to really think through how something affects me, how I react, and why. It wasn't always like that. Maybe because these days I have rather less time to just sit quietly by myself, and think.

Recently I told about Grandma's latest ER visit, and how her pain specialist ordered an MRI. What I didn't mention was how that particular discussion went. The nurse came to me in the waiting room, asked if I would come back to the examination room. (I always ask Grandma if she wants me to go with her. If not, I wait outside.) The pain doc explained how we need an MRI and then told me we'd be going to Prescott to get it. A 50+ mile drive each way.

I didn't pause for a second, before saying, I'm sorry, I won't do that. (Not can't, or don't want to. I won't.)  Pain doc says, well, we prefer the images we get from them, they're better than the ones we get locally, etc etc. (First complaint I've heard about our local hospital's MRI unit.) Then comes the attempted guilt trip: But if you really want to do it here in town, if that's really okay with you, well I guess that's how it has to be. Along with the unspoken: Shame on you! Selfish, lazy, yadda yadda yadda...!!! (I rather suspect this doctor has an "arrangement" with this imaging clinic in Prescott.) Maybe it was because I was so very tired that day but I didn't back down. Or even offer an apology. Then came the real surprise. I glanced over at Grandma, and the relief on her face was clearly evident.

She was GLAD I'd refused to make that hours-long drive. That I made the decision to keep it local. Amazing! (This lady practically worships doctors as near demigods, infallible, omniscient, all-powerful. Always deferred to, always obeyed.) Apparently, they'd told her all the reasons why she just had to go to Prescott. And she'd told them, Better talk to Desiree. She didn't like the idea either. But apparently needed me to be the one to say, Uh-uh.

It occurred to me, much later, how I'd spent my whole life forcing myself to be nice, to be agreeable, not make waves. Just cooperate, and maybe they'd like me. Or at least, not hate me. Not hurt me. Not threaten me.

Looking back, I realize that this was not at all a sudden change. It's been slowly happening for some years now. The person I once was -- the always cooperative little pushover, the human doormat, the emotional (and sometimes physical) punching bag -- that person has been quietly laid to rest. I never needed her. And neither does my grandma.