I went to visit my doctor, something I have to do every few years or she holds my meds hostage. I call her ”Baby Girl,” because she is one of those 14 year olds that just got out of medical school.
I put it off, avoided it as long as possible, even played the covid card last year, or rather just nodded my head when someone implied the reason I could not keep my appt was a quite proper and rational fear of covid and the ensuing inability to leave my house for any reason. The truth however was that I was dreading a much deeper kind of death, disappointment, despair, the crushing of my hopes and dreams.
See, I rather like Baby Girl, but I just knew she had been converged, she had become a Covidian, that she had been kidnapped by the Borg. We become who we serve, it is inevitable, and in spite of her beautiful brain and passion for healing, her first love is now the institution of medicine and all the insane clowns who run it.
I knew, and yet nothing prepared me for the Westworld automatron reading political slogans off a medical teleprompter. It really hurt. I sat there gasping for air, double masked with two face diapers, and heard the standard script about how we need to respect ”settled science” and not listen to disinformation campaigns and right wing conspiracy theories off the internet.
Because I am both quite virtuous and extremely dysfunctional at the same time, I immediately began to take an emotional inventory of Baby Girl so as to empathize and understand, to figure out how to better serve her needs, how to address her obvious emotional issues. The poor girl needs my support and affirmation, she is attempting to meet the demands of several masters, my own health and well being not being high on the laundry list of priorities. She has the government breathing down her neck, the insurance companies, the pharmaceutical industry, and of course, the god of science whose favor she desperately seeks.
I totally wish I could cry on command because this situation really called for me to just burst into tears, to grab her attention and give it a good shake and ask, are you in there somewhere Baby Girl? Can you just engage the clutch for one minute, employ some critical thinking skills, and speak to me as if I were a semi intelligent, partially sentient being???
I really can cry on command, but only after about 6 hours of processing the trauma, usually around 2 in the morning. I think I am now in day 3 of healing from these deep emotional wounds. At the time my melodrama was actually needed, as usual, it was nowhere to be found.
It was so excruciatingly painful because I so want to be friends, or at least I wanted her to perceive me as slightly more intelligent than your average bit of grocery store produce. I wanted to share a laugh with her over the very notion of ”settled science,” and what that even means. Shall we go tell all the scientists to go home now, the entire field of science has now been settled, sorry you’re all out of a job?
How about the line, ”there is no reason to fear this vaccine, since it isn’t really a vaccine?” Good news anti vaxxers, you can now safely go get the ”non vaxx. ” No seriously, that pick up line works very well.
Behind two face diapers I managed to croak out a rather non confrontational, somewhat cheerful, “Okay, I’ll get to all that as soon as some of this covid stuff settles down. ” And that’s when her claws came out and she promptly informed me, ”THIS will never go away, never, do you understand me???! Never.”
I was quite taken back, a bit dazed and confused even! She was so angry as if I had threatened to take her french fries away or something. I needed to splash some cold water on my face, to get the cobwebs out, to pinch myself, and then she did it, she threw a bucket of ice on me so cold it was enough to wake the dead. She said quite sternly, Now, since you’re almost a boomer…..
Wait…..Wut?? I made her say it again.
Well you’re on the cusp, you’re close, you will be a boomer very soon.
A bit funny how quickly my empathy got up, slammed the door, burnt the bridge, left the building. No, I am not, never have been, and never will be a boomer. I am Gen X.
And Baby Girl actually goes, What’s that?
Indeed, what’s that. It’s my magic cloak of invisibility apparently, the complete unknown in our science equation, obviously? It’s the generation the culture forgot, the one that stands between the self absorbed above us and the self absorbed below us. I am the non sentient bit of produce you actually put a literal barcode bracelet on so you can just scan me like one might scan cucumbers in a self check out lane.
I, Baby Girl, am the rapidly ageing wrath of a thousands generations. I am the raging storm, the thunder rolling down the millennia. Actually, I am just the one caring for self absorbed elderly boomer parents while my self absorbed millennial children dwell in my basement forever, hence the need for the blood pressure meds.
Pray for me y’all. Should my health take a turn for the worse or if I were to try to die in the next few weeks, I may feel the need to just crawl off into the wilderness alone like a dying cat and avoid the establishment entirely.