Page 12 of Delayed Intention

Happy Sukkot

Procrastinating the inevitable, rather than buckling down to finish my charts for the day, I collapse onto the sofa in the provider lounge.

Pulling out my phone, I see a new email and sit bolt upright when I glimpse the name of the sender: Joshua Cohen, MD .

Just moments ago, I was relaxed to the point of nearly napping, and by just reading the one line, ‘ Subject: Your Letter, ’ my insecurities have surged, supplying a nervous energy that had my heart racing as if I’d just had a bucket of ice water thrown at my head.

What if he is just writing to tell me to go to hell? What if he is so mean I cry at work? How could I let Nona talk me into this?

I pause and look again. The subject line is not giving me much to go on. I breathe and attempt to center myself. I remember, without much enthusiasm, that I won’t perish if someone doesn’t like me. I have experience with that every Sunday night.

I open the email and read. Okay. It’s a little icy, but not unkind.

Much better than I probably deserve. Then, he ends by confirming we should connect to help with the wedding.

It dawns on me that waiting for his response was not nearly as challenging as the idea of seeing him in person again.

But this is all good. Once these amends are made, I hope to free myself of some of these old insecurities.

I mean, if we can become friends again, some of my regret could slip away.

After I talked with Monica about the letter, I could see that cleaning up my messes from the past could be another step to help me move forward.

That doesn’t make any of this less terrifying.

I compose an email to send back after checking my calendar and adding some dates I might go out there.

I think about Josh and me, together, going to check out venues and food.

It seems impossible. After I hit send, I waited for the relief, a sense of closure, or at least diminished regret.

I make myself tea and wait some more. I don’t feel a change yet, but maybe it just needs to sink in: Josh and I are back in touch, and I’m working to heal old wounds.

Maybe it’ll feel more concrete once I see him face to face.

In the meantime, I sit at one of the monitors, resolved to get my charting done.

Today, I was in the outpatient unit, which is a strange notion in a hospital.

I mean, all the patients are here, but we treat some of them as if we were a clinic.

It’s my least favorite week to work here because I need to discharge a bunch of patients who have varying degrees of willingness to leave.

At baseline, I’m confrontation-avoidant.

And this is a week that always involves some form of opposition: either the patients don’t want to leave, or they want to leave right now, the insurance companies want to argue and review everything I want to prescribe, and the families and consultants want to speak to me ten minutes ago.

The entire process leaves me twitchy with raw nerves.

I remind myself to keep the perspective that it’s always worse for the patients.

Even so, no matter what I do, at least twelve different scenarios will pop up that involve someone being upset with me, no matter how hard I try, and I can’t stand it.

Finishing my notes, I look at my list to make sure I haven’t missed anything.

I did have some wins today. I love the actual medicine part of my job.

Solving a mystery behind the symptoms is rewarding when I can do it.

Even though the answer is not always the best news, I enjoy figuring out what’s going on—the more complex, the more intrigued I become.

I’ve helped people who were in pain feel better; I’ve helped bring peace of mind to others who were worried something was serious when it wasn’t.

I’ve been able to be honest and helpful to others who thought it wasn’t going to be something bad when, in fact, it was.

I have had to tell people what they didn’t want to hear, but I’ve done it in a way that’s clear and with a plan for what comes next.

I opened my work email to find my mother has been writing to me there since I’m not taking her phone calls right now.

I’ve canceled Sunday dates for the foreseeable future and she’s not happy about it—at all.

She’s taken to writing as much of her feelings into the subject lines of her emails as she is correctly assuming that I’m not reading them at this time.

I’m saving them, maybe to read another time, or maybe to just delete, en masse.

I head back over to the observation unit when my friend, Abbie, messages me that a social worker is looking for me.

I’m so glad she works here—she makes this place better than bearable.

She’s absolutely hilarious. We started hanging out because we both love hiking.

There was a whole group of us that would meet up, but usually, it was just Abbie and me.

There are some great hikes around the area, although much of the time, the weather impedes fully enjoying them.

But I’ll suffer through some frizzy hair and humidity to climb a hill for a little view, and Abbie feels the same.

“Hey, Lily, how the hell are ya?”

Abbie Waters is also a PA and thank God, we are on the same schedule together. She’s everything I’m not—outgoing, funny, and sassy. She is originally from Georgia and has the loudest voice with the sauciest accent. Literally my opposite. I adore her.

“How was your trip to your grandmother’s?” She stops and narrows her eyes. “Something’s different about you.”

I smile, “The trip was kind of amazing. There’s too much to tell you about now, but maybe we can grab a coffee after work?”

“Sure—I wanna hear what happened to change your aura so much.” She mimes her hands around my head, gesturing to my aura, I guess. She’s still kind of staring at me, and I blush under her scrutiny. She smiles in apology. “Sorry, I’ll stop inspecting you, but I mean it, you look different.”

I shake my head at her, “We’ll talk later, okay? Don’t get too excited, this won’t be anything like one of your stories, believe me.” Abbie’s a bit wild, especially compared to me, which, of course, isn’t saying very much.

I’ve already been back at work for a week, and now the Sukkot holiday is starting tomorrow.

This year I’m going to Roselyn’s house. We made peace over the whole secret engagement of my brother issue which is timely since we both are the only members of our family that care about celebrating Sukkot.

Ros’s husband, David, is working in the ED today and then we are headed together back to their place after he finishes his shift, which gives me enough time to have coffee with Abbie.

After our shift, I grab my suitcase from the locker room and drag it to the hospital cafe.

Abbie’s already changed into her street clothes, as she calls them.

Abbie’s one of those effortlessly beautiful women.

Tall, striking—her mother was a college cheerleader in Louisiana, while her father was a football star, which was how they met.

She doesn’t remember her father since he died serving in the Marines when she was just a toddler.

Abbie’s face is a golden brown with a dusting of freckles, and she has the most beautiful hazel eyes.

She’s tall and slim, with a figure that a curvy girl like me has always envied.

Today, she’s wearing a tangerine-colored cable knit sweater paired with light stove pipe jeans that would be ridiculous on my curves. Looking me up and down, she grins.

“The look on your face is giving… hand caught in the cookie jar—like you’ve got bigger news than you were letting on earlier.”

Usually, Abbie’s teasing makes me blush, which is probably half the reason she does it. This time, I do redden, of course, but I also laugh louder than I usually do.

“You’re going to be very disappointed when I tell you the truth.”

We each order a coffee; Abbie grabs a table, and I roll my bag up next to me.

“First of all, the suitcase is because I am staying at my sister’s house for the Sukkot holiday.”

Abbie pouts, “You’re right, that isn’t very scandalous.”

“It’s all downhill from there, I’m afraid,” I say with mock seriousness. “I just had an excellent visit with my grandmother.” She looks skeptical, so I add, “I warned you to keep your expectations low.”

“I didn’t realize you meant that low. A good time with your grandmother? That’s it?”

“Okay, it’s more than that. My biggest news is that my mom and I are on a break. Which means… No more Sunday night dates,” I add with a real smile.

With that, Abbie looks shocked.

“Good for you, girl, and I mean that, but what on earth happened?”

So I fill her in about Ed and Felicia getting engaged and my mother orchestrating a big secret around it.

She glared when I got to the part about learning what my mother had done, and how betrayed I felt.

I told her about how my grandmother stepped in, along with Roselyn, and supported me in distancing myself from the rest of them for now.

“It’s a bit of a drama, but I’m thrilled I don’t have to go on those stupid Sunday night dates anymore, I don’t feel as guilty as I probably should about not speaking to my mother right now.”

“Well, it’s about time she lost her Lily privileges—”

“Oh, I know how you feel about my mother.” I purse my lips at her.

“That’s exciting and all, but,” she waves a finger at me and narrows her eyes, “it seems like there’s more tea to spill.”

“Well, it’s kind of silly and a long story, but I did take an action—my Nona’s idea—that I think may help heal something from my past. At least I hope it will.”

Over the time we’ve known each other, I’ve told Abbie about Josh—our childhoods in the Midwest and my crush. All I’d told her before was that we’d lost touch.

“Do you remember my summers in Nebraska and Colorado?