2008 So I wound up the ER. Nothing major. Don't get all worried. But the wait was forever and a day. Brandon sends a customary 'just saying hi' text while I'm in the waiting room during hour 2. After a few back and forths where I'm intentionally elusive about exactly what I'm up to, I finally tell him where I am.
A moment to explain that: I hate people worrying about me, especially when there's nothing they can do. It makes me feel weak and more likey to be taken advantage of in my less than 100 state (I know that sounds paranoid.) I can be sick and strong because I have to be, because I'm the only one looking out for me. To have someone there... It gives me someone to lean on. I'll lean if given the option. I'd rather stand alone. That and "I can do it!" (You have to be a devoted regular to get that.) I don't need anyone-- and if ever I do, I'll call back to the Old Country for assistance. (I've been working on this way of thinking, but it's a hard outlook to change.)
Anyway, just as I expected, I get a call from B this time instead of a text. With no hint of panic, he wants to know if I'm okay, what's wrong, and how long I've been waiting. He informs that he's already home in the Bronx, but he can come back to the city. In between coughing fits, I tell him to save himself the trouble.
"I'm fine," I choke out. "It sounds worse than it is. I'm fine."
He's not entirely convinced.
WANT TO READ MORE BELLE? STAY TUNED FOR MY BOOK IN JUNE 2011: A BELLE IN BROOKLYN: ADVICE FOR LIVING YOUR SINGLE LIFE & ENJOYING MR. RIGHT NOW (ATRIA)