I’d been waiting for his call all day, though I forgot about it for long swathes of time, being busy with other things. He’d been waiting too, in between doing battle with SP, again. By suppertime he still hadn’t called so he chased up the surgery. And it seems he never intended to, or maybe he changed his mind at the last minute. Let me explain. This, this thing with my arteries (and consequently, we believe, with my hips and legs) has been going on for over 9 months now, at least. And after an examination by him (and a promise that he would do some research) and two scans (an ultrasound and an MRI) all that I was offered yesterday, by the receptionist not the doctor, was the word satisfactory. That’s what he wrote on both scan reports. Satisfactory. Satisfactory for whom, I wanted to say, but didn’t. The falling out with them had already happened for he, my love, that is, lost it. I am more sanguine than him, not really expecting anything else. But he recommended this doctor. He values and likes him (they always talk cricket). Is it me? I want to ask. Is my dislike (no that’s not quite right, my distrust) of doctors at fault here? Can they sense it, smell it and do they act accordingly? Enough now. Enough investigating. Let it be. I can and will live with it. Perhaps I will go and see L. Or S. Or perhaps not. Let there be peace. No more wrangling. I am at war with the world and am discomfited by it. Enough now. Is it moon stuff? Or Eunice? Or the water tiger year rattling away at this water tiger’s particular cage.
As to the addendum (is it addendum or addenda?) to the title, I woke saying it to myself, went for a pee and thought I must write it down and did so, in the dark. The fib on 88. What does it mean? Nothing or everything? The dream that followed was more straightforward, falling out with an ex lover and then wanting to return, if only stay and make him fresh coffee. His flat was up high, and I had to get a lift to it. I found a dress to wear in the car in the car park below. Black. But I had no key to get in. Would he hear me knock? Would he let me in once again?
The wind blusters and moans outside.
