It was inevitable as for years he seemed apathetic to my medical challenges. He was more of a box checker. He even dressed like a schlub. I always thought doctors had some unwritten rule book on proper fashion decorum. He must’ve missed chapter 8.

I also assume he was unpopular at school but entered med school sufficiently to graduate and even start a practice. Often waiting well beyond our scheduled appointment for him to shuffle in like a beaten dog deprived of treats for misbehaving, I created a backstory of mediocrity to satisfy his disinterest in me. Beat him up with mental sophomoric nastiness.  That said – I wasn’t too popular at school either. Perhaps we did share something in common but ultimately, he won. On multiple levels. My failures and inept tendencies prevented mother’s anticipated success train from ever fully coming to fruition.

After his indifference this last month to my latest maladies, I cancelled his ticket. A few passive – aggressive nastygrams (him as well) on My Chart. And he won again! Got the last laugh. Exacted his revenge by rarely acknowledging or replying. It’s not like these fuckers aren’t paid well! In the end – I got cancer and he gets to go to work each day and be rewarded for being a douche.

Meanwhile, I’m miserable and terrified – the reigning king of pain. Defeated, I draw the shades and pray. You got to pray just to make it today. I long for quiet, black slumber. So tired! Gimme rest. So exhausted. Please don’t let me dream …

Papa told me I wouldn’t understand.

Until I did.