Today, I laugh. Those doctors asked me if I knew who the vice president was. Did they really think I cared? Sure, I’d voted, but did it matter to me? It didn’t matter, and I told them so. A person with no voice in the world isn’t going to be helped by that man in the Oval Office.
“Oh, excuse me, doc. You did say, ‘Vice president.’ Yes, I heard you. I didn’t vote for him. I voted for the irrelevant pair of them. When I was a child, long before you were born, I was told girls didn’t stand a chance of ever becoming president.” But by then, they’d already walked out of the room.
Today, I laugh. They had their priorities all wrong. They had no clue what mattered to me. They were trying to test my memory, right? Why the hell didn’t they ask the following:
“So you weighed yourself this morning. What was your weight?” See, something like that I happened to recall. It actually mattered, and I happened to recall the moment I stepped onto the scale Monday morning, August 12, 2013, the day I was already in kidney failure. I still do recall that moment. I remember specifically how it felt to see that number. I remember what I told myself.
I don’t recall watching a vice-presidential speech on TV, not for decades, anyway. Maybe I saw a few of Clinton’s campaign speeches or a couple of those silly court scenes back 1997, when the media decided to distract us by proving that he was human.
Maybe they should have asked me what I had to eat. Maybe they should have asked me how it felt every single time I went food shopping. What it was like to hold a cherry tomato in my hand and look at it, smell it, bite into it.
No, they wanted to know if I could remember the name of the vice president.
What had the vice president ever done for me? Was he planning to call me up and tell me that when I got home, he would personally see to it that my community apologized to me for the neglect I’d lived through? Would the VP say to me, “Julie, you were denied a voice in your community, and I’m going to see to it that this never happens again. You have suffered enough. I’m the Fairy Godmother. You now have a voice. Poof!”
I do wish that had happened. But it didn’t.
I had to say Fuck You to the whole scene. I had to walk out and start my life over. The best thing I ever did for myself was to ditch shrinkage entirely. I would highly recommend that to anyone. I don’t promise instant happiness but the freedom is well worth it.
Satisfaction is not happiness, nor is it health. If you are satisfied with your healthcare, it means you are a slave to doctors and appointments. That’s all it means. They own your body financially, chemically, and legally. I decided I was done with that.
On the plane, I realized my Medicaid and Medicare cards no longer had relevance. No one here asks about the USA vice president. However, we do have all sorts of tomatoes here. I dare to bite into one now. I can make an ñ on my keyboard. And I might guess my weight in kilograms. Roughly. And Puzzle’s a bit more precisely.
Tell that to what’s-his-name. Never mind. He won’t give a shit.