Maybe not in the full blown, raging eruption of temper way, but still. Anybody who knows me knows I'm a huge coward when it comes to medical procedures and especially dental ones. So now it turns out I need to have a tooth extracted. My dentist referred me to an oral surgeon who, thank goodness, is going to give me a general anesthesia. I'm a wreck. Of course, with a procedure like this, you can't exactly drive yourself to and from the appointment; they require that you have someone with you who can take you home. And who might that be? All my friends are working. Philip is gone. That leaves my mother, who, at 85, is great at moral support but not exactly in a position to do much in the way of physical assistance (should it be needed). If it was Philip having the procedure, J would be ready, willing and able to be his designated ride home if I wasn't able to do it. But J is not going to do that for me, and I feel funny asking him, anyway. We're good friends; but J has been having problems of his own lately, and recently admitted to me that he's been drinking again and avoiding everybody, including me. When I explained my predicament to the woman at the oral surgeon's office, she surprised me by asking me where I live. When I told her, she said that she, too, lives in Braintree and offered to take me home afterward. I was dumbfounded at what a nice gesture that was. So I'll take a cab to the appointment and get a ride home from this very nice woman. I will make sure to send flowers or something.
But he should have been here to help me and to hold my hand.
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