Their doctor’s office manager let me have it about them in a rant yesterday. When a conversation goes, “In all my years…”, it’s never good.

Just to note how I handled that stressful call as a person diagnosed (a diagnosis I suspect has more to do with my being unable to handle certain relationships only), I calmed down the office manager, apologized on behalf of my parents, and got them help by my being cool and reasonable. Plus, I have to add, I am the only family member actually helping.

I could write such a book, too. It would be horribly traumatic and yet funny. People would be able to relate and commiserate. But I wouldn’t because there would be nothing good to come of it.

I’m going to go down to my folks to try to help them this week. They are both doing alright atm.