Double Dates in Paradox
I spent too long on that title and I don't even know if I like it. That's also how I felt about my job today. I work for my dad, and I don't know if that makes it better. It didn't make it better when I was throwing up in the employee bathroom. Anxiety makes me nauseous. Pain makes me nauseous. Thinking about pain and worrying that I am too anxious about my pain makes me nauseous. Having the worst period of my life when all I want is a baby... pain, anxiety, nauseous. Working for my dad makes me feel connected to some ideal of small-town America that doesn't seem possible outside of Andy Griffith and the Brady Bunch. I enjoy it on days when I am not battling sickness and negative pregnancy tests. I enjoy listening to people talk about my dad. His patients adore him- and rightly so. He makes them feel remembered, heard, cared for, and in people's scariest moments; he is the one fighting for them. People come into his office heavy with hours of prayer and fear...