Living With BPD

So, I’m sitting quietly in a swivel chair in the lobby at the VA, feeling anxious as usual but nothing to cause the sleeping lion inside me alarm. Hubby was already in his room waiting for the colonoscopy. Neither of us wanted to be there, but since cancer invaded his colon several years ago and he only has a foot of it left, he must keep close tabs on it. Doctor’s orders. And mine.

The mall-like lobby was like a ghost town of vacant chairs except for one all the way across the room. There was no one breathing on me and I wasn’t breathing on anyone else, so I removed my mask and sat minding my own business checking my emails and texting my son.

About twenty minutes into my solitude a young woman from out of nowhere leaned over one of the marked off couches fifty yards away, her face covered with a stark white mask, and scolds, “Ma’am. You’re required to wear a mask.”

Maybe it was due to the stress of our refrigerator conking out and having to buy a new one, or that we had to toss a weeks worth of groceries, or had to use a cooler and being without a fridge for a week. Maybe it was due to Bella, our four-legged greyhound-mix waking me up every thirty minutes barking. Whatever the reasons were, the sleeping lion woke up.

Lions don’t take kindly to being harassed; especially old, irritable ones with anxiety disorders. My hackles raised to the ceiling. I said it didn’t make sense why I had to wear a mask when there was no one around and I’m just sitting here waiting for my husband to come out of his procedure.

Suddenly, her sweetness melted away like cotton candy on a child’s slobbering tongue and scorned, “Either you wear the mask or you will be escorted from the building!”

All right all right, I snorted to myself. I’ll put on the stupid mask! But when she strutted out of sight down the long corridor, her heels kicking up enough dust to choke an elephant, the mask came to life and jumped back in my lap.

A whole ten minutes later, she came back more huffy than when she strutted off and even had the audacity to threaten me with calling security.

That did it! The lion jumps on all fours ready to pounce! Who does she think she is telling a woman three times her age what to do? Determined to win the battle of the wills, the lion, roared, “Go ahead! call the whole army! I don’t care!”

I nearly felt sorry for her struggling to keep her balance in her paten leather stilettoes as she stormed off. Great! Now a platoon of security guards are coming to put me in a straight jacket and haul my sassy butt to jail.

I grabbed my pocketbook and hustled to the ladies room; a room colder than Alaska with one toilet, a sink, and a lock on the door. Good! She can’t come in here and drag me out by the hair and in front of a firing squad.

Not wanting anyone to think I died in there, I took some deep breaths, blew my nose, and flushed the toilet a few times before finally opening the door and finding another place to sit hoping she wouldn’t recognize me in my mask.

About fifteen minutes later, a stocky, ruddy-faced security guard invaded my space and planted himself six feet in front of me. At least he was practicing social distancing or I might have been tempted to report him.

Like a stern-faced Gorilla he stared down at me, his navy blues and stripes and badges and patriotic mask as intimating as a pointed gun to my head.

But, he couldn’t arrest me. He couldn’t tar and feather me. He couldn’t even drag me to the gallows because the mask jumped back on my face!

Hubby came through his colonoscopy. The inner lion went back to sleep and the three of us made it out of there alive!

Published by

Sandi Staton

I've been blessed with a forty-nine-year marriage, a son, four grandchildren, seven great-grandchildren, and one more on the way. I am a cancer survivor and thank God for His healing touch; physically and emotionally. Having battled depression for most of my life, music, writing, and digital art are tremendous outlets for me. I hope you enjoy your visit and that you'll come back again.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s