Car "Repair" 14 Days Later...

For the past twenty years, I've been a registered nurse specializing in intensive care. I've assisted in open-heart surgery, served in ER, run first-aid stations and assisted various accident victims on numerous backroads and interstates. If you've got a medical issue, I'm a good person to have nearby. Unfortunately, this "status" doesn't help at all when the issue is car repair and mechanics. In fact, every conversation I have with them contains a "We'll see," "We'll be in touch," a few "Little Lady's" and a "Sugar" or two.

The research I did before I took my car to "the shop" was for nothing. Knowing and explaining that my car had a blown head gasket got me nothing but a couple of eye rolls when they thought I wasn't looking. I confess, I expected nothing less.

I correctly guessed that taking my car to the shop on August 28th was just a little too close to the Labor Day holiday to expect any service. At the time, my car was the only one they had but I made myself believe that my car was only one in a long line of customers needing repair. I was wrong but what's a girl to do?

The last fourteen days have found me nearly in solitary confinement. The people I have given rides to in the past suddenly were too busy, too far away or too smart to answer their phones when my number appeared on their caller ID. Calls from friends have stopped...the word is out. I've got no wheels. Again, I expected nothing less.

With no wheels, I have been able to catch up on television. The funniest thing I've seen so far is a commercial about a website designed for women who want to buy a car by themselves. The tagline is something like, "I don't need to take a dude with me..." That makes me laugh every time. I shout back at the TV, "Oh yes you do---Little Lady!"  The only thing funnier than a woman taking information from that site to a car dealer would be taking it to an auto repair shop! I know from experience.......

                                                  FOURTEEN DAYS LATER!

The Car "Repair" Saga Continues

On Wednesday I took my car to the dealership and was informed that the "blown head gasket" would cost $400.00 and half would be needed upfront. Put it on my credit card? No problem. "Steve" said he would run my card and the mechanic would get "right on it." Wonderful.
"Call us back on Friday." he said.

Today I called as instructed only to find that:

 1.The card had never been 'run.' (what?)
                          AND
 2. The mechanic "couldn't possibly start on the car until Tuesday at the earliest." (crap!!)

"I don't understand." I said.
"Well little lady," he said, "it's going to take time and you'll have to pay half up front."
"But you ran my credit card so I could pay half up front."
"Actually, I didn't. But we'll take care of this sometime next week." He hung up the phone. I immediately called back but could only get voicemail. What was going on?

It was at that moment I realized it was Labor Day weekend. This may have started on Wednesday but they had no intention of fixing or even looking at my car that day or the rest of the week. Nothing was going to be done until the end of the holiday---at the earliest.

I spent most of the day mentally beating myself up for believing "Steve" had 'run the card' and the mechanic was 'on it.' How do you NOT run a credit card? Is it like the car salesman who "checks with his manager" who is always "in the back," wastes a little time out of sight, returns to say "it's a done deal" and the customer believes him? Probably. With no father/brother/hubby etc., who'll deal with things like this on my behalf, I'm the perfect fool. My fault.

I always seem to have car issues just before a holiday. Labor Day is no exception. Just my luck, this time it's the holiday that celebrates "work"!

Women Beware When You Need Car Repairs

My car's temp and engine light began flashing. I added antifreeze but over the course of time, I was adding antifreeze once or twice a week. After going online for information, I made an appointment with a nationally known car repair chain who were going to fix my problem--a blown head gasket. I get to the shop and after I explained to them that no, my husband/boyfriend/brother/uncle etc., weren't with me, the "Boys" took the car and I waited in the lobby.

A hour later, I was called to the desk and informed that my bill would be $519.34! "You see hon, you need the $365.00 water pump package, $65.00 warranty and..." the tech said. But I stopped listening at $365.00.

I drove home, told a friend of mine the story and he recommended a mechanic who did "good work." This man came to my home, I explained about the head gasket but then he started telling me how " women are just helpless with cars." It took him less than an hour to fix the car and only charged me sixty dollars. Really? A blown head gasket fixed for sixty dollars?

Two days later, I found that he hadn't fixed the car at all. The temp and engine lights were back on requiring me to add antifreeze again. The man came back to look at the car but he quickly became so condescending I had to make him leave. There is just so much eye-rolling I'll take!

So what have I learned?

As a woman when I need car repairs (and cannot find any male to accompany me), I'm supposed to turn the car over to a mechanic, pay whatever I'm told and be nice about it. Some businesses even have game plans to get more money in unnecessary repairs from female customers. For example, I was supposed to take the car to the "Boys," blindly trust their 'diagnosis,' buy the water pump package and the warranty, leave the car to be fixed, then return to find THEY had discovered an "unforeseen problem"--a blown head gasket... the reason I took the car to them in the first place.





 

The Johari Window---Our "Panes"

The most fascinating thing I remember from Psych class was the idea of the "Johari Window." It explains an aspect of self-concept and human nature. I believe it shows something that is common to all of us no matter where we live or where we are in life. Rich or poor, Royalty or commoner, think of yourself as a window with the following four panes of glass:

Pane #1: OPEN.
We know ourselves and what we like to show to others. You are just "you."

Pane #2: CLOSED.
This is the part of ourselves we lock away. The past is past--over and done. It's history!

Pane #3: BLIND.
This is what we just cannot see about ourselves that everyone else can. You think you're nice but you come off like a jerk.

Pane #4: HIDDEN
This is what we dare not reveal about ourselves to others out of fear of rejection and/or judgment.  "What if they knew you had...been in jail? a junkie? bouts of depression? etc."


The next time you are in a group, with your friends or alone in a crowd, take a look at all the "windows" around you. Try to imagine who and what you would be OPEN to, CLOSED to, BLIND to and what you feel you'd need to keep HIDDEN from all of them.

COUGAR TROUBLE Pt. 3: "Star Trek Mode"

 I am going into what I call "Star Trek Mode." I'm entering another final frontier where "no one has gone before...to find something positive." Why? Because my son's 26yr old, single mother of three children by two different daddies, roommate, boss, girlfriend is now pregnant with baby #4 by "Daddy #3." Blake is Daddy #3. As far as I'm concerned, the dreams I had for him are gone.

 He won't be going to college (on a full ride) in the fall. He won't be playing soccer for a college team and he won't be pledging a fraternity. He will, however, be joining the fraternity of fatherhood.

All he does anymore is work and as he puts it, "take care of the kids." No eighteen year old boy should be raising other men's children AND preparing for his own. He 'should' be working a summer job, going to baseball games, hanging out with his friends and picking out a dorm in the college of his choice, not being an apprentice father.

I am angry at her for executing this plan for what I have referred to previously as a "manufactured relationship." I am angry at my son for being so irresponsible and I am angry at myself for allowing this to happen. I have analyzed and dissected the 'psychological deficits this woman must have to allow herself to bring children into this world time and time again.' I did the same with my son. 'Did I not provide him enough encouragement, love, opportunity, positive examples or goals? Is he trying to fill some psychological need within himself that came from growing up without a father?' How in the hell can a child spend his entire life with me and grow up to have the exact same easy-going personality of his absent father? Could there be something to that DNA business after all?

While this event has prompted a very adult discussion between my son and myself, I decided to go into "Star Trek mode" and look forward to this new future. They may not have any extra money but I choose to believe it adds to this adventure. My son has a full-time job with benefits so I choose to believe it shows a lot of foresight on his part. Even though at times I have flashes of anger and a few tears, they are private moments that I choose to believe are none of my son's business. My son is very happy and planning to marry this woman so I choose to believe this makes him more of a real man than my father and his own father ever were.

Most of all, while this is not the life I envisioned for my son, in "Star Trek Mode" I choose to believe that everything will be alright.


      
        
                    

Hello, My Name is Dyane and (apparently) I'm Co-Dependant

     Does anyone remember a time when a character trait or a habit (good or bad) didn't signify you had a psychological condition? Anybody remember when drinking on the weekends didn't mean that you were going to be an alcoholic? When did keeping everything from your or your children's childhood make you a hoarder? When did being punctual and doing the very best you could to keep your word to someone make you "co-dependent"? When did "doing unto others" indicate that you were overly concerned about what others think and you should consider "seeing someone"?
      Tina is a good friend of mine and she's been going to "support groups." Yes, groups. She must've started going only recently because suddenly everything we talk about ends up on the subject of
addiction and conditions. Everyone has one or the other or both.  She has decided that I am "co-dependent." Here's why:

I like to be on time.
If I am supposed to pick someone up, I'll be there ten to fifteen minutes before the agreed time.
I like to listen.
I was taught to treat others the way I want to be treated.

      Tina decided that since I am reliable/dependable, I have a deep-seated need to be liked/loved. I became a nurse because I "can't deal with my own problems so I deal with everyone else's." I arrive a little bit before a designated time because I want to 'go the extra mile' so people will love me. I like to listen instead of talk--because I don't want anyone to know 'the real me.' I try to follow the Golden Rule because I think that "cosmically, the universe will reward me." Meanwhile, my friend is "co-dependent," an "overeater," a "compulsive gambler" and a "social media addict." BUT...
       In all the years I have known her, Tina has never had any kind of weight problem. She has never placed a bet, played the lottery or bought a 'scratch-off.'  As for social media addiction, this girl only recently bought a cell phone! She's not on Facebook, Twitter or any of the millions of sites that exist in cyberspace. Truth is, she is a very nice person who has broken up with her boyfriend, gets a bit sad from time to time and has a habit of seeing problems where there are none. That's right, she's just a normal person looking for a syndrome. Know anyone like that?

                                Title Correction: Hello, My name is Dyane and I'm NORMAL.

                                                               You're NORMAL too!!!!
     
     
     
  

The Other Side of Father's Day

I was getting my report from the previous shift at the hospital. I worked in Coronary Observation. I previously had rooms C100-104 but on this day, I was assigned rooms C100-103 then C119. That last room was all the way at the end of the opposing hall. Why would my charge nurse give me that room?

I enter room C119, gave my little nurse's introduction and then proceed to examine the patient. He didn't seem too receptive to me. Flat affect as far as I was concerned. The man HAD had a heart attack for God's sake. What did I expect?

I took his pulse, temperature and blood pressure and then I noticed the man's name. Leon C. Cox. It flashed in my mind that this name was "supposedly" my father's name. My next thought was, "this could be my father and never know it!" But how would I know? How would I know for certain?

I completed my nursing assessment and then headed to the nurse's station. Could this man actually be my father? After twenty-nine years, is THIS how I discover who my father is?

All the information I would ever need was in his chart. Before I looked in his chart I thought to myself...What do I KNOW about my father? What had I overheard about him throughout the years? Well, he was an electrician, he lived in Maynardville, TN., his middle initial was "C" AND he was married to a woman named "Pearlie." How many men would fit that description?

 I opened his chart and every detail I just told you was there. He was my father.

My charge nurse interrupted my thoughts and asked, "Is everything alright? You look like you've seen a ghost?"
   "I haven't seen a ghost," I said, " but my father is laying down there in room C119!"
"Oh my God!" she said, "You've never seen him before?"
"No I haven't. Not until just now."
 "Well, you can't tell him who you are." she said. "The hospital would be liable if you go in there and tell him who you are. He could have another heart attack."

Really? I just discovered that a patient of mine is my biological father and my charge nurse is worried about a lawsuit?

I grew up without a mother or a father. As a kid, I decided that I was going to make something out of myself  so when I got old--at thirty--I'd find my father and show him what HE missed. I was two months away from my thirtieth birthday and BAM! My father is one of my patients!

I went back down to his room, walked in and said, "Mr. Cox, we have alot in common." After a couple of beats I added, "we are both from Maynardville."
He looked straight ahead at the bare room's wall and said, "Yeah."
"Do you know Lara Roberts or her sister Allie Wayne?"
"Yeah. " he said never taking his eyes off the wall.
"Allie Wayne is my mother."
"Yeah." he said with no emotion.
"It's been interesting meeting you." I said.

 I walked out of his room and to the nurse's station. "If the man in C119," I said to my co-workers, " calls out, needs a medication, a drink, a straw---ANYTHING--don't bother me with it."
"Is he a difficult patient?" another nurse asked.
"No, he's my father."

This was too much of a soap opera for me to handle. I traded him to another nurse and would return to my original end of the unit: C100-104.
The next day, he had been discharged, he was gone. Gone forever.

 At one time or another, every nurse I worked with on that unit came up with a reason to go in his room to see if we looked alike. Why not? This was a juicy story, right? How many nurses stumble upon the father who abandoned her twenty-nine years ago?

I never saw him again. I just meant nothing to him.

I made myself feel better by telling myself that it must've been terrifying for a man who'd had a heart attack to realize that his nurse was the daughter he had abandoned. How would she treat his life when he hadn't acknowledged hers at all?

He died four months later without ever trying to get in touch with me.

So as usual, I won't be celebrating Father's Day on Sunday. People say you can't miss what you never had but you can. I did. I missed the safety and security a father's love gives a female child. I missed the force who'd give me that safe place to fall.  I missed that love. A father's love.

Don't miss that love this Father's Day.