The General is like the Wolf, you know - from Pulp Fiction. You call him and something gets done. Even just saying 'Calm down, I'm sending G,' gives people a boost of morale. but ... His power is not infinite. It takes a toll on him and even though he would rather die than admit it, he does stress - it shows on his skin and how much he needs to sleep. It would be too easy having him solve every issue everyone I know faces. He'd do it. He'd get it done. But where would the happy hours of the day then fit?

As Mondays go, again, turbulent weekend, and dad's condition is getting worse - again mum has failed to reach anyone who would be willing to pick up the phone. We are talking about an assigned family medicine doctor, fully paid, insured, obliged to help. But no, not picking up the phone, hardly answering mail (I mean the nurse answers the mail.) We have no idea whether his condition is the body trying to clean itself, a reaction to the treatment or the infection getting to a stage where it will again erupt in septic shock. We just don't know. We just know he is getting completely and utterly defeated by pain and inability to move and occasionally spiking fevers. And the fucking doctor is not picking up the phone - the number given to patients to call if they ever need anything, anything at all. Mum can't figure out a way to get him to the waiting room, because she needs to park somewhere and can't leave dad outside for ten minutes, with no-one bothering to assist her. (My sister can't leave the dog alone, because he scratches his ears when alone, you know.) I have a dentist's appointment and G, who should take me, has work right after. 

You should see the look on his face when I told him I'll be okay, I can go to the dentist myself. It's like I was saying it's okay, I can deliver this baby myself, you go do the next most important thing. He considers my emotions paramount and it makes me feel ashamed at times, to make a big deal out of something trivial. It's a big deal to me, of course, when I am alone in my little universe. I do need him to take me and watch over me, especially at times when the dentist asks: do you want me to pull the tooth or do you want to pay a fucking fortune for reconstruction? It's not my only bad tooth. I have no fucking idea!

But to tell mum 'I am sending G', and he gets the doctor on the phone and he gets a nurse to come see dad and take his vitals and blood and to have G on stand-by in case dad needs to be transported - that solves almost all of the problems mum and dad are having right now, today. We are such lost, dependable people. Being helpless is catastrophic to our wit: needing help and not getting it and not understanding why. 

'Calm down. I'm sending G."

'Isn't he supposed to take you to the dentist?'

'I'll live. This is more important.'

What a moronic, insignificant conversation to have as an adult. Dad's leaking legs or my crown reconstruction. What a lighthouse G is. How embarrassing and how scary, what would we do without him? We are terrible at solving shit. We are even terrible at inspiring people to help/assist us. And he gets it done in an hour. An hour that could be spent having coffee outside in the sun, eating macarons and talking about the movie we last saw last night. In another little universe.