She Called Me Marcia

I didn't even want to talk with that adjuster, but I knew that if I wanted to drive between now and when we find a replacement vehicle, I needed to make that call. I dialed with trepidation, it rang a few times, and she answered it politely. I identified myself like I always do - This is Barbara Gruener - and I went on to say that I'd like to discuss a rental vehicle for when I'm ready to drive. And that's when she called me Marcia. She said something like this: 

I'm sorry, Marcia, but what is that claim number? 

Now here's where it gets tricky and slightly confusing 

because I'm not saying that she called me the wrong name on purpose {although I do wonder how she got Marcia out of Barbara}. 

Maybe she just didn't hear me. 

Regardless, that was 

the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back 

for me. 

I got my question answered 

{she said she could authorize a rental car for a week}, 

made small talk about how I was doing 

{I agree that it was nice of her to ask}, 

thanked her for her help, 

hung up the phone and 

had a major meltdown. 

Home alone. 

All by myself. 

On Valentines' Day afternoon.

I crawled under the covers and sobbed for what seemed like a very long time {at least 10 minutes}. I thought maybe I'd catch a little shut eye before my afternoon check-in with my doctor because a good cry like that always leaves me exhausted. But sleep afterward is tenuous, too, because I also find it difficult to breathe after a good boohoo. And since my darling Valentine (and today's driver) would be home in less than an hour, there really wasn't enough time for a worthwhile power nap anyway.

So I got up, dried my tears, picked up some fun gel pens and the journal that Maria sent to me and started to do what's the most therapeutic for me; I started to write. In cursive! With colorful gel pens!! Now that the hard cast on my right wrist has been replaced by a removable brace, I find it a lot less cumbersome to actually write. And as I got my feelings out, I figured out that it's not because she called me Marcia that opened up the flood gates today, but more the realization that right now there's not a lot that's up to me. Someone else is calling the shots. Insurance reps are deciding which doctors I get to see and how many appointments I have to have, how much PT {call it physical therapy if you like; I've come to know it as personal torture} I'm allowed, whether or not I can have a rental so that I can eventually go car shopping with the measly amount that they decided to give me for a total-loss van. In fact, I haven't been in control of very much. at. all. this past month. And with every decision that's made for me, it feels like I'm getting hit head-on all over again, like I'm stuck at the scene of that horrific collision.

The good news is that this, too, will pass. That's what a good cry typically does for me, gives me time to reflect and regroup. I am in a spot which is not at all comfortable for me because I do not particularly like not being in control and I really don't like knowing that I don't have a lot  much  anything to give right now.  

I like the sound of the words - for now - because 

I know that that will change, too. 

In the meantime, I've got my top five answers ready for when friends and family ask me how they can help: 

5.  Please don't tell me your drunk driver stories because I'm finding them hard to process and not helpful to me right now. 

4.  Please do keep praying for peace as I ride this roller coaster and start to process through my emotions.

3. Please feel free to give me a ride to one of my many upcoming PT appointments if you're in the area. 

2.  Please feel free to call, write or text to check in on me. 

1.  Whatever you do, please don't call me Marcia.