“Can we leave?” I asked my mother who was seated next to me in the waiting room. She ignored me like always. She was reading a magazine, and every ten seconds she would glance at the clinics’ wall clock. Thirty more minutes went by when we were finally called for our turn to see the Doctor.
He was old, but a handsome kind of old. His hair was snow white, and his eyes were a light blue. He smiled at us immediately, invitingly and offered us the two seats in front of his expensive desk. Going through some papers and medical exams, he looked up at us both and smiled. My mother as usual took the lead.
“She’s just lazy and exhausted. That’s all Doctor. She’s just looking for attention as usual. Ever since she was a little girl she’s been doing the same to everybody. If you asked me, it’s time to give her a wake up call.” His smile disappeared and looked disappointed. He looked at me next and addressed me instead of my mother.
“Do you think she’s right?” he asked. My mother didn’t like that. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me waiting for my answer.
Pasting the best lovingly smile I could muster on my face I said, “My mother is always right, Doctor.” I might have said it a little sarcastically because I saw how the doctors’ jaw twitched and a single dimple showed. My mother on the other hand took it as a positive compliment and smiled at the doctor.
“Mother knows best, doctor.” She said triumphantly. I sagged down in my seat trying to disappear from the sudden embarrassment. Sometimes I could feel so alone, other times just invisible. Mothers never knew best, they knew nothing!
“Your daughter is depressed, Mrs.” He said with authority. I stared at my doctor, wondering is he was ready to fight the next battle.
“Depressed? No daughter of mine is depressed, how embarrassing! How will people look at this?” she then addressed me, more pissed than ever, “How dare you convince this doctor of being depressed! Do you know...”
“I believe we are finished here.” Interrupting my mother, he looked at me apologetically. Unfortunately she ranted on.
“...how that would make me look like young woman! A liar, a deceiver in our family! This is unacceptable!”
The doctor basically threw a paper towards my mother (prescriptions?) and shooed us out of his office, shutting his door behind us. The nurse at the front desk looked at my mother and smile, and asked if anything went wrong. My mother gave the poor nurse the evil eye and basically punched the elevators’ buttons.
Once we were outside, and inside of the car, my mother went on and on about my depressed condition. She complained about how expensive the medications were, and how much she regretted for having a crazy daughter.