Poker Chick wishes Emily hadn't executed her archive-mania so quickly because then you'd be able to read how she is feeling right now in words much more eloquent than her own. Still, this post will give readers a taste; it refers to an early post where she decided she's not getting involved anymore. In this case, she was nobly trying to help her sister find her cat a home while the husband endured chemotherapy. She found a home for the cat, drove five hours alone in a car with the vomitous feline, and still somehow managed to piss these ungrateful people off. Here's Poker Chick's version of the same damn story.
We start with concern over Big Boy. He had some unnerving test results, and Poker Chick happened to have a personal friend that specializes in the kind of medical advice he desperately needed. Nothing major, just the usual "do I have cancer?" (probably not) and "do I need surgery?" (probably yes) kind of stuff. The medical establishment in his country did not exactly instill confidence with their wishy-washy recommendations and "inconclusive" results. So what did Poker Chick do? That's right peeps, she tried to help.
She had him send copies of the test results. Showed them to her friend. The friend took them to his office. Reviewed (and interpreted) them with his partner. Discussed options. Discussed costs. Made a recommendation. And offered to see Big Boy. Big Boy agreed to get this second opinion but only had one day free before leaving the country to go back home. Though they were booked for weeks, her friend pulled a hail-mary: An appointment. Hospital rounds were re-arranged, the office was going to open at 7, and Big Boy would be seen by the team that books up for months in advance. All the time he needed. Laying out his options in English. Only one problem.
The appointment was for 8am, and that didn't work for Big Boy. He had a 10am appointment he was worried about missing. Could it be 3? Um, no. This isn't a freakin' McDonalds! When Poker Chick's friend had her c-section, did she say "oh gee, 7am doesn't really work for me. How's 5? Could I get the Operating Room at 5?" No, she di'int. That would be absurd. But that's exactly what was happening here.
Poker Chick persevered, suppressed her immediate urge to scold, wanting to do the right thing. She offered a solution: she would order a car. Order it herself, give them directions. She was willing to pay for it if that was the issue. All Big Boy would have to do is get into the car at 7am and they'd take him there, he'd see the doctor, and they'd take him directly from there to his appointment. Great, right?
Yeah, right. He didn't want to wake up that early. Couldn't wake up that early. See, at his age, he needs his sleep. Too bad her friend couldn't sleep in either now that he had to go into the office at 7am anyway, but it's cool. Poker Chick is sure he doesn't need sleep and his wife and two small kids with ear infections didn't need his help at home anyway. Poker Chick was annoyed but prepared to call her friend with her tail between her legs.
OK, we get it. He's ungrateful. But no, it gets better!
Big Boy yelled at her. No, screamed. Five minutes of justification why he can't do it and she should have known and can't she change it and she doesn't understand blah blah blah. He couldn't believe she did it for 8am, doesn't she know how important his later appointment is? How could she expect him to do that? She sighed and curtly said goodnight which was of course somehow offensive to him as well.
Yes, we know we can't believe it either. Silly Poker Chick. Don't you know better than to get involved?