John Palcewski (forioscribe) wrote,
John Palcewski

No Clue

Vittoria called. She spoke in a low voice, and with long pauses between her sentences. She was not a happy camper. The doctor told her yesterday that since she has a tendency to bleed—which he discovered a few months ago—it would be a good idea to get some blood from her parents. A backup supply to have on hand during the upcoming procedure, just in case.

“Sounds to me like a good, conservative approach,” I said.
“So I called my mom and dad,” she said. “And they flipped.”
“I guess they’re like you. Terrified of needles.”
“No. It isn’t that. I’m so confused.”
“They’re concerned about you. Didn’t you say that your father is a hypochondriac? So he’s thinking the worst about what you’re about to go through.”
“No, that’s not what I’m confused about.”
“Well, what then?”
“I talked to my mom first. I told her what the doc said. But she didn’t say anything. I said, ‘Hello? Hello? Are you still there? Did you hear what I told you?’ Then she said something like, ‘Uh, we can’t do that. You better talk to your father.’”
“So what did your father say?”
“When I told him the story, he made a funny sound, and dropped the phone.”
“He dropped the phone?”
“Yes, I heard it clattering on the floor.”
“When he picked it up I asked him, ‘What’s wrong?’ He said, ‘I’m so sorry.’ It sounded like he was totally stressed out. And crying. It scared me.”
“So what else did he say?”
“He said that they couldn’t do it. I said, ‘WHAT? Why can’t you do it?’”
“What did he say then?”
“He just said again, ‘We can’t do it, and please don’t press it.’”
“I was stunned. I didn’t know what in hell to say. Then I told him, ‘Oh, so I’m just supposed to accept that my own father won’t give his daughter blood?’ He said, ‘I know how you are, you want an answer. But I can’t give it to you now.’ I got so mad I hung up on him. I heard the phone ringing again right afterward, but I wouldn’t pick it up.”
“Something is up here. What is it? I’m so confused. And scared.”

I thought for a while. Yes, indeed, something was up. Something big. But what? Nothing came to mind. Finally I said, “What I don’t get is why they won’t give you a reason. Have you talked to your sister? Maybe she knows something.”
“I already called her. She has no clue. She’s as confused as I am. She said, ‘This is so bizzare, you know mom and dad would do anything for you.’”
“Well, there just has to be a good reason.”
“What could it be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe their doctor told them they can’t give blood.”
“But why?”
“Maybe they have some sort of virus, or an infection or something. And they don’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “I asked him if they were sick, and he said no, he was fine and so was mom.”
That family of hers, I thought. Don’t ever talk openly about anything no matter how important. Just clam up and pretend nothing is happening. And pops. Totally hard-headed. Once he makes up his mind, that’s it. Forget it.

“Obviously they believe that not giving you blood would be better than giving it. They wouldn’t refuse you otherwise.”
“They’re hiding something.”
“Yes, they are.”
“But what?”
“Sweetpea, I have no idea. I can imagine how this is making you feel right now.”
“I’m very upset. I can’t believe this.”
“Call him back. Tell him he owes you an explanation.”
“I already told him that. But you know how he is. He won’t budge.”
“I’m going to throw up. I’ll call you later.”


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