Dr. Crimson Nose

If I was a therapist, I am pretty sure I would not go out of town for a two-week vacation within three months of one of my patient's weddings. But, hey, that's just me. And my therapist thought nothing of cruising on out of town this week and next, right as I am crossing the line into the "it's less than three months until my wedding" zone. I have a few fantasies about where he is, which I am entitled to because I am a faithful patient so I pretty much paid for half of this jaunt. What's totally annoying is that he spends time teaching us about self-care, but he'll come back from a vacation looking like a man who has never ever seen sun screen. Have you ever tried telling your deepest thoughts to a man with a burnt red nose? (The nose ain't small, by the way.) Have you ever tried taking in a suggestion from a therapist to set boundaries to take care of yourself when said therapist's cheeks are crimson from UV poisoning?

Well, I have, and I am hoping come September 8, when Dr. Vacation returns to his post that he has the decency to at least come home with human-hued skin-- tan I will begrudgingly accept, but not red. Not this year.

Seriously, the more I think about it, the madder I get. I am supposed to face my first-ever wedding shower on September 7 and take in all the gifts, and food, and attention and people, while Dr. Crimson Cheeks gallavants around Mexico? Jesus. It better not be Mexico. I don't pay 840.00 per month to send my health care practioners to Mexico. I hope it's Italy or Croatia or Honduras. Maybe eco-tourism in Costa Rica. It better be international and it better be fabulous. And, there better be room in the suitcase for a fabulous wedding gift -- something crafted by the industrious locals-- for a certain slightly needy and neurotic patient.

I'm just saying.

I am not sure of the protocol for blogging about one's therapist. I actually have only ever read travel blogs and baby blogs. Never seen a therapist come up. So, I guess were doing some off-roading in bloggerland. Helmets on.

The best way to describe my relationship with Dr. Crimson Nose is to make what may be my last Bridled With Joy allusion to the 2008 Beijing Olympics. As emotional as it was to watch the audacious feats performed by Michael Phelps (and as physically stirring as it was to see his body with those freaking swim pants about to fall off all the time), the most emotional parts for me were seeing the athletes interacting with their coaches. Not the asshole coaches like the American pole vaulter coach who yelled at his silver-medal-winning athlete about her "getting caught in the meat grinder" right after she lost the gold to that whorish Russian woman. (He'll get his just desserts on you-tube. ha!) I am talking about the coaches whose hugs to a disappointed or elated athlete say everything you need to know about the relationship. (This is making me cry!) Did you see Laura Wilkinson's coach when she did her final Olympic dive? He held her so solidly and so lovingly-- you could see his pride and his love and his presence. Oh! and Dara Torres talking about her coach who fell ill with a serious disease before her final Olympics? One question from the media about him and Dara teared up explaining how being without him in Beijing was a huge loss for her. Granted some of the coaching relationships are strange and make me uncomfortable -- see Nastia Luikin who is trained by her father, himself a former Olympian. I was relatively open minded about the possibility that that type of a relationship could be healthy until I heard him say, "There is only one color in his house. Gold." Um, that seems a little bit extreme and a little bit perfectionistic. (Note to Nastia: Call me, I have a great therapist who will help you get more color in your life.) And, let's leave the Chinese gymnasts out of this-- they are way too young and pre-pubescent for me to do any healthy comparisons.

Ok, so putting aside the whole Father-As-Coach-To-Revive-His-Own-Olympic-Dreams, and focusing on those coaches who have been loving, and tough, and consistent, and EXPENSIVE, and a stand in for parents, and boyfriends (hey, you gotta run through the cycle of development), and teachers, and mentors, and bosses, and friends and sponsors. It's not a surprise that the relationships that stand out most to me are those between the young, accomplished, driven female athlete and the older male coach. I am the Mary Lou Retton to Dr. Crimson Nose's Bela Karolyi. That analogy is only half a joke. Actually, I relate a wee bit more to that young Karyoli-trained Olympian who, in Barcelona (or was it Atlanta?), finished her vault and ended up with a broken ankle. Kerri Strug. The iconic picture from that competition is that photo of Bela carrying her and her bandaged up ankle. You get the picture. Actually, you can see it above. I have had the experience, on more than one occasion, of Dr. C.N. carrying me (though I assure you I had way better hair than Kerri Strug and a way better outfit than those hideous white leotards).

Anyway, it's a huge relationship in my life. Coach is one dimension of the relationship. Coach more for life and relationships rather than my career, but I suppose the argument could be made (though I would never give him the satisfaction) that having learned certains skills in my work with him, I am now equipped to find coaches and mentors in all areas of my life. One of the great monuments on the way to the altar for Jeff and me was when Dr. Crimson Nose invited us over to give us a blessing. I am still processing the experience and the meal, prepared with enviable skill by the Mrs. Dr. C.N. Just this weekend, Jeff hung in our kitchen a present they brought us from another vacation: a plaque from Israel that says, "Shalom, Ya'll," which beautifully synthesizes Jeff's Jewish history and my Texas history.

One of the stops my bridesmaids and I are making with the photographer on the way to the wedding ceremony is to his office where we will pose for photographs with him. Yes, we are planning a very conventional wedding.

So, I am PO'ed he's out of town, though it sure was nice to sleep in this morning! I hope he's spending my money on his lovely wife and getting lots of rest and relaxation because he needs to bring his A game to therapy in September, October and November.