The New M.E. Generation











A few months went by and the communication continued either by emails or text messages.

A long weekend was coming up about a month and a half away and was planning a road trip with a guy friend of mine from high school to a location not that close to him, but way closer to where I currently live.

So I wrote him an email that read like this: ‘Don’t know what you will be doing for the long weekend, but I’m going to be upstate with a friend. I’m saying this so you don’t complain to me later that you wished I would have told you.’

He replied a few days later that he didn’t know what his plans were since basically they were governed if he had his kids or not for that week. He also mentioned that the distance between his location and mine was about a 2-hour drive, so when and where we could meet were other logistics to define.

Definition: ‘I’m so busy there’s no way I can move things around and make it happen.’ I knew this was the answer he would give me. No surprise here yet again.

He asked me where I would be staying. I said at my friend’s family home. I took the opportunity to even mention that my friend has been that since my early teens and he lived in another state. I said this because I knew he would question my relationship and didn’t want to ruin the only chance of maybe meeting.

Whichever way I explained it, it was going to be an awkward situation. My school friend has known me forever and has been at my side through all my good and bad moments.

After learning of how the ‘beach guy’ has been behaving, he felt I was having hope on something that would never happen. He knew how badly hurt I’ve gotten in the past and didn’t want me to go through that again.

Then there’s the beach guy. As much as I tell him ‘we’re just friends’, I know he won’t believe that. If I was he, I would really thought it over about driving 2 hours and seeing me with another guy.

Also, where would he sleep if he decided to stay for the night, in the couch?

No definite plans have been decided and my anxiety level is already going overboard.

What is it about me that, no matter what I do, I always have some sort of complicated matter with a guy (or guys)?

Comments? Universe? Any one?

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Johann took me for a tour of the ship and showed me all that he could of it. I was really interested in this naval life of his and asked him a lot of questions. My mom walked around on her own keeping an eye on me. I kept my distance at all times while walking with him.

He also behaved properly. He had to, not because he was ‘working’, but because his fellow sailors were watching him closely. I’m sure they were curious about me and would grill Johann afterwards about my presence. All this attention was unfamiliar to me.

A few hours later the ship announced that the visiting hours were over. I thought it would be the same for my encounter with Johann.

I don’t remember who asked whom first, but we agreed to exchange addresses (‘snail mail’ in those days that is). I do remember that my mom had a scrap piece of paper and pen on her purse. I tore it in half and each wrote the information in whatever space was available. I also included my phone number.

I noticed that his address was on the ship. I asked him how he would receive mail while sailing around the world. He explained that it was sent home to Europe and then forwarded to the ship in the country they were visiting. It sounded like the mail traveled more than the ship itself.

Another thing that happened before I left (again, don’t recall who initiated it) was that he would try to call me the next day (Sunday) and hopefully meet somewhere outside the ship, like the beach.

I have no recollection of what happened after I left the ship. I know I went back home with my mom and that was probably the end of the activities for that day.

I don’t think my mom questioned me on my meeting with Johann. I probably did tell her that he might call the next day to which she expressed no objection.

Back home I’m sure I had the biggest smile on my face. But looking back I now realize that that day happened in part because my mother made it possible.

Question is: why did she go along with it?

Like I said before, she was very protective of me. This situation is something I never gave thought to until now.

The answer is: I don’t know (yet). I’ll think about it and get back to that later.



I get a call from my financial planner informing me that my health insurance had been approved. That’s great news for me. I may have had a rough year, but I’m proud at myself that I got this matter resolved, especially when my annual gynecological visit was coming up.

I called the medical office to make an appointment and, as usual, there’s no immediate availability for any of the doctors I have met with before but until six months from now.

I insisted with the appointment setter that my exam was due and that I would take any open date.

“Well,” said she, “there’s availability next week with ‘Dr. H.’”
(Darn it! I know all the other ones in the group and there’s no choice but with one I have no idea who it is? So it’s either him or half a year from now. What it is going to be?)
“Fine, book it. Thank you.”

My appointment day arrives and I’m a nervous wreck, as always. I basically hate having to take my clothes off, wear a hospital gown, plus get touched all over during the examination.

What in a guy’s right mind would motivate him to become a gynecologist? I mean, you’re dealing with naked bodies of all shapes and size the whole freaking day.

And what about the births? You really need to have a thick skin to make them happen.

And another thing…(the doctor walks in into the examination room), who are you??
(OMG!!! My ob-gyn is a hottie!!!)
I’m trying to conceal my obvious facial expression of amazement, and his is of ‘oh, no, not again.’

We reviewed the usual health questions, and I kept looking at him throughout the whole conversation.

“All right,” said he, “let’s do your check-up.”
(Fine by me! Take all the time that you need.)

The examination felt quicker than in previous years and everything went very smoothly.

“Well, all done,” said he. “I hope there was no discomfort.”
(None whatsoever. Honey, you can keep touching me all that you want.)

My ob-gyn finished writing his notes on my medical chart. I’m still looking at him very attentively.

“Do you have any last questions for me?”
(Yes, like, are you single? If you are, what are you doing for lunch or after work, or the rest of your life?)
“Ah, nope.”

Dr. H exits the room and I remained seated on the examination table for a couple of minutes.

Damn it! I know what’s happening to me. I’ve been alone for a while and feel that I’m ready to have a relationship again.

But, am I feeling this because I’m alone or because I am really ready to take a chance at love?

I don’t know.

Only time will tell.



I hung up with my brother and then had to call my mother to gather some additional information for the life insurance application.

“Mom, what age did dad have when he passed away?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?? Weren’t you married to him for over 10 years?” She doesn’t give me an answer. “OK, let’s try this another way. How much older was dad to you?”

“No more than five years.”

“So based on your current age of (60 something), we can then assume that he was (somewhere in his 70’s).”

“But I’m younger than that age you said.”

“Mom, didn’t you have me at 28?”

“No, 26.”

“Mother! I’m not picking numbers here to play the lottery’s million-dollar jackpot. I need accurate data.”

The only thing missing here was to have asked my mom what my real birth year was. I mean, everyone tells me I look younger than the actual age I have (or believe to have). I’m wondering if something funny happened on the way to Demographic Registry when my brother and I became part of this world.

I took a long, deep breath. My agent was still sitting patiently (bless her!) and I gave her a look of ‘bare with me here, please.’

“All right mom, let’s give this another shot. How old are you now?” (She gives me an age.) So, aiming for the perfect score, let’s add five more years, which means that dad’s age at the time of his passing was this (I give her the number), right?” She approved over the phone. “Thank you. Bye!”

I looked at my planner with a face of ‘finally, mission accomplished.’ She then explained the next step in the process.

“You have to undergo a blood test to make sure you don’t have a medical condition or something that could affect the insurance.

A lab technician will be contacting you in the next few days to set up an appointment, and will come to your apartment for the testing.

If the results are satisfactory, you should be covered sooner than later.”

Sounds easy enough.

Great, things still moving forward. If only the rest of my life would run as smoothly as this.



et cetera