Oh Dear & Me
Posted March 1, 2010on:
Oh, Dear Me.
Dear Old Mom.
Dear Old Me.
I love everything about the cancer center where I go except for two things:
- I have the need to go there.
- Increasingly, I have been called “dear” by staff – all with the best of intentions.
I hate to be called dear. It seems so old, like I’m someone in my 80s. So I’m trying to say – nicely – “Please call me Sue.”
The first time I mentioned it, this person was really apologetic. “Did I call you that?” he asked. “I’m sorry. It sounds so condescending.”
Yes it does.
So he doesn’t call me dear but there have been at least four others who have.
The radiation oncologist calls me Mrs. Hessel, which is my mother. I asked him to call me Sue and he said he would try, but it’s the Mayo way to be formal.
I am not formal.
Of course being in Wisconsin, it’s possible that all these people meant “deer.” I should have worn blaze orange.
I try to make a joke out of it – call me “honey,” “sweetie,” whatever, but please don’t call me dear. I really do prefer being called Sue by everyone.
Of course with me bringing up this dear thing, I may no longer be dear at all to them. I may be called “bi….”