nanowritmo 4 / between the lines

Between the Lines /Janis Ian












As J had fallen out of favor, he was replaced by his younger sister B. However, there was a significant qualitative differences between the two. While J was ‘the doctor’ appropriately married and well on his way to conventional respectability, B was an artist.



She had meandered her way hitchhiking across Europe, eventually finished an art degree, lived in a commune and then married a Buddhist, whom at that point she was divorcing. Since she lived much closer to Mother than either I or J and she was willing to court her, asking advise and considering all responses as pearls of wisdom, I figured it was only a matter of time until B became executrix. For reasons I never knew, that didn’t happen.




In addition to diet changes, the next several years also saw an influx of doctors and specialists. Never was I given whole names or locations and never was my opinion considered.


“I don’t think a doctor that tells you, you can never be too thin is a good doctor… No, I do not think you should be fat…. So exactly what kind of a doctor is he?” The subject was changed.


“So, does ‘Dr. Tom have a last name?’… Are you going to share it?”


“What kind of a specialist?.... That’s a blood test for diabetes…. No, I’m not saying I think you have diabetes, do you?.... What kind of a specialist is he then?”


After years of no answer, I stopped. I heard in detail every line item number on endless charts and blood work. I also heard how through her diet or lack there of she had completely reversed the heart disease that had caused her trouble and now had a perfectly find heart. And yet…


As time went on, Mother’s list of aliments beyond hunger increased, but never with consistency. In the same conversation where she’d tell me at length about this ache or pain, she’d also report at length on the myriad of blood work that had all shown signs of great improvements. According to her, she was healthy than ever, but had all these un-diagnosable aliments.


Eventually the string of doctors and other medical professionals became narrowed down to three. The person I presumed was the general physician, a cardiologist and a physical therapist. Although I could never discern which doctor was in what location or a complete name, I did find out that the PT was in her town and she was seeing him for a pull in her shoulder.


Things had been going on in a steady pattern for quiet some time when I got the first call.