Twisted.

“Call me if you need to.  Otherwise, I’ll see you in May, when you’re working full-time and completely freaking out about it.”

These were the parting words of Robin, my NP, earlier this afternoon.  Right before she patted me on the shoulder, wished me Merry Christmas, and sent me out of her office.

I sat in my car and cried.

May?

As in the May that’s five months from now?

I should be thrilled about this.  I should be shouting it from the rooftops.  I am healthy!  I am no longer required to make monthly trips to Robin’s office so she can check up on me – I don’t have to be weighed, or harassed, or see her again for a whole five months!

But I’m not thrilled about this.  Honestly, I think I’m struggling to even be happy about this.  How can I not see Robin every month?  How can I still be okay if she’s not checking up on me all the time?  My nurse practitioner has always been a safety net – how can I possibly be safe if she’s not there? 

I hate that this is bothering me so much; I feel like I’ve become the nightmare client who has no respect for professional boundaries.  I’m like that character on Monk, who gets upset when his therapist refuses to meet with him on the weekends.  Or the guy in What About Bob? who tracks his psychiatrist down while he’s away on vacation.

Maybe I am blowing things out of proportion – I will admit that I tend to do that sometimes – but that’s honestly what I feel like.  I’m nervous I won’t be okay, and I’m also worried that my relationship with Robin will change if I’m not so sick any more.  Isn’t that twisted?