The Night I Saw the Man Who Almost Killed Me

Sydney Bristow, spy-extraordinaire, gets her kicks in when she unexpectedly encounters her arch nemesis, Anna Espinosa. Their fight scenes on the TV show, "ALIAS," are a wanna-be tough girl's dream of getting the bad guy and teaching him/her a lesson. 


But as a "secret agent" trying to achieve my Mission Impossible to attain affordable health insurance, I never thought I'd also have my own brush with the man who almost killed me.


You might think it went something like this:

But ... um ... that isn't how it went down .......


It was a Friday night.


Friday nights were always insanity nights at Cracker Barrel. The place crawled with families, people seeking country cooking after  their long work weeks, elderly couples out for their weekly date night ... and grandmas and grandpas who had the fine task of babysitting their spawn's spawn.


Ironically, I liked Friday nights. I liked putting on the Disney Princess mask (see previous entry) and flit around the store like Tinker Bell. The average wait for a table was about an hour, so that gave me plenty of time in the ole' country general store to keep the masses entertained.


I made it my mission to play games in the toy corner with children while their moms shopped. I'd mull candy choices with those leaning against the shelves of 1950s-era sweets. I'd discuss Gooseberry cookbooks and hand-select shawls and scarves with elderly women. 


I wore my secret agent mask well, playing my part just like Sydney Bristow sashaying into a casino in Monaco.


One thing I always liked to do on Friday nights was stand right at the door entrance with unusual store items in my hands. I'd select a bizarre kitschy item and brandish it with flair. It always brought a smile to people's faces, and it always led to great conversations. Plus, people usually sought out the item in question to buy it for themselves.


On this particular Friday night, I was standing with a large green witch's hand on my head. This battery-powered contraption tapped its fingers and was meant to rest on the edge of a Trick-or-Treating candy bowl. But my head was just as good a place to put it as any.


So I stood at the door, greeting laughing people, who went straight for the Halloween display to snatch up a creepy hand of their own ... and that's when I saw him.


You've probably experienced something like this: You see someone you know. But you're in a different setting, so it's hard to place them. For example, you'd know your bank teller's name while in the bank, but if you saw him or her in line at an amusement park, you might be stumped as to how you know them.


I saw the man walk in with two small grandsons, and I immediately knew that I knew him, not just in a passing, cursory way ... but that I knew him very well. The problem was, I absolutely could not figure out how. We were in the wrong setting. As I greeted guests and brandished the witch's hand, my gaze followed the man. He was browsing the store with the children while waiting for his table. It gnawed at me. It ate at me. I felt deep down that this was an unpleasant connection. And for the life of me, it eluded me like vapor. In short, I felt like Sydney Bristow trying to place a disguised Anna Espinosa among Moroccan street vendors.


"Break time!" one of my coworkers whispered in my ear. She grabbed the witch's hand from the top of my head and put it on her own, as if that was the plan from the beginning. "You get 15 minutes tonight. I'll just stand here until you get back."


I smiled at how everyone was enjoying the witch's-hand-on-top-of-the-Cracker-Barrel-employee's-head. I excused myself and made my way back to the break room behind the kitchen.  As I chomped down on a protein bar, two waitresses breathlessly came in, chattering excitedly. One was about six months pregnant. 


"I just saw my gynecologist out there!" she said, laughing. 


"Wonder if he'll give you a good tip," the other returned.


And that's when it hit me.


That's how I knew him.


Two years earlier, I'd had a hysterectomy. The surgeon's knife hit a blood vessel, and I bled out in the OR and had flat-lined on the table. After he brought me back and sewed me up, I continued to bleed internally, and a large clot formed on the internal surgical site, resulting in so much pain for six weeks that I regularly begged God for death.


The man who I recognized in the ole' country store was my surgeon.


Shaken, I returned to my post.


"What happened to you?" my coworker asked.


"Why?"


"You're as white as a ghost! Are you okay?"


I smiled, despite a churning stomach. I felt so odd. I hadn't been back to that doctor since, and I'd always blamed him for months of a horrendous recovery -- not to mention blaming him for almost killing me.


"I'll be okay."


A woman tapped me on the arm and asked if I could gift wrap something for her. Grateful for the distraction, I got to work on the present. As I was chattering with her, I saw the surgeon in the store again. Only this time, he was eyeing me.


Does he know me? Does he recognize me? What do I say to him if he does?


I can honestly tell you that I wanted to tell this man off. But I reminded myself that I was there to do a job, and he was a customer of my employer. It wasn't the right time or place. And besides, what could be served by any of it? Even if he remembered me, what would I gain by a confrontation? Nothing would ever salve that memory. 


As I continued to wrap the present, I realized the irony of working a menial job for affordable health insurance, and right in front of me stood a man who had almost cost me everything. 


But this was a new day! With this job, I hoped to gain re-entry into the ranks of those with affordable health coverage. It was time to move ahead, not look at the past.


I still wondered, however ... of all of the patients who that man had treated, would he even remember me? What he'd done to me?


I finished tying the bow on the gift and handed it to the customer with a smile. 


That's when the surgeon deliberately walked past my gift-wrapping stand and said, "Goobye," and then ... he called me by my first name.


I caught my breath and thought, "Oh, but my name is on the name tag on my apron," and at the same time, naturally looked down at the apron.


Except.


The name tag wasn't there. I'd left it at home.




Next up Mission Impossible: Health Insurance -- "The Secret Code to Complete the Mission."