My revamped attitude toward money is really kicking in. I still have a little unease when it comes to thinking about bills in general, though they're all up to date. I find putting everything on auto-pay so I don't have to actually read my mail is a huge help--I just have to remember to check my balance around the first of the month to make sure my mortgage payment will go through. Unfortunately auto-pay isn't an option for the water bill, so I try to keep an eye out for that one.
So when I found out Dmitri needs a second surgery, and that it will likely cost around $1200, I was surprised and pleased by my lack of queasiness. After a day or so, I remembered I still have a little money left in a savings bond that I'd been using as an emergency fund. I decided to use it for the surgery, and that was that.
Then some friends found out how much D's surgery will cost, and while they're not rich, they're certainly more financially stable than me. They have insisted on paying it and won't take no for an answer. Dmitri is a close friend of theirs, too, and they've been in similar situations in the past.
What's weird is that when they told me they plan to pay for it, my first reaction wasn't relief, or discomfort with their offer, or hurt pride at not being able to take care of my finances. Which is weird--I would expect the hurt pride thing, at least. I just thought, "Oh."
I reflexively refused the offer (which is how I know about the insisting), though I didn't have any emotions either way about it. This made me curious, and I had to sit and think about why I tried to refuse.
When explaining it to my friends later, I was reminded of an event in my childhood--nothing earth shattering, just a small memory that's always stuck with me. I was at our preacher's house, and they had some people over for something that involved potluck. All church activities involved potluck, and I loved potluck. I loved food. I still love food. I was not involved in whatever activity was going on, though. I was just waiting for a ride.
Virginia, the preacher's wife, asked me if I was hungry and said I could help myself to whatever was on hand. I told her I wasn't hungry, which was a lie. I finally let myself have a single Pringles potato chip.
Looking back, I think, "Wow. That was fucked up." My parents had instilled in me the importance of not being any trouble, not taking up any space and always saying, "No, thank you," no matter what was offered, that I couldn't let myself even grab more than a single potato chip at a gathering with plenty of food.
Sometimes, though, the polite thing to do is to let people help--to let them feel the satisfaction of knowing that they can help. Sometimes I'm so stuck on not being any trouble that I can shut people out and frustrate them when there's nothing they'd rather do than be there for me.
I don't really care where the money comes from for Dmitri's surgery. Somehow I had the confidence that it would be paid for, whether from emergency funds or a winning lottery ticket. I've always paid for my pets' health care in the past, sometimes with anxiety, sometimes resignation, but it's always been doable. I based my assumption for this occurrence on that fact. That assumption opened the door, I believe, for the universe to provide for Dmitri through my friends.
So I have graciously and gratefully accepted their offer.
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