But I do not wiggle with meat and dairy. My dad is so bad about this stuff. He must have the constitution of a raccoon.
Same. And there's yet another problem...Dad can count on one hand the number of times he's had even brief tummy troubles and have plenty of fingers left over. I tease him and tell him he has the stomach of a goat.
The car story is familiar - I think something spikes anxiety sometimes and maybe that's where it comes from. The vulnerability that comes with age definitely means my father is way more openly anxious than he used to be. He called me when he got home to let me know that he made the train -- but also, he felt he would not have made it if he got the meat. So it was still on his mind.
I think you nailed it here. It's the vulnerability. With the car thing, had Dad needed to go somewhere, he could've asked the long time next door neighbors for a ride or he could've called his retired sister who lives only a few minutes away or heck, I would've left work if it was something serious enough. But he didn't like not having not just the freedom but the control to go where he wanted, when he wanted.
