My doctor said I could travel, but Mom was reluctant.
“I’m not traveling with you–you’re a ticking time bomb!” she said. Continue reading
As I started telling you in Part Three, the tedious part of addressing my adrenal tumor started to sink in during the days following my initial diagnosis.
Taking a subway-to-the-bus just to go to the hospital or to Dr. E’s office. Going home or to the office from there is even more awkward.
Walking to the lone CVS in my neighborhood, wondering why it’s one of the few places in all of NYC that doesn’t deliver.
I knew to dread Christmas. Because obviously, Mom and my first Christmas without Dad would be hard. My body created a buffer of sorts: I was sick in bed with bronchitis for three days beginning Christmas Eve, leaving Mom to fend for herself. I was so ill I couldn’t even feel guilty until later.
I anticipated that the month of February would be painful between Valentine’s Day and Mom’s birthday. Dad was a romantic who enjoyed planning surprises for his wife and took pride in his gift giving.
My mother is crying.
I am sitting with my arms around her in a gesture meant to comfort, but it’s a perfunctory effort. My arms may as well be made of wood, and my heart, of stone.
It’s February and we are in Florida, attempting to celebrate my mother’s first birthday without Dad. Mom is raw and unsteady. As brittle and delicate as a fallen leaf. When I arrive at the airport, I hug her and try to find the right thing to say. Saying the wrong thing, even a sincere “how are you?” brings her to tears some days. But my own eyes stay dry.
I am a terrible daughter.
Yep. It’s going to be…interesting.
She doesn’t find me funny (at all) and we tend to bicker. But we’re going via a tour – an upscale tour that will hopefully spare me from embarrassing Americans asking for embarrassing American things – so there will be other people to hang out with when we get on each other’s nerves. Hopefully Mom will make at least one friend to hang out with when she gets annoyed with me (and so I can sneak away for a nap!).
Our tour has a few meal gaps. While I can certainly Google, I would love to arrive in Italy armed with personal suggestions. Continue reading
I had never thought to make a list of questions I don’t want to be asked in the presence of my mother. That is, not until my mother took me to a hometown ER for the first time in my adult life this past Saturday.
Upon my arrival in triage, the ER nurse spoke.
“What is your weight? Please step on the scale.”
WEIGHED IN FRONT OF MY MOTHER? THANKS DUDE-NURSE.
I wobbled in that direction–partly from illness, mostly from dread. I had been sick for about three days, but unfortunately my appetite for Christmas cookies was unaffected. My weight, a number carefully hidden from Mom, would soon be revealed. Continue reading