The Bank

Paige asked me today if any part of me is enjoying my convalescence. Now that I’m free of icky drains and off all narcotics, it would be a good idea to savor this freedom from mundane mommy tasks. But I’m not. There are still three concerned grandparents in the house, my energy status is a frequent topic of conversation, and unavoidable chemotherapy is scaring the crap out of me. As ungrateful as it sounds, there’s just no amount of help and support that makes this not suck. I didn’t really know how sneaky this depression was until I sprung out of here alone and ended up at the bank.

Today I went against all doctor’s orders and common sense and drove the car. By myself. It was way too soon, hurt like hell, and was kind of scary considering I needed to maneuver back home using only slight turns (which is impossible in my rotary rich neighborhood). Also, you’d think for my big, breakout alone, I would have had a much sexier destination. But there were checks to deposit, and not a single teller wondering if I’m getting enough protein.

Bernie’s parents are going home tomorrow. They might have some small notion that I want them to go, because I ask them every day when they are leaving. To assuage my guilt, and to prevent further badgering which would delay longer my indulgence in really bad television, I consented to some late night energy work. A-Gong’s cursory energy audit revealed that I’m running on empty. He and A-Ma proceeded to gift me some of theirs. Now I can’t sleep. But my fingers are really warm. He also taught me some exercises to generate my own energy. This involves holding a pose that makes me look prepared to return a mean volleyball serve. This was so funny to me, it kind of knocked me right out of my funk.

In all honesty, I felt all tingly warm after the energy infusion. The fact that I cannot shake these chills no matter how many sweaters I wear probably means A-Gong is right. So after they leave tomorrow, I will try harder to enjoy this forced downtime in the only, truly guilt-free way: letting my own mommy take charge. And although she cannot remember which road leads to CVS and once approached the rotary clockwise, I’m not risking another solo drive just yet. Especially not to the bank. No lollipops.

One response

  1. Pingback: Why I Got Cancer | East Meets Breast

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