Celebration

Yesterday I was standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom with my daughter perched on a stool in front of me, holding up a piece of aluminum foil in one hand and a bottle of bright blue teal in the other. There was a big black garbage bag on the floor, just in case. Just my luck, I’d have teal all over the mirror, the walls, the countertop…you get the picture, and just before Hostess Mom Marg’s BIG PARTY, too. She’s been cleaning for weeks, (okay, days; the baking has been for weeks). My daughter had to reassure me it wasn’t THAT hard, and indeed the only place the teal ended up that it didn’t belong was all over her neck and her ears, but I learned that acetone takes off anything in that department. I would never have guessed twenty years ago I would be painting my daughter’s hair, but I kind of like it. It’s bright and celebratory.

And I need something to celebrate. It’s 2:00 am, there are strange chirps and howlings outside my window here at Janey’s new house next to the escarpment and the Bruce Trail, and I just popped a Pepcid, but it’s the first day in five weeks that I’m not being poked or prodded or pilled with something or other. My family doctor (whom I like because he has exactly as much hair on his head as I do: a lovely grey fuzz) called me up (Does your family doctor do this? I haven’t seen him for some 18 years, not since he signed Philip’s baby picture so we could get him a Canadian passport to go along with his other two). Apparently pneumonia was not enough. I had to have some other infection or other as well, and yet another antibiotic. Two at the same time. Great. His parting words were “Don’t be a stranger.” Right. But I’m off all meds now, (ok, there’s the Pepcid, but it’s over the counter). I have May Long Weekend medication free. To recuperate. Yaay. Quiddler (got my own set now, thanks C.N.M.!) Euchre. Durak. Here we come.

I’d have to say the most memorable medicating so far was when my Volunteer Home Care Nurse Becky went away for the weekend (are they allowed to do that? Ok, so it was their anniversary.) I still needed a shot every day. My husband offered eagerly (he’s been dying to try this), and I turned him down flat. Can’t say why, exactly. Host Dad Larry also volunteered, not nearly so eagerly, and I said no, but then Compassionate Nurse Marianne was just getting off shift work and supposed to be sleeping, so reluctantly I agreed to give Larry a try. Marianne texted me that if it hurt too bad she would come over in her pajamas. I texted that if it hurt, then it was too late already, but I would be showing up on her doorstep for the next day.

At least I wasn’t his first guinea pig. I mean I wasn’t his first pig. I mean at least he had experience poking some kind of critter before, though I was his first human guinea pig. He assured me it had to be easier to do a human than a squealing sow whom he had to hold forcefully in one hand while he stabbed forcefully, as quickly as he could, with the other. (He did use the word forcefully.) Before she got away. You see, I was a willing victim. I was greatly reassured. He did fine, though I realized at the end I’d been holding my breath the whole time. I felt very bonded with Volunteer Nurse Becky when she got home.

But this weekend I have no shots, no needles. I can let my body work out the kinks (and there are a few, some of which make me reluctant to go out in public) before Tuesday when it all starts up again. My daughter is here for just two more days with her bright teal top, and I am celebrating. Here in the library. Surrounded by books. Ah. Perfect weekend.

P.S. Laura wrote to say that Rejected Car is doing fine, just suffering a few bird droppings. Thanks for asking. We’re working on it.