Eve of Destruction: A Public Thank You (3/2000)

Doctors are still “acting as pharmacists” my brother said when updated on my still unknown malady.  They ask you a battery of questions so they can pigeonhole you into a category.  Unfortunately, for me, we’re still waiting to be pigeon holed.  Or, as my doctor says, we’re waiting for the results to come back.

It took a lot for Mike to call me long distance.

  We usually correspond through e-mail.  He’s very busy commuting between Tucson and Phoenix between his and his wife’s jobs.  We used to e-mail about where to go on our annual family trip.  Somewhere between my e-mail on Yellowstone and his on Hawaii my mother telephoned him and suggested he call me this time.

My sister Charlotte picked up Sam from school for me last Friday night.  She hung around through dinner because her own kids were away on their first weekend in Mammoth with their dad.  She offered to baby sit during the week on her one day off but then Ruth, the director at Town and Country, called Sunday night to say they could make room Samantha full time if need be.

Liza is loving filling in for me at work because she needs the funds for her upcoming nuptials.  I got tired of daily updating her every day, while she had to put her own plans on hold, to see if I needed her to work for me the next.  I called her last night and told her to work every day she could, I thank God to have her, and I will call her only if and when I’m able to return.

Kim, my doctor’s partner’s secretary, sent a lovely muffin–filled basket a week ago.  I thanked her and her staff and, in the same phone call, let my boss of the hook.  He can send something if I’m hospitalized.  After working for him the past nine years I don’t plan on just letting him off the hook so easy, the basket will have to be carried in by my four co-workers or I’m not coming back!

Best friend Kim Rosen brought me a change of clothes, folded my laundry, delivered a blended coffee kiosk drink, let me cuddle her new baby She-Ra (Hebrew or Yiddish for Samantha), entertained me with stories from the gym (Karen, what we’re you thinking when you cancelled her membership?) filled my fridge with homemade pesto sauce and tortilla soup.

Mandy came later making a meal I had to photograph because I couldn’t sit upright long enough to enjoy it.  Between the chicken cordon bleu and her own homemade pasta sauce laid a wilted sprig of some kind.  I felt a kinship with that leaf but I didn’t want to say anything to ruin her gorgeous dinner.(She and her husband are the “spokespeople” for the Home and Garden Show in antelope Valley.)  She followed that up by removing my fake, moldy fingernails.

  Then she and Jeff cleaned up the dishes and put away all the toys the kids had out.

My  mother, my saving grace, has been here almost every day keeping Samantha busy on adventures.  Today they’re off returning library books, checking out the new Jan Heidt train station and the new Hart Hall at Hart Park.  I can’t tell you how envious I am.

I can’t fathom how I would get along without them because, I see I forgot to mention it, the husband tore his rotator cup and can’t move his right shoulder.  We joked about it at the time because in eighteen years of knowing each other we’ve never been injured together.

  He went from looking at me as a judging paramedic to snatching my pain meds.  Now we talk in numbers.  In a scale from one to ten he’s a three and I’m a three.  Unless of course I stand up or Samantha grabs at his right arm.  Then we wrestle each other for the pain meds because we’re an eight.

Laughing all the way.  We can’t believe what’s happening to us.  But, more than that we can’t believe how many people love and care about us.  Especially now that they are forced into showing it.  I relish the feeling but want to rid myself of the illness.

Am I crazy?  Thanks to all those taking care of the Bushman’s.  And thank you Mighty Signal for printing this.