The Big Chill

There was one Bewitched episode in which (if I remember correctly) someone, probably Darren, was in the midst of raving about some great invention, to which Sam retorted "Yet you still haven't got a cure for the common cold." (or something of the like). In my quest for sugar-free cough suppressants today, I took a minute to marvel at the impressive display before me: racks of lozenges, sprays, instant-melt strips, rubs, vapors in every flavor. No, we still haven't got the cure, but we sure are compensating well. The utilitarian (and confused shopper) in me wished there were just one generic lozenge, THE Lozenge, with its appropriate dose of menthol and benzocaine for my consuming pleasure. Flavor not needed. If I really wanted watermelon, I could have got me some Jolly Ranchers, thank you very much.

Finally in line with my stock of store-brand lozenge, tissue box, and chicken broth, my eyes bloodshot and nose erythematous from the irritation of paper towels upon them, I thought of how appropriate this sudden onset of illness was. In fact, it was years overdue. Years of running in the rain, walking out with undried hair, tempting fate, only to succumb to the strange viruses that plague children on the pediatric ward. I am reminded that I do not play the sick role well, trying to overcome illness by running six miles rather than four, thinking that surely exercise would boost my immunity, continuing to go to work, blowing my nose out during morning rounds. Lovely. We thought sick people were supposed to stay in the ER, awaiting the mercy of the triage nurses.

But I indulge in this new role, sublimating it to the best of my ability. (when that maculopapular rash begins, will it be centripetal or centripedal?) Loving the feeling that my call home this week will not be laden with uncertainty and silence, because illness is the most interesting topic of all. Mothers will take every opportunity to reassert their role. Loving the ability to validate 6 hour naps during the day when I ought to be studying.

I should do this more often. Hopefully before a cure for the common cold finally gets out.

Mumsy.

Mumsy.
Originally uploaded by Daisy72580.

The usual scene this morning, moments before I get into my car to drive back to Valhalla. My mother got up at 7 AM this morning, probably in hopes of being downstairs first, so she could have all my care-packages in neat plastic bags (and directions for use, no less).

The vacuum sealed salmon must be eaten within 3-4 days. Remember to refrigerate the squash. (No I like rotten squashes). Why do you eat so much squash? don't you want some shrimp?

I would like to remind her that I'm 24, and was perfectly capable of eating squash 3 meals a day, 7 days a week if I wanted. But I did not have the heart.

Yesterday she completed the best sewing project, in the history of her sewing things for me. Amid legions of pants cropped to the mid shin (before capris were fashionable), or dresses made sizes to large, there is now, the perfectly sleeved white coat; dirty hems neatly hemmed away. When I sat down to write my notes today in the ED, I did so with remarkable ease.

I think of how her personality so often gets in the way of her good intentions. Unashamedly dogmatic and vociferously judgmental, she is locked and closed to persuation. And when pushed further, she explodes. And so I've learned to take it all in. And implode. Distress where the rest of the world cannot see. Because I am afraid to fuel the fire; suffering in silence to avert the massacre. But ultimately I am happy I do. Because it would only be fair to her that I follow her rules. Behind all of them are good intent, unwavering. She does not want me to eat rotten squash. Is all.

This becomes most obvious to me when watching her getting smaller from my car window, waving in pantomime.

I think it might be then when I miss her the most.

Picture 014

Picture 014,
originally uploaded by Daisy72580.

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