1. My mom flew away on a big jet plane last night. This morning I woke feeling energetic but a bit frightened. Could I be a lone parent all day long until Jon got home tonight at six? I determined I was up to the challenge. Besides, what choice did I have? So, I showered, got Eva up and dressed, and pretended I could handle it. My mother’s lifelong motto is “fake it ‘til you make it,” and that’s just what I was doing. It was somewhere in the middle of making pancakes while loading the dishwasher while stabbing my syrupy pancake with a fork that I realized I might want to take a step back for a few days/weeks/months and “fake it” less. Most of my pancakes burned and I was still hungry by the time I managed to push the dishwasher’s ON button. I think my cancerous archenemy has stolen my ability to multi-task.
2. Evil antagonist Cancer is also a money thief. I received yet another bill yesterday, this time for expenses in the amount of $3,280 for a Dr. Madden. Confusion set in as I realized I had no idea who this man was. Not my brilliant neurosurgeon. Not my anesthetist, who I spoke with for a total of 2 seconds before I passed out cold. And then I saw the details: “Electrode Stim, Brain Add-on; Electrode Stimulation, Brain.” Huh. Apparently I have been the victim of electrocution by expensive faceless person. Dear me. The plot thickens. I imagine myself lying prone while being zapped and poked as different parts of my body jerk reflexively into the air. Wait a minute—I suddenly remember peeling A LOT of odd looking patches off of my body a week later… Could that have been my first clue, easily missed because of the opiates? Perhaps we’ll never know… I might expend some of my flagging energy and do some research into electrode stimulation if I actually had to pay the bill, but luckily I have fantastic insurance. I will not press charges.