Magic

Yesterday, I spent the whole day in bed listening to a book on tape. (The Lunar Chronicles: a YA, post apocalyptic re-telling of Cinderella. Do not judge me.) Today, Heather is coming to town, and the three of us have tickets to a Cubs game. I’m supposed to be careful and avoid crowds as my immune system spirals down, but I have cleared this with the doc, and I will take hand sanitizer and medicine. I will try not to touch anything on the subway. I’ll only lick the pole once, I promise. Here’s an article if you’re worried.

Expert Claims ‘Nothing Traumatic’ Will Happen If You Lick the Subway Poles

Although I didn’t do anything yesterday, I do have something more to say about my visit with the psychologist in June. She’d asked me what the hardest thing I ever had to go through was. I told you that I immediately drew a blank. But I did, ultimately, think of something. Psychologists don’t let you off the hook that easily. I told her something about my little sister, how we are estranged, how hard it has been.

“How do you cope with that?”

“I talk to my husband.”

“How does he handle things?”

“With logic. And reality.”

“So, you’re good with reality?”

I shrugged. As long as my reality has a dose of magic in it, I’m good with it.

I went to her bathroom before I left (damn you, bladder!), and I flashed to other things that have been hard.

My mother has bone cancer and she’s doing great. It’s Atul and Reiki that have given this gift to her. She believes she’s going to live, is open to the possibilities, and a joy to be around.

But many years ago, when my mother had a triple mastectomy, her attitude was different. She had the first operation just before Memorial Day or Labor Day weekend, I can’t keep them straight. Both boobs were removed and new ones were constructed from her abdominal muscles. She was absolutely certain that she was going to die. My dad was sure she was going to live, and he kept cracking jokes about it and trying to kiss her. This didn’t help.

Over the course of the long weekend, one of the boobs started to rot. For some reason, blood wasn’t circulating. But it was a long weekend, so she would have to wait. Honestly, the whole house stank of death. My mother’s absolute certainty of her imminent demise only fanned the stench. There were a lot of tears on her part. I alternated between clenching my teeth and feeling helpless. I called my friend Amy a lot during this time, and she was funny and kind, as always.

When they took her to get a third boob (constructed from a back muscle this time), I stayed behind to scrub the death out of the house. She’d mostly been in a La-Z-Boy recliner, and I took to it with carpet cleaner and a rough sponge. I scrubbed and scrubbed, but I could not remove the wisp of death. Finally, I looked under the chair and found a dead toad. Old, petrified, and leathery.

I got a shovel, scooped it up, and flung it into the backyard. I checked under the couch. Two more toads. I found six in all, and threw them with force and anger into the yard with my Shovel of Toad Vanquishment.

Later that night, I stood at the back door. Three of the toads had gotten stuck in a tree by the crooks in their arms. I felt like I was sending a singular warning to whomever had sent the message of death. Someone thinks she’s dying here, but she’s not going to. Not on my watch. I’ve banished the toads.*

*My mother wants me to tell you that it was her cat that brought in the toads. This didn’t seem relevant to me when I wrote this yesterday, but now I’m imagining someone following me around, placing dead sparrows (Lance!) around my room in an ominous manner. So, okay, it was the cat.

Filed under Stem cell transplant for MS | Tags: Chicago, Dr. Burt, HSCT, magic, MS, stem cell transplant | Comments (14)