Pocket Notes

During the past few weeks getting out of the house has been a challenge in the morning.

Even though we have not started a new school and we did not have a nice long 2 month summer break from school, X has shown a major case of schooliosis.

The fits start when it is time to get dressed and don't end until I have calmed him down, pumped him up, and repeatedly reassured him in his classroom that I will return.

He started calling me "mama", and Bri "dada" again, and drop offs have been peppered with sobs and intermittent wails of, "don't LEAVE me MAMA". If any words could ever fracture a heart for real those would be it.

And then I start my day, already a little beaten down.

I sit in my car, in the driveway of my patient's house, stalling. I don't want to go in. I know the questions that are coming, they are the same ones she asked me two days, two weeks, and 2 months ago. And I know my replies are the same. I try to come up with different ways of answering, so she has no reason to ask again, but alas.

She lives alone, 91 years old, and is slowly dying. She refuses aides, showers, help with shopping and driving. She wants to know why she is tired. What can she do?

Finally this morning, after watching George, eating french toast on homemade white bread, laughing and joking while getting dressed, we were ready for school. I try to make the mornings relaxed, not a constant rush to get out the door. There had been no tears yet as we grabbed our bags. At the last moment I grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote I LOVE YOU in big letters. I told X what is said, folded it and put it in his pocket. On the way into school I asked what was in his pocket, and what it said. He remembered. As we walked into school a group of classmates commented on how cool it was that X had a batman shirt on, he let go of my hand, found his place on the carpet, and said "bye, bye, mama".

I walked out of the building like I was floating.

Once again I sit in the car. Once again, I know what awaits me. A lonely lady who seeks my advice, my wisdom, my expertise. I am frank. Again. You have X disease which has Y symptoms which need Z treatment.

Or you could sit here. And let yourself be tired. And wait to die.

In not quite those words, that is what I say. And she seems accepting.

And as I walk to the door once again, she asks me what I "have" for her.

Should she got to the store for some groceries?

And so I tell her something that sounds so easy.

Do whatever you CAN do, and ACCEPT the things that you can't.

And I am gone.

We will see what tomorrow brings. I am prepared for tears, tantrums, hugs and smiles. Whatever it brings, I will try to heed my own advice, keep it in my pocket for the day, and try not to forget it.