And a Plague on Your House...

There is nothing like an illness to bring out my maternal instincts, even if my lovely daughter is a full-fledged adult. On Sunday night Nora called and mentioned she had some bites on her legs. I asked if she had "bites" on any other parts of her body. Her affirmative response led me to don my "Medical Mom" nursing cap and diagnose Chicken Pox. As the photos below document (I apologize for the poor clarity) Nora already had chicken pox as a four-month-old baby. We hadn't anticipated a second round at age 24.













I was all set to rush to Nora's bedside but her doctor mentioned that she had recently had a second case of the "pox" herself and cautioned against a quick visit from Mom. I also spoke with a few friends who shared anecdotal evidence of second exposures that resulted in another bout of chicken pox for the care-taking adult. So, I postponed my visit and satisfied my maternal urges through frequent phones calls. Too many, perhaps, for the patient, but I'm pretty sure I was very helpful.

Yesterday, while unloading the dishwasher (an act I perform on a regular basis) I pulled a muscle in my back. Was this a sympathetic illness? I iced, walked and felt like I'd dodged a bullet until I tried to get out of bed this morning. Excruciating! More icing, Motrin and sitting in the most uncomfortable chair in the house have made the situation marginally better. I'm hoping that a day of gentle stretching and taking it easy will make it possible for me to drive up to the Bay Area tomorrow to administer some personal TLC to the now less-contagious Nora.

Always interested in multi-tasking, I thought that a day spent at home might also be a good time to break in my flashy new walking shoes. That's them, in the picture below. The ones all the way across the room. On the floor. The ones I have to bend down, way down, to put on.


I'm thinking that I might be able to scoop one up with a broom handle. And maybe, with a bit of practice, I'll master the art of tossing one directly on to my foot. Tying the shoelaces will be a challenge. I might have to wait until one of the neighbors hears my desperate cry for help. Or maybe a quick 911 call...

VICTORY!