just write

It's the third time she's called this day and I bite my lip as I finally slide my finger across my phone and lift it to my ear. I was about to go and lie down. 

"I need to go into the walk-in clinic or er.  Can you give me a ride?"  

I dare say, my mother almost sounds chipper while delivering this news.

I tell her I will make some arrangements for the kids and then I'll come and get her and she can tell me what is going on.  

Its 4:30 and I dread the thought of heading into the small amount of "rush hour" traffic we get.  Just enough to be a nuisance at times in all reality.  

But my brain and my body have a harder time filtering things out.  Lights are brighter, noise is louder, multi-tasking is multi-taxing on my chemo and radiation ravaged brain and body.  I drain so quickly of energy, and can fill so instantly with unannounced emotions.  At this time of day, I'm nearing the end of my ability to cope. 

I grab a sweater, preparing for a long night, and go to get my mother.  

"Its my leg," she says as she somewhat hobbles her way into my car.  "Just look at the size of it," she exclaims while pulling up her pants leg unsteadily.  I instead help to maneuver her into the car while people wait behind me to pull in.  

"Mom, just get in and then you can show me."  

She gets in and as I pull away, she struggles to find the seat belt.  I hesitate, knowing the seconds it will take me to just do it for her, but also not wanting to take away what independence she has. I struggle with this so.  Its a good five minutes before she finally clicks the belt into place.

By now, she has completely forgotten about her leg.

She instead begins telling me all the latest details about her friends, the same ones she has just called to tell me about hours before.  

I focus my eyes, as the sun shines heavily down, and as I am about to make my way to the exit ramp, she admonishes me.

"Ohhh, you're going this way?  You shouldn't be in this lane... it'd be so much better to go... ohhh."

She suddenly sees I have my blinker on and am preparing to get into that very left turn lane.  

I grip the steering wheel tightly as I fight off the voice in my head- my inner 16-year-old child, blanching at the words of her well-intentioned mother.

I'm instantly right back there again.

"No daughter of mine will learn how to drive before she is 25 years old.  Girls do no make good drivers.  And we have no money for a car, or insurance or extra gas.  You'll just have to ride your bike."  

I'm 19 before I get my driver's permit and its Superman who takes me driving for the first time in his Mustang.  

I'm 21 when I buy my first car.  Its a red, sporty, Nissan with t-tops.

I'm 22, when I finally get my driver's license.  

I'm 46, and still don't drive the way my mother thinks I should, while Superman assures, I'm good.

But I am what she has.

We end up spending 4 hours together this night.  I watch as she befriends a young male, a Freshman Concordia College Student needing help with his arm.  He throws an arm around her, wishing her well,  when she gets called back.  She then goes on to charm her admittedly dashing young doctor.  She is everyone's friend and I smile at seeing her at her best.

After having an ultrasound performed, her leg is found clear of any infection, cellulitis, or blood clots.  Her water pills are increased and she is free to go home.

Once back in the waiting room, she sees someone she knows, clearly walking in pain, and wants to make a beeline over to them to see what is going on.

By now, I'm fully back into my grown-up self.  My own motherly instincts kick in as I gently guide her towards the door saying "Mom, now isn't probably the best time."

She chatters away the whole ride home.

We arrive back at her place close to 830.

She sees her friends walking towards the entry way and hurries off, saying to me, "Thank you dear, until you're better paid someday!!"

And away she goes...

Joining Heather at the EO today for...