1) I saw my best friend on Wednesday night. He looked wonderful. He was in for a job interview and he might get a firm job offer. I hope he takes it, and not only because it would mean a trip to Chicago every month. I think this is great for his bruised ego, and this company seems to want to help him grow in his career. It was terrific to see him, even if it wasn't for long and I had to share him with former coworkers that he didn't get a chance to say goodbye to. He kept his tie on for me. I always said I wondered how he'd look in a tie. He looks good very good in a tie. I think he looks very good under any and all circumstances. I miss him so …
2) There's an extra $600 in my checking account. Apparently it's been there since before I started using Quicken in the late 90s. I'm going to pretend I haven't discovered this -- using the $600 as a cushion against rubber checks. But it makes me happy.
3) I got a raise. 4.5%. I still hate my job, but it's easier to endure knowing that I'm being compensated a bit more fairly. The "loser/sucker" that had previously been printed across my forehead appears to be fading a little …
There's a lot that's NOT good, but I'm not going to think about that now. I'm going to think of how nice it was that he wore a tie, how good it is that I have six hundred secret dollars, and that I finally got a raise.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Mother/Daughter Role Reversal
My mother had quite the week last week. She had a malignant growth removed from her left arm -- skin cancer. The hole took five stitches to close and it bled quite a bit, but her dermatologist is confident they got it all. We won't know for sure, though, until next week, when the biopsy results come back. You'd think that when the test is something as important as a biopsy, they could add an element of "hurry up," but I guess a week is what it takes.
Then she went to a different doctor to get her throat checked. My mother has "Barrett's esophagas," which means the lining of her esophagas is compromised. This is the result of acid reflux and more than half a century of cigarettes. She's been taking Prevacid for years, but her doctor is concerned that the degeneration hasn't slowed. Another biopsy. Another week long wait.
I took Thursday off to check on her after the exicision. I got to her house before she returned and was laying on the sofa when she arrived. I watched her come up the front steps, wincing because of the little shopping bag she was carrying. On the way back from the dermatologist, she asked my sister to make a stop at the convenience store so she could pick up her essentials for the weekend. The bag held peanuts (so my mother and my little nephew could feed the squirrel that lives in her backyard) and a carton of cigarettes.
I was speechless. And I cannot tell you how seldom that happens!
My mother had been told twice -- by two different doctors -- that she was flirting with life threatening cancer. The skin cancer on her arm will turn out fine, God willing, but she has to take care of herself. Smoking has helped exacerbate the Barrett's and she's waiting for results of that biopsy, too. And she felt that what she needed for the weekend was another carton of cigarettes!
Last night I had a very serious conversation with her. I reminded her of that long ago day, back in the 1970s, when my mother was summoned to the hospital to speak to her mother's doctors. My grandmother had been drinking on the sly for years, and it had seriously damaged her health. Doctors had summoned the family to the hospital, alerted them to her drinking, and explained the ramifications. My mother and grandmother were very close, and this upset her enormously.
Now, said I, how would you have felt if, on the way home from the hospital, old Grandma had stopped for a beer … said that she knew the drinking was "bad," but wasn't quite ready to quit yet.
I reminded my mother that back in the 1970s, she was already an adult. She had her own home and her own family. Yet she still needed her mother. I told her this was no different for me. She said she had never thought of it that way, and realizes that now is the time to quit smoking.
We will see. My mother can be very stubborn in a passive-aggressive way. She'll agree to something, but then just turn around and go her own way. Let's see how this story unfolds.
Then she went to a different doctor to get her throat checked. My mother has "Barrett's esophagas," which means the lining of her esophagas is compromised. This is the result of acid reflux and more than half a century of cigarettes. She's been taking Prevacid for years, but her doctor is concerned that the degeneration hasn't slowed. Another biopsy. Another week long wait.
I took Thursday off to check on her after the exicision. I got to her house before she returned and was laying on the sofa when she arrived. I watched her come up the front steps, wincing because of the little shopping bag she was carrying. On the way back from the dermatologist, she asked my sister to make a stop at the convenience store so she could pick up her essentials for the weekend. The bag held peanuts (so my mother and my little nephew could feed the squirrel that lives in her backyard) and a carton of cigarettes.
I was speechless. And I cannot tell you how seldom that happens!
My mother had been told twice -- by two different doctors -- that she was flirting with life threatening cancer. The skin cancer on her arm will turn out fine, God willing, but she has to take care of herself. Smoking has helped exacerbate the Barrett's and she's waiting for results of that biopsy, too. And she felt that what she needed for the weekend was another carton of cigarettes!
Last night I had a very serious conversation with her. I reminded her of that long ago day, back in the 1970s, when my mother was summoned to the hospital to speak to her mother's doctors. My grandmother had been drinking on the sly for years, and it had seriously damaged her health. Doctors had summoned the family to the hospital, alerted them to her drinking, and explained the ramifications. My mother and grandmother were very close, and this upset her enormously.
Now, said I, how would you have felt if, on the way home from the hospital, old Grandma had stopped for a beer … said that she knew the drinking was "bad," but wasn't quite ready to quit yet.
I reminded my mother that back in the 1970s, she was already an adult. She had her own home and her own family. Yet she still needed her mother. I told her this was no different for me. She said she had never thought of it that way, and realizes that now is the time to quit smoking.
We will see. My mother can be very stubborn in a passive-aggressive way. She'll agree to something, but then just turn around and go her own way. Let's see how this story unfolds.
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