“Hi, Maga! It’s Abby.”
“Who is it, please?”
“It’s Abby.”
Caregiver’s voice: “Why don’t you put it on speaker?”
“Huh?” Maga said.
*rustling sounds as the caregiver helped Maga with the phone*
“Hi, Maga. Can you hear me now?”
“Oh, YES, can I hear you!”
*takes notes on whatever it is the caregiver just did to make Maga be able to hear the conversation without straining*
“What did you do today,” Maga asked.
“I went to work. I ran some errands. And then I shoveled.”
“Did it snow?”
“It snowed all day, but didn’t accumulate. It also sleeted and rained. A rather gloomy day.” (Despite the miracle of speaker phone, I repeated variations of this thrilling story so she could understand what I did.)
“Do your other neighbors shovel too?”
“Yes. But I was there and the shovel was nearby, so I thought, why not. I’ll be a good neighbor.”
“That’s a good way to behave.”
“Want to hear about something that didn’t behave?”
“Okay.”
“A spider bit me!”
“Oh no! On your hand? Or arm?”
“On my forehead.”
“When did it start hurting you?”
“It doesn’t hurt. It’s super itchy though. It started this morning.”
“Do you think it happened in bed?”
“MAGA! I DON’T WANT TO THINK ABOUT THAT.”
My distress garnered a hearty chuckle out of her, so I thanked the spider for his duty, for Sister J who helped diagnose me, for coworker L who promised me spiders wouldn’t crawl out of my face, and for cortisone cream which helped reduce the itching.
And speaking about it brought on more itchiness at the same time that Maga’s night nurse came in with her meds, so we bid each other adieu and left to deal with our medications. Hers to help with being 98+. Mine to deal with…ewww, don’t make me think about it anymore!
Abigail Mumford 