Will You Still Need Me?

In a classic “the Universe is out to get me” move, I am currently flat on my back, waiting to recover from what I’m sure is a “wet tap” headache. Last Friday, I had cervical epidural steroid injections. They normally aren’t a big deal, but I’m allergic to contrast dye. If you’ve seen the movie, Hitch, with Will Smith, I swell up about as bad as Hitch does after eating shellfish. Without the contrast dye, they have to be slightly more creative with guiding the very large needle…in other words, my doctor is essentially shooting blind. While this is the third time I’ve had spinal injections, this is the first time I’ve had a “wet tap,” otherwise known as a dural puncture. A dural puncture causes a leak of cerebral spinal fluid, which then causes the veins in the cerebral cavity to swell in order to compensate for the lack of pressure. It will eventually resolve itself (I hope!), but it couldn’t come at a worse time, considering tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and then there is Black Friday.

My son, ever aware of when it hurts most to laugh, called me and sure enough, I ended up laughing myself into excruciating pain:

Matt: “Did you see the links I posted to your facebook?”

Me: “Which ones? The Crayola light desk? You’re not getting that.”

Matt: “I know, I just thought it was cool. But I really do need a hand vac.”

Me: “Why do you need a hand vac?”

Matt: “It’s not like I eat in bed or anything, and I always dust off my feet before I lay down, but my bed is always full of crumbs and dust and stuff, so it’s itchy.”

Me: “It’s probably dead skin cells sloughing off your body. You need to use a scrubbie or a washcloth when you shower.”

Matt: “I have a loofah.”

Me: “But do you use it? It doesn’t do any good just sitting there.”

Matt: “Mom, I’m single and trying to get a girlfriend. I loofah, trust me!”

Yes, at the ripe old age of 24, my son is looking for a serious relationship. While his last relationship seemed to be perfect, they were really at different places in their lives, so it didn’t quite work out. She’s a lovely girl (we’re even fb friends), smart, beautiful, and successful. However, she wasn’t thrilled with the idea of a musician boyfriend who was scrabbling to get by. It died a slow, painful death, but before she left, she was instrumental in his getting his shit together. Now my slacker child has a such a high average in one of his classes, he’s exempt from the final presentation.

It’s crazy to think that by his age, I had two kids and had been married for almost five years. I look at my children and as amazing as they are, I would never trust either of them to raise a kid right now. Of course, I spent their entire young lives brainwashing them into believing that they could not get married until they graduated from college. They may be suffering from subliminal messages…in other words, I think it worked.

It’s nice to know that when I’m old and incontinent, my son will be there to make sure I pee the bed. When I do something nice, he tells me that he’ll be sure to put me in the nursing home that has the lingerie style diapers. When I don’t do what he wants, he says he’s going to put me in the nursing home where they use the residents as cheap labor.

Fortunately for me, my daughter tells me that she’ll make sure I have my own little guest house on her land, and if I get too bad off, she’ll smother me with a pillow. Isn’t it great to be so loved?

“Will you still feed me, when I’m 64?”

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