And She Was Holding My Right

When the doctor told me that for four weeks post-surgery I would do nothing but sleep, eat and stretch, he glossed over a few things. For one: patients are supposed to sleep flat on their backs; also: patients can’t sleep. Nap, yes. Sleep, no.

In addition, the doctor could in no way account for things like that my mother would barge into my house every day to talk for a few hours, bearing yet another dessert large enough to feed a high school basketball team. This morning, Mom asked what she could bring over. I shouted into the phone, “No! No more puddings! Put down the spring-form pan and back away from the flan! Do not stop for pound cake! If cotton candy tries to give you a strange man, don’t take that, either!”

One thing the doctor was right about, though: after a few exercises, I feel bone-weary and have to put my feet up. Even so, I cannot look a bonbon in the eye.

Another of Georg's friends sent us productive pressies.

Another of Georg’s friends sent us productive pressies.

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