Halfway through our long drive home from Columbus after my son's weekly chemotherapy treatment, the hospital called asking him to come back--not today but tomorrow AND Sunday. Yes: they want him to make the four-hour round trip three days in a row, and since chemo makes him too dopey to drive, I guess I'll be in the driver's seat.
I had just been boasting that I'm getting better at managing this challenging task. If I set my alarm for 4 a.m., take an eye-opening shower, and eat or drink nothing before we leave, I can drive straight to The James without GPS and, usually, without a rest-room break. While my son gets his tests and treatment, I eat breakfast in the hospital cafe and suck in some caffeine so that I'm fully alert by the time we're ready to head back home in heavier traffic.
So here's my reward for boasting about how well I'm doing: I have to do it again, and again, and again.
It was a snafu not of our own making. His current treatment plan requires him to get a certain drug by injection four days in a row; he received the first shot during today's regular hospital visit and the remaining pre-filled syringes should have been delivered to our house by courier. Then the phone call came: the pharmacy was out of the drug and wouldn't be able to deliver more to our house until Monday. The hospital has enough on hand to give him the shots tomorrow and Sunday, but only if he can show up in person.
It's important that the treatment not be interrupted, and so, after a bit of back-and-forth on the phone, he agreed to get back to The James on Saturday and Sunday, but the hospital sweetened the deal by offering him some gift cards to pay for gas plus a deeply discounted hotel room for the night. Unless he can find someone else eager to take an unexpected junket to Columbus, I'll once again be doing the driving while he does the sleeping, which plays an important part in his recovery. While I'm getting better at driving, he's getting better at surviving. At this point, the tests are all pointing toward eventual success.
I thought he was asleep early this morning as I drove through dark and fog and traffic, but then he chuckled at the Fresh Air podcast I was listening to: an interview with David Sedaris. Near the end the author was asked why he still writes and goes on book tours and revises his work obsessively at the age of 69, and Sedaris said, "Because I want to get better."
I immediately wished my students could hear--really hear--that message, but at the time I was thinking only in terms of writing. I have no desire to get any better at driving my son to the hospital, but if that's what it takes to help him get better, I guess I'll do it.
Let's wrap some rhymes around road hazards:
Long lines of orange cones
stretch toward the horizon.
Cars swerve--he's got nerve!
I've got to keep my eyes on
"variable speed limit" signs
and follow to the letter.
I'm not so hot on driving, but
at least I'm getting better.
Your turn: pour some pizzazz on a tedious task.
No comments:
Post a Comment