Ever since the incident, I have been calling my
gynecologist every couple of days to give him a full report on my progress. If you know me, you know I hate calling doctors on their cell phones. Why??? Because they are pretty much overdosed on the whole receiving freaked out-totally-unjustified-24/7-patient phone calls.
But he insisted and truth be told my situation needed to be monitored. So…I waited for the perfect timing (sometime around noon) and dialed the dreaded number every couple of days. As time passed and things started to look a bit more hopeful, I limited the calls to once a week.
Last Friday I called and
begged asked him if I were allowed to drive.
‘What?? from the sound of his voice I knew I had just irritated him.
‘Well….I am off my meds, last time you saw me you were happy with how everything was going, so…I didn’t even get to finish my argument.
‘That is why I don’t want to give you ANY freedom at all. I know you. The minute I give you the OK to drive, you ll start doing things around the house, driving around the neighborhood, running all sorts of errands. So, NO. No driving, no walking up and down the stairs, no NOTHING. LAY IN BED. Or on THE COUCH. Do we understand each other???
Feeling like I have just been told off by my primary school teacher, Mrs Katy (bless her
very strict soul wherever she is), I sobbed silently and agreed to continue laying it low.
The thing is, N. needed to leave on a business trip for a few days which meant that the remaining members of the family needed to find another place to crash. Since, I, once a proud mother and caretaker of all, was somehow incapable of taking care of the family from THE SOFA, we opted for the next best thing: 5 1/2 kids, 2 dogs, 3 adults: My sister’s house.
To cut the story short, come Sunday, the kids and I were picked up by my father who then drove us off to Alex. Johnny (the canarian) and Benny (the dog) had already been transferred safely to my mom’s house the day before. An hour later we were greeted by my 3 nieces and sister with excitement and joy which helped me recover from the stressful ride as a co-driver to my dad. You see, my dad, drives a car like he drives his motorcycle. YES. At the tender age of 73, he STILL rides his motorcycle. EVERY DAY. Unless it is pouring which in Greece is rarely the case.
Five, very full days passed filled with lots of children’s giggles, sleepless nights (Iliana got sick and Yiannis was so excited to be with his cousins that he wanted to start his day at 05:00 am), homework with the girls (I will get back to that), cuddles with the dogs, movie nights with the sis and the non stop-chatting-while-trying-to-watch-the-movie-dad.
The highlight of all was definitely the moment my middle niece asked me to correct the fairy tale she had just typed up for her English class.
‘Wan sepona time…
Until next time