J. Rusolo Ward

Let me begin by highlighting the finer points of my week:

Monday:

I went in for treatment (for the boob cancer).

Tuesday:

I woke up with a backache, making it impossible to move.  I was in constant pain.

Wednesday:

Part A.  I saw my primary care physician, who agreed that there was something wrong with my back, but said, “I don’t believe in medications for a bad back.  Try a heating pad and Bengay.”  That’s right, no muscle relaxers or pain killers.  Thanks, doc, I could have saved myself a co-pay and just continued doing what I was doing.

Part B.  My 11-year-old saw his pediatrician for the removal of stitches – 13 in total.  She stopped after the third stitch because the wound was reopening.  She prescribed bed rest until Friday.

Thursday:

Part A:  I had a follow-up with my radiation oncologist (also boob cancer related).  I arrived in tears after the two-hour drive – fortunately I wasn’t driving.  My husband had to help me into and out of my car.  While I was there, my doctor examined my back, and, being sane – read competent – prescribed muscle relaxers (just heavy duty ibuprofen), and an MRI.  Of course, there were no available appointments that day.  (In case you’re wondering, the area treated with radiation is healing well).

Part B:  Due to back pain, I missed the opening night of my daughter’s middle school musical.

Friday:

Part A:  My son went to the pediatrician to have his stitches removed.  We were told the injury still hadn’t healed.  An appointment was made with a plastic surgeon for Monday.  Anti-biotics and continued best rest were prescribed.

Part B:  After my son’s appointment, we headed down to Westchester for my MRI.  Have you ever had an MRI?  If you didn’t have a fear of confined spaces before, you’d walk out claustrophobic.

Saturday and Sunday:

The weekend was uneventful.  I was still in pain, but my back was feeling better.

Monday:

Part A:  The stitches were removed!  Woohoo!  A topical antibiotic was prescribed, and my son must go back for a follow-up (the plastic surgeon wants to keep an eye on the wound).

Part B:  I got to see my daughter in the school play (this proud mamma must add that she was wonderful).  Unfortunately, she left the musical upset and wouldn’t talk about it until we got home.  A girl in the cast made disparaging comments about “that special kid in the wheelchair,” or, as my daughter said, “You mean my little brother?”  The girl tried to soften her comments while justifying them.  My daughter, who dotes on her little brother and thinks he’s perfect, was hurt and angry; her night was ruined.

Then, something happened that turned things around.  It was as if the stars aligned and we were gifted with the perfect Snow Day.

It was especially magical for me.  Last night, all three schools – yes, the four kids go to three different schools in three different districts – announced that the kids would have a Snow Day.

Normally, the districts wait until 5 AM to make their announcements.  That means I receive calls, texts and e-mails at five in the morning.  It also means that my husband receives the same said calls, texts and e-mails.  As he sleeps in the bed next to me, we get a total of 24 early morning notifications, making sleeping-in impossible.

No early morning notifications meant I woke up at 9:45 AM.  I was the first person awake and had time to myself!  An unheard-of luxury in these parts.

So, what did I do today?  I made brunch:  mini crust-less quiches, fresh fruit, and zucchini bread.  I baked snickerdoodles.  I played board games with the kids.  I spoke with several people, including my radiation oncologist who called to check on my back and tell me I wasn’t to shovel snow (she’s the best, isn’t she?).  I’m now sitting with my feel up watching Zoolander thinking about treating myself to a glass of wine.

I think I love Snow Days more than the kids!