“I’m
tired of taking medicines!”
No you didn't really say that, Mom. No. You. Didn't.
But yep. My own mother, the woman I felt closer to than anyone else in the entire world was sitting in the next room giving me attitude. Sipping on her beverage of choice—ice cold Pepsi—at the cherry wood table
in the dining room, I immediately felt her icy glare. But I couldn't think of any quick rejoinder. A joke to take the tension out of the moment would have been nice. But I couldn't think of anything.
Tired of taking medicines? Was she kidding? The
medicines were probably the ONLY things that were keeping her alive.
I stood in front of a sink full of dirty dishes. Mom and I had just spent a few moments
playing out a ritual that had become routine in the months after she starting experiencing some scary symptoms and came to stay with us. It went something like this: I’d count to five. Then I'd open the kitchen cabinet where
her medicines were stored and peek inside at the pink, yellow, lavender and blue colors. The prescriptions had names like Coumadin,
Cordorone, Imdur, Lanoxin, Lasix, Lomotil, Metropol and Premarin. Each one of them had an important role in keeping Mom healthy, especially her heart. And they were helping to
address the side effects associated with chemotherapy and age. Next, I'd close my
eyes briefly then shut the cabinet and silently suck my teeth. All of the pill boxes were still full. Silent teeth-sucking had the effect of signifying my internal disapproval, while outwardly showing Mom nothing but respect. My parents taught us that well-behaved kids never yelled at their parents. In a few short months, I had become a kind of jailer--dictating much of how Mom lived her life.
The feeling made my stomach tight. Now I
had the attitude.
But anger aside, I really wanted to understand her motives. If the medicines were the
only things keeping her alive, how could Mom be so cavalier about taking them?
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