The Caffeine Separation

I am cancer free at the moment.  I still have at least two more surgeries in store, at least this year.  In the next two weeks I head for the hospital once again.  I'll be having another mastectomy, and reconstruction of both breasts using some of my tummy flab.  I'll be hospitalized for FIVE days, which is something I'm still getting my brain around.  I'm a terrible patient.

As if that weren't bad enough, they informed me today that I cannot have any caffeine for the next five weeks.  The nurse explained why in great detail. I could see her mouth moving.  I have no idea what she said. My brain was having a tiny meltdown. 

WHAT?!!!  I NEED MY COFFEE!!!!  NOOOOOOOOO!!!!

The rest of the visit was a blur, and I was glad that Larry was with me, since I was not in any condition to drive.  We drove over to the hospital so they could draw blood, etc., in preparation for the surgery.  Larry was asking me questions about the visit, but I was stuck.

NOOOOOOOOO!!!!

I have a very consistent routine.  I get out of bed, turn off the alarm, go down the stairs and TURN ON THE COFFEE POT.  Then I get a cup and wait for enough magical goodness to drip into the pot for my first, and only cup of coffee.   I sit in the quiet before the rest of the house wakes up and sip my drink of caffeine, and then I start my day. 

Now that small joy is gone.  The quiet moment will still be there, but it won't be the same with a glass of water.   What's more, caffeine withdrawal will put me in a grumpy mood, and nobody needs to deal with the fallout from that.  I may as well put up orange cones around my desk.  

I need to keep track of the end result.  It's just a temporary separation.  I can go back to my normal routine after five weeks. It's easy to get caught up in these little bumps in the road on the way to healthy.  I should be used to the bumps, right?  I should just roll over them without batting an eye after all this time.  It's just that throughout my cancer treatments, I've tried to have as normal a life as possible, and my daily cup of coffee was part of that. 

*sigh*

Just Another Day

She rises for another day, her solitary thoughts forever frozen, picturing their hands clasped together at the table, two steaming cups between them.  

He had always loved his coffee.

The morning sun is streaming through the window, brightly illuminating the empty carafe.

 

Adventures before Coffee

The other morning, as I sipped my coffee, I was scrolling through some posts on the Book of Face(thanks Lance!).  One of my friends had posted "It's confirmed, I'm going to be a mommy!" as her status. After the usual immediate stab of deep seated envy(sorry--I just can't help it), I dutifully typed my congratulations in the comments and moved on. 

At least, I tried to move on. My friend later sent me a private message informing me that she had been playing the BREAST CANCER AWARENESS game.  And I lost. My irritation was pre-coffee in its intensity.

These chain things--posts, statuses, letters, emails, whatever--annoy me. Every time I see one of those long rants followed by the requisite "97.4% will never repost" lines, I want to punch someone.  If I don't post, I'm uncool, or evil, or just a very bad person? Is that what you're implying?  Should I feel guilty for not wanting to spread this particular virus? Are we still in middle school? Should I start wearing the same hairstyle and the same clothes as everyone else, too?  Because I think that I still have a few t-shirts from the 80s buried in my closet. 

And breast cancer awareness?  Really? We still need to make people aware that there is breast cancer?  People are practically beating us over the head with ads about breast cancer!  Since breast cancer is the most heavily advertised cancer out there, I am pretty sure that even  babies are born  already aware of it. So why the need to "raise awareness", in a ridiculous "secret" game, no less?

Because I lost and commented, I was now required to choose one from the following and post it as my status:

1) Darn diarrhea 
2) How do you get rid of foot fungus 
3) No toilet paper, so goodbye socks 
4) It's confirmed, I'm going to be a mommy/daddy 
5) Just won $900 on a scratch card 
6) I just found out I've been cheated on for the past 5 months....... 

I was supposed to post one of the above without comment.  The private message ended with the admonishment, "Don't be a spoiled sport, play along with the game".  Which fired up my irritation a second time, and made me want to say unkind things in addition to punching someone.  Again, I'm a bad person if I don't play along with a horrible game? A game involves reciprocity.  To call something like this a game should mean that the person should have a choice to say "no".  As in "No, I will not pander to some vague peer pressure that says that I have to post some random comment in order to avoid social condemnation."  

My rebellious nature wanted to just not pick anything, to blow the entire thing off.  However, in my quest to have a social life, I  have a need to be nice to people who have been nice to me. I sat for at least five minutes staring at my phone, until my husband asked whether I was having a seizure.  Then I had concerns about the people I would upset, based on my choice.  My mother-in-law would send me a 40 page email regarding diarrhea treatments if I posted that status.  My family would lose their minds with concerns about my health if I announced a pregnancy.  Nobody on Planet Earth would believe that Larry would cheat on me.  The scratch card was out.  Foot fungus? As if.

After another five minutes of agonizing,  I posted the one about the toilet paper, deeming it the least obnoxious.  I figured that was the end of that.  I had no plans to do more than that. If anyone commented, I wasn't interested in making them play.  I would fulfill the barest minimum in a passive aggressive attempt to rebel without completely rebelling.  I have issues, and I'm not proud of them, but that was that.  I filed away the entire episode under "Stoopid Things I Do", and promptly forgot about it.   

Then I got a text from my dad.  "Why didn't you have any toilet paper? We brought you a case last week when we went to Sam's, didn't we?"  

New house rule:  No looking at the Book of Face until after lunch.  

A Great Start

Trifextra prompt:  In 1959, Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote the music for the Broadway production, The Sound of Music.  One of the most famous songs from the musical is "My Favorite Things." Since its inception, the song has been covered by countless artists, and we're asking you to follow suit. Give us a few of your favorite things, in whichever form you want, in 33 words exactly.  (Link above will bring you to the song's lyrics, if you're not familiar with the tune.)  I am more partial to the classics, like Guys and Dolls, Singing in the Rain, and My Fair Lady, but I will try.





I sit in my cozy chair,
with
A hot cup of coffee,
A warm puppy
curled in my lap,
A cat purring near the window, while
My son's giggles
careen through the house.

Everybody Knows About Mama and Her Coffee

Occasionally my wonderful husband will let me sleep a little late, and will go downstairs with Zane so I have some quiet. He does this sometimes when he knows that I’ve had trouble sleeping, and other times he does this to be nice. I'll take it either way.

This morning I was still in bed, sound asleep, only to be awakened by the sound of Zane stomping up the stairs.

“Mama, wake up!” he yelled. I rolled over bleary-eyed, mumbling and grumbling, because I could have used another hour or three of blessed sleep. I am not ever to be confused with a morning person.

“Mama, wake up! Time to get up!” Zane gets as close as he can to my face to tell me this.

I mumble some more, slowly, trying to motivate myself to get up. I even make a halfhearted attempt to push myself to a sitting position.

Did I mention that I am not a morning person? Because if I didn't mention that, I can say it again. I even have a t-shirt that says I'm not a morning person stashed away somewhere. I just wake up cranky.

I hear Zane running toward the stairs. My heart speeds up at the thought of him falling down the stairs, which certainly helps with the waking up. But the boy stops just at the top of the stairs.

“Daddy!” he calls. “Mama needs coffee!”

What can I say? He was right.

Mama Needs a Hot Cup of Coffee

My son likes to wake us up in the morning, mainly before the crack of dawn. He is not yet the age where he can get up and amuse himself by playing in his room or some other benign activity. It is a well known fact that I am not a morning person, but for my child I will do anything, even attempt conversation, at this ungodly hour. So Zane and I will stumble down the stairs in the wee hours before sane people get up, and I will get him his juice and his breakfast ready.

"Son, do you want pancakes or biscuits?" I ask groggily. At least, that's what I think I ask. I could be just mumbling for all I know. It's the crack of dawn, fer crying out loud.

"Bi-kit," Zane says, as evilly cheerful as anyone can be. I make him two biscuits.

"Son, do you want some juice?" I ask, then get him apple juice, because that is all he ever wants to drink. Zane is all set, in front of the television, eating and drinking his breakfast and watching an animated show. I can hear the coffeemaker finishing up. It calls to me, beckoning me like the Sirens. I stumble back into the kitchen, find a cup and pour myself a steaming cup of awakeness. I bring the cup to my lips.

"MOMMY!"

"Yes, Zane?" I say, as I put the coffee cup reluctantly down.

"I pee-pee," meaning that he has to go to the potty. I haven't even gotten around to changing him from his night time diaper, but he's potty training, and I want to reinforce him. Five minutes or so later, my wonderful cup of coffee is cold. I put the cup in the microwave and heat it up. I bring the cup to my lips for a drink.

"MOMMY!"

"What it it, Zane?" I whimper.

And so it goes. Even at dinner. If it's not the potty, it's that he wants more food, or he doesn't want to watch the particular show or something else that has to be taken care of right then. All timed with precision to occur right as I am about to drink, or eat, something hot. It's like my son is on a mission. I recall the scene from the movie A Christmas Story, where the narrator says that his mother hasn't had a hot meal in eight years.

I suppose I should just start drinking iced coffee.