Isolation

It's 1:30 in the morning following a Friday night. Gia is in isolation for Radioactive treatment and I'm at her sister's; not far from home. Who is the one isolated? She's told to keep a distance from others, especially pregnant women and children. One may have brief contact, just not prolonged or too close, but Gia refuses to allow me or others to take any chances. She's been sick all day. Tomorrow should be better and by Sunday we hope she's well and able to eat normal foods again. It's been weeks of cooking at home, no salts, no dairy and more dishes than we care to remember in our small kitchen without a dishwasher.

Now that the landlord has called a halt to construction that went on right next door and delayed the water being shutoff until Monday, we're hoping Gia will get some rest and peace. Their tarp still remains in the hallway, a stark reminder that they aren't finished yet. The Netflix movies keep coming, but Gia's not up for them. My choices of the "7 Up" documentary series and "Angels in America" aren't appealing, but neither is her main stays of Oprah or Dr. Phil, nor the new Ray Lomantagne or Christina Aguliera CD's. Nothing seems to satisfy when you're sick. But like her surgery in April, this too shall pass. I am reminded of last summer when my ankle was the size of a softball, but that's wasn't nearly as bad as repeated hospital visits.

Following in the footsteps of Mom's death life has continued to challenge this year. But the glass is half full, the weather is beautiful and tomorrow I'll have lunch with my favorite nephew (no offense to Brian, Brendon, Trenton, Johan, Quinlan and Carson). And soon my baby and I will be together again, and the tears and isolation will cease.