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Thursday, September 9, 2010

Fasting Failure

I started this Wednesday fast with optimism and faith. Up at 5:15 A.M – dawn, my usual time – I started with house cleaning followed by a delivery of forty-eight boxes from Baxter, the supplier of needed items for my husband’s peritoneal dialysis. After rearranging a few things for the nice delivery guy, I set about dusting and moving furniture around for the new living room chair we purchased Labor Day. A very cute chair, by the way, bought actually the day after the holiday. Mom took us down to the outlet to see the chair she almost bought the day before but had hesitated. I feel in love with it and handed the salesman my American Express while she hymned-and-hawed over the retro mid-century piece. But I digress.

Paul and I headed to the podiatrist after Baxter left. He has an ongoing foot wound from the end of May that keeps reopening. He decided to pick up his insulin and needles at the hospital pharmacy next door. There is a long ramp from where we were located to get to the pharmacy which required Paul to pull on the wheelchair while I pushed. To make a very long story short, we waited two hours and ten minutes to get his $100 bottle of insulin, receiving it only after I demanded to speak to the person in charge. The store ran out of diabetic needles. True. We left with only the insulin.

Five hours after we left home, we got to the parking lot. We were tired, hungry, and frustrated. The car keys were not in my purse. I checked again and again. Leaving Paul in his chair, I dashed back to the pharmacy retracing our steps looking for the keys. I asked each of the nine cashiers at the counter, all of the pharmacists including the supervisor I had slammed earlier and the handful of patrons still left in the place. None had seen the keys. Paul sat patiently by the car. We went through my purse together. I kept sticking my hands in the front pockets of my jeans like the keys would magically appear.

Out of lack of any other option, I called Mom and asked her to come pick us up. If she got us home, I was pretty sure there was a spare key in my junk drawer. Mom had a spare house key. The only other car key was in Paul’s backpack locked in the trunk of the car. Rather than wait, I retraced our steps one more time – a good hike under normal circumstances. Failing to find anything, I returned to the car. As I stepped toward, Paul my hand slipped into my back pocket and found the keys. I showed Paul. He laughed. He said that it has been a long time since I was able to put my hand in my jean’s back pocket. He was right.

After calling Mom and cancelling the emergency pick up, we decided that maybe I should get something to eat. I bought lunch at Mel’s Diner. Paul had a bacon burger and fries. I had a steak, blood-rare.