Oops, I've Fallen

And when I say a full breakfast, I mean exactly that. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, waffles—you name it, and the ingredients were out on the counter, ready to be made.

If it weren’t for the X-ray her doctor showed me himself, there’s no way I’d believe this woman has a freaking fractured tailbone. Normally, I’d be all for doing what your body tells you it can handle, but in this situation, her doctor specifically sat me down—apparently, I don’t look trustworthy enough to follow the instructions on the discharge papers on their own—and explained that she needed to lie low for the next few weeks to ensure the bone healed properly.

Rest, ice, ibuprofen, Tylenol, and a donut cushion to sit on are the only ways to give the tailbone time to knit itself together without fucking itself up more. I believe Dr. Samson’s exact words were, You can’t cast someone’s ass.

As it turns out, however, following orders is easier said than done. I’ll admit, I don’t have a lot of experience with enforcing rules, but after spending the better part of today trying to keep my mother on the couch, I’m tempted to get Dr. Samson on the line and request that he just go ahead and put the busy bee in a full-body cast.

I could change a bag of pee from a catheter if I needed to. At least, that way, I could guarantee she’d stay in one place.

“Ah, shit.”

I look up from my phone, where numerous, boring email updates about shop inventory from Brody led me to watching old GoPro camera videos of myself and my instructors on the slopes, to find Stella attempting to carry a basket of laundry to the dining room table. She can hardly hold it up, and her back is hunched over at an awkward angle. I know a cast is out, but I wonder what they do if a crazy woman accidentally rips her ass bone in two… Glue it back together?

“Mom,” I chastise and hop up from my spot on the palm-tree-themed love seat in her living room. “What are you doing?”

At some point in the last fifteen minutes, when she told me she had to run to the bathroom to pee, she’s managed to change out of her pajamas and into her favorite maroon velour jumpsuit with the word Juicy written on the ass and find a goddamn laundry basket filled with freshly washed clothes from god knows where.

She’s the over-sixty-five version of the Energizer Bunny, and I’m running on old, leaky batteries. It’s only the second day of chasing her around, and I’m already tired.

Stella scoffs. Then, groans in discomfort. “I gotta fold these or they’ll wrinkle.”

“Oh my God. Seriously, Mom?” I lean my head back for a brief moment, sigh, and take the basket from her hands before she hurts herself. “What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re not supposed to be doing anything right now?”

Stella’s response? Mocking me in a high-pitched, annoying-as-hell voice. “Sit down, Mom. Don’t do that, Mom. What are you doing, Mom?”

I ignore her, obviously, and place the basket on the dining room table with a thud. When I turn around, she’s standing there, scowling at me like I’m some kind of buzzkill. It’s not a look I’m used to.

“You can be mad and mock me all you want, but it’s not going to change anything. I will get you to follow Dr. Samson’s orders, even if it kills me in the process. I mean, come on, Mom. Your ass will not be able to proclaim itself as juicy if it’s all broken and shit.”

“Carly, I can fold my damn laundry,” she says, voice exasperated. “Unless you want to do it for me?”

I cringe before I can stop myself. I don’t even fold my own laundry. I just take it out of the dryer, toss it in my closet and leave it where it lands.

My mom laughs at my reaction and smiles. “Well, at least I know my little rule rebel, free-spirited Carly is in there somewhere. So far this trip, you’ve been a real wet blanket.”

“I’m a wet blanket right now because I have to be. I’m here so you get better. Not worse.” Hands to her shoulders, I gently turn her around and lead her toward the couch. She tries to slap me away with her hand, but I ignore her and soldier on.

“You. Sit. Now,” I order, and she rolls her eyes.

“And what am I supposed to do here?”

“Relax. Watch TV.” I pick up the remote and start switching through the channels. “Look, they’re playing The First Wives Club on TBS. You love that movie,” I say and glance over my shoulder to witness another eye roll heavenward.

“I’ve seen it a hundred times, Carly.”

“So? It’s a great movie. Bette Midler, Goldie Hawn, Diane Keaton? It doesn’t get any better than that.”