My daughter called from work to say, “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll bring you something.” And she did! She brought me two chocolate éclairs, two gigantic chocolate éclairs! She figured that these—a favorite food of mine—would give me strength to begin the recovery of the surgery. The problem: I told both of my “caretakers” that I didn’t want any sweets or other high-calorie/high-fat foods during this recovery. (A surgery two years ago with a six-month recovery sitting on my butt resulted in a large weight gain.) I didn’t complain to her—I knew she was trying to please me—and I ate the two éclairs.

Later that evening both my husband—who still insisted that I use the cell phone if I needed anything—and daughter went to bed without checking on me. They left me sitting in my office with my crutches. I needed help into bed. I dialed my husband’s cell phone. No answer. I dialed again. No answer. For a half an hour I tried reaching my husband. No luck. Then I yelled for my daughter. No luck. Finally, I painfully got up and with the aid of the crutches I made it into bed. On the way to my bedroom, I locked the front door—my caretakers failed to do this, I turned off the lights—my caretakers failed to do this, and I closed the windows (again, crappy caretakers) because it was raining and water was making its way into the house. I was exhausted and in even more pain when, with much difficulty, I made it into bed. My optimism was extinguished. It was day one of recovery and…well…it didn’t go well!

The next morning I told my caretakers of my disappointment with them. After sincere apologies they offered to do better. It’s a week later and, let’s just say, not much has changed. Luckily, I’m blessed with an abundance of good friends who have seen to it that large pots of soup and other healthy foods are in my refrigerator.

I hate to give up hope in the possibility that my husband and daughter are capable people. I know they are…but!