Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: PRIDE (inflated opinion of one’s self) (02/19/15)
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TITLE: Helpless | Previous Challenge Entry
By Kristine Baker
02/25/15 -
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I survived cancer, but lost both breasts in the battle. Mike stayed with me for the two-and-a-half hour reconstructive surgery, but he had to leave the day after I was released from the hospital. As the bread-winner for our family, his job was important and he was called out of town for an extended amount of time. I was home with four drainage tubes coming out of my chest, Ellen, our two-year old filled with too much energy, and Aunt Marta standing in the doorway with her bags packed full of haughtiness and self-importance. We welcomed her, but not her baggage.
We planned ahead and gave Aunt Marta Ellen’s room while Ellen was to sleep on her crib mattress on the floor in my room. It didn’t take long for Aunt Marta to unpack her bags and put on her best haughtiness and matching self-importance. It never looked good on her, but she never wore anything different.
The first night Aunt Marta was challenging. She kept fanning herself complaining of hot flashes while I was wrapped in two blankets trying to stay warm in the frigid month of January. Ellen played on the floor in her blanket-weight footed pajamas. When I was in bed, I heard the furnace running a lot longer than usual, but the pain medication kept me drowsy and I could not gather energy to call for Aunt Marta to check the furnace. In the morning, as I slowly shuffled passed Ellen’s room, I saw that Aunt Marta had a window open and found out she slept lousy because she was so hot. Fuel was a precious commodity that we struggled to afford.
Aunt Marta made Ellen and I breakfast and retreated to take a shower. She called me over to the bathroom while the shower water was running, and dripping wet she demanded, “I don’t use shower gel, get me a bar of soap!”
Although painful to bend, I scrounged around our linen closet and found Mike’s last bar of shaving soap and handed it to her. She slammed the door of the steamy bathroom without a thank you. I shuffled to the recliner to rest.
After the shower, Aunt Marta sat with me in the living room. She looked around and pointed out that our house was too small for all we own. With her nose in the air, she said, “Remove the clutter, especially in Ellen’s room; too many toys in there for one little girl.”
On day two, it was late afternoon, around 4:30, when Aunt Marta remembered she needed to go to the store to pick up a gift card for her daughter. I got Ellen in her snowsuit, and then fought to get into my coat, which would not zip closed because of my tubes, and we got into the car and headed to the store. One gift card led to other items not on a shopping list and when we exited the store, the sun was setting. Aunt Marta huffed, “I have macular degeneration and I can’t drive in the dark.”
Although too soon after surgery, I was in the driver’s seat. I knew I could make it home, it was a straight shot with little strain on me, until Aunt Marta saw the Starbucks across the street and demanded coffee. I crossed the busy street and struggled to maneuver the car in reverse to get into a parking space. Aunt Marta got her coffee and never asked if Ellen or I wanted anything. I was tired and aching by the time we got home.
On day three, through heavy tears, I prayed for a miraculous healing. Surely God could see what I was going through and he would deliver me from Aunt Marta. When I woke from a nap, I saw Mike standing in front of me holding Ellen. Mike’s boss gave him paid time off to care for me. Still wearing her best haughtiness and matching self-importance, Aunt Marta gathered her things and never said good-bye.
Fiction
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I wanted to jump into the story and help the MC...my heart went out to her immediately. But, also to Aunt Marta, who seemed so sadly lacking in the compassion department.
Great job here!
God bless~