I Love My Mommy

We pick on my mom. A lot. It's fun! And I think she likes it sometimes. Until we make her cry. Well, we made her cry yesterday. She insisted that I not post this story to the blog, but she knows that I will anyway.

I had my second chemo yesterday, and it's always a task for me to keep the children in line while we're at the doctor's office - said children being my mom and husband. My mom likes to get therapy sessions from the nurses and doctors by asking questions to which we already know the answers, and husband likes to make sure to take care of the business end of things. Anyway, when I finally get them to sit and play Blowfish and Brain Tuner on their iPhones, all is good. (Except when my mom thinks it's funny to call the game Brain Tumor instead. Not really appropriate at a Breast Cancer Center.) But once it's time to switch rooms, the chaos picks back up. So, yesterday it was time for me to get settled into my chemo recliner cubicle. (I would also like to mention that I'm the only person that travels with an entourage... most patients are either alone or bring one significant other that behaves well in public places.)

So, I took my seat, and there were no other chairs in the room just yet - meaning I was having a hard time keeping them in line. My mom in all her nervousness opted to prepare herself a decaf coffee across the way. Since my recliner has a little side table, she put it there. But, the bottom of the styrofoam cup wasn't sitting flat (it was likely warped from the coffee being too hot). So, she picked it up to look at the bottom, except she did this with the coffee dangling just about over my chest area. I reprimanded her for thirty seconds about the dangers of hot coffee spilling onto chemo patients, and we gave her a chair to sit in. A minute later a perplexed look hit my face and I said, "Mom, you don't even drink coffee! What are you doing?!" and she started giggling. She didn't know. I think she was just trying to keep busy. So, she started playing with her iPhone again.

Then she came up with a better idea to pass the time: "Celal, I want to check the level of your head!" He still didn't have a chair, so she stood up and took her iPhone in one hand, leveler app open. How this makes any sense, I do not know. She was having a good time, but we were both wondering what the hell she was doing. Then in a split moment someone flinched. And the hot coffee that was in her other hand poured down Celal's right side - his hair, his arm, his shirt, his iPhone (which was broken for a good two hours), all over my purse and the wall behind, some on my leg. Celal said, "you burned me!" My mom insisted that she didn't burn him and that the coffee wasn't hot. I told him to go to the bathroom to rinse with cold water. After the nurse gave us some towels to help with the mess, my mom came back in and said to Celal, "I think I burned my hand."

The coffee was hot and shocking, but neither of them was burned. Somehow, I got blamed for making my mom nervous, so I aptly apologized for having cancer. Then she cried about how we always pick on her. Mom, you know we love you just the way you are.