I want to be sure you have the whole picture re Lauren and the care she gives me. It’s time for me to allay all hearts and set you straight. She is the best daughter in the world and the finest caretaker a mother with a broken shoulder could ever have. No one has ever had better care.

Here are many of the things she helps me with daily:

Showers and dresses me.

Washes clothes for me.

Straps on the immobilizer (not an easy task)

Scratches itches where I can’t.

Yes, unscrews lids.

Opens cans of coconut milk for me.

Picks up anything that is too heavy for my left hand.

Food-shops for me again and again, and often gets it right!

Goes to the library for me.

Fixes the covers.

Tucks me in.

Worries about me.

Praises me when I don’t scream.

I hope I didn’t leave too much out.

Now I will tell you some of the extras.

As you know, this immobilizer thing keeps my arm glued across me very tightly.  The doctor cautioned that my underarm could easily get thrush and that I must be sure to wash my underarm three times a day, blow dry, and put a cotton sock under my arm to absorb moisture.

I must tell you, because of the pain, to get in under my arm is no joke, let alone three times a day. I wouldn’t do it. No way.

Nurse Lauren to the rescue.

First she thought of tea tree oil. Once a day, she pours some into my hand, and I am able to sneak some into the crevice under my arm. Then she made some special powder for me from cornstarch and essential oils — Rosewood and grapefruit I think. She pours this powder into my hand and I am cautiously able to slip the powder in — of course, spilling a lot on the bathroom floor.

She couldn’t find 100% cotton socks so she bought me some 100%  bamboo socks which are supposed to be more absorbent than cotton anyway. I bravely squeeze one in.

And all this works!

Lauren also goes to the doctor visits with me. We went yesterday. The doctor gave me a bunch of exercises to do, none of which I could have remembered. I get somewhat tongue-tied with doctors and don’t always speak up for myself.  Look, he gave me five exercises to do, three of which required using varied instruments of torture. Good grief, how could I possibly remember.

Once again, Lauren to the rescue. “Doctor,” she said, “don’t you have a list of these exercises on a sheet of paper you can give us?”

The good doctor didn’t, but he sat down and wrote them all out, thanks to Lauren, and I can now have some confidence that I’m doing the exercises right.

Now Nurse Lauren isn’t a saint. She is, however, awfully close. I am so grateful. What do people do who don’t have a daughter?