#but long gaps between posting make me feel weirdly guilty and unproductive and self-conscious so

[dastardlydandelion]

wip-py snippy

“Good morning,” Chrissy greets softly, flicking the light switch.

A cheery smile graces her glossy lips with an enthusiasm Susan struggles to return, weary after a sleepless night of unpleasant dreams, tossing and turning. Well, not really much tossing, she supposes. And all of the turning was intentional, of course, mindful pressure relief to prevent sores. Albeit, since she couldn’t sleep, at some point the turning was less about necessity and more about movement for movement’s sake.

“Morning,” Susan returns, trying her best to beam anyway. It’ll be their first day really getting to know each other, she wants to make a good impression.

“Are you ready to get up?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Susan exhales, nervous flutter in her chest. It's the first time a stranger has assisted with her care since her rehab stay and the clinical setting had helped Susan compartmentalize the situation. Something about the stranger being in her bedroom makes it feel more awkward, more intimate than Susan is earnestly comfortable with as this young woman she barely knows goes about draining the urine from her night bag and switching it to a leg bag for the day.

But of course, it’s not like someone else managing her bodily fluids will ever be completely comfortable, regardless of who they are. Susan is leagues away from being mortified as she once was, nevertheless holds onto the hope that if she keeps putting in the work she’ll eventually be able to handle her bladder care independently. In the mean time, Susan glances away from Chrissy and focuses on the ceiling, reminding herself that this was her choice. She’s the one who wanted it to be a stranger. She’s the one who prodded her case worker for options, the one who wanted to draw boundaries in her personal relationships. It’ll be okay. Plenty of people have PCAs and do just fine. Susan isn’t special and Chrissy is a professional…she is a professional, right?

She’s just…so young. Not much older than Max, really. Susan tries to flush the seeds of doubt before they can sprout. It’s going to take some getting used to, that’s all. This is what she wanted but it’s still new, still a change. It takes time to adjust to changes, to new things and new realities. This is just one more change she needs to be patient with.

Susan watches Chrissy strip off her vinyl green gloves as she shifts from supine to sitting as hastily as she can. “Could you please pass me my transfer board?”

“Your wish is my command,” Chrissy says playfully, winking as she plucks the board off the wall and dutifully passes it over.

Before Susan can thank her, Max pops up like a puppet from Whac-A-Mole, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“You haven’t needed that thing in like a month, Mom. What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Nothing is wrong, Maxine, I’m just tired.”

“Nightmares again?” Max asks, rapid fire. “Are you okay? Do you need me to—“

“I need you to close the door,” Susan interrupts, irritable from the lack of sleep and her many fluctuating anxieties that the lack of sleep gave her all night to dwell upon. 

“No,” Max snaps, fixing Chrissy with a sharp glower. “Not until we know her better.”

“Maxine,” Susan demands, pointedly raising her voice.

She’s still the mother here, damn it, even if she can’t enforce a grounding or revoke privileges the way she used to. If she even used to, which she probably didn’t if she’s being honest with herself. Even when she had full use of all four limbs, Max was stubborn as a mule and wild as a mustang. Max was always going to do what Max wanted to do.

Max wheels on her heel with a hot snort and stalks away. Chrissy glides across the hardwood floor and quietly shuts the door after her.

“I’m sorry about that,” Susan murmurs. “She’s just protective of me. Especially now.”

“Must be hereditary,” Chrissy comments lightly.

Susan stiffens and the younger woman blanches when she sees her face, fanning her fingers and flapping them defensively.

“I’m sorry— I just. I know what happened…”

“Of course you do. It’s a small town.”