Conditions May Be Slippery

The autumn sky refused to wake this morning. Rain dripped then coldly plummeted and the wind scissored through the Northeastern trees, cutting leaves down in carnival-colored tears.

I told the Things to pile in the minivan. No walking to school this A.M.

The tires tried to accelerate up the driveway, but slipped and skidded on the motley blanket of New England fall. I warned the Things, as they sat seat-belted in the middle row. I warned them that no matter how quickly you need to get somewhere, sometimes you must be slow and cautious because even the most passive beauty can hide the potential for mayhem.

*

The phone rang a few hours later.

The voice from the children's hospital said we needed to increase one of the medications for Thing 1. Nothing to fret over. Thing 1 was growing and the dosage needed to go up slightly to match her weight.

I understand, I said.

I asked about the X-rays and bone density scans.

Good, she said, good. No signs of arthritis; no signs of thinning.

I understand, I said.

The doctor said we could start to taper off one of the remaining meds if everything looked well, I told the voice on the phone, so does this mean we can move forward?

She started her next sentence with "unfortunately."

She looked beautiful, I remember the doctor telling me and My Love, as we stood with them in the examination room. She looks beautiful.

"So we're going to leave the medications where they are for now, except for that one tiny  increase," the voice said in my ear. "We'll see where we are in a few months."

I understand, I said.

Unfortunately, I understand.