I haven’t really mastered the fine art of asking for help, which is probably why so many people keep ASKING ME FOR HELP.  After a luscious week of time with my daughters both home from far away, and lots of time with visiting family over the 4th of July holiday, I was pleasantly exhausted and ready for the messy structure of my life. My 90  year old Aunt came to stay with us while all the family was here, and my sainted 84 year-old mother kept Aunt J at her house until I had more room. During that time Aunt J developed an indeterminate pain to go along with the continuing pain from her shingles that I discovered on her last visit three months ago. Ultimately, my Mom determined that a walker was in order, and it seems to have done the trick to keep Aunt J upright, balanced, and less whiney(also wine seems to help). We did a mani-pedi day for all the ladies as a treat, and now I pay the price. This morning, as I try to get back to work, laundry, phone calls, grocery shopping, appointment-making, etc., Aunt J comes downstairs with a finger the size of a sausage. WHAT??? The only thing we can think of is that she got nicked at the salon and has an infection. She was treating it herself, apparently, with Band-Aids and Neosporin. So off to the clinic we go, the walker, the Aunt, and the sausage finger. The very sweet doctor(who happened to be the shingles doctor as well) lances her finger, squeezes out all “the badness” as Aunt J calls it, and puts on a Band-Aid and Neosporin and gives us a prescription for antibiotics. But wait my cell phone is ringing and the number is eerily familiar……

“Hello?”

“Cathy?”

“Yes?”

“This is your brother-in-law’s caregiver. We are pretty sure he has a urinary tract infection”,

Yup…. you just gotta laugh.