The last thing I put in my fridge: my son’s heart medication.
Since he turned twenty, Alex has decided he wants to be more independent. Which, of course, makes sense for a twenty-year-old.
He’s been washing my dishes, and he’s kinda getting good at it. I only have to re-wash half of them. He’s been getting his own tube feeds ready, and he’s even been making my coffee at night so I can just come downstairs and turn it on in the morning. It’s quite lovely, actually.
But he also wants to draw his own meds up into the syringes, and I won’t let him. Which makes him disappointed.
Because the fact is, he has not much aptitude for measurements. I watched him make my coffee tonight, insisted on being there, and sure enough, he lost count on his way to four scoops. He insisted that since he lost count, he should start again–without taking out what he’d already put in. I might have ended up with coffee I could stand my spoon up in.
Do I trust he’ll do the same with his heart medication? Absolutely. His independence is an overdose waiting to happen.
So if I come back online one of these mornings with my hair standing on end, it might just be the supercharged java.
Seriously thinking about getting a safe for my fridge, though. To put his heart meds in.
This terrifying post was brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Find the prompt here and join in! https://lindaghill.com/2020/11/20/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-nov-21-2020/