“I already see the kind of old lady you’re going to be!” she told me.
“Here, I’ll pour the water myself. Thanks,” she said, taking the pitcher and sitting back down.
“Wait,” I said, as I scooted toward the kitchen again for napkins. Heading back into the bedroom, one wheel bumped against the doorpost’s wood trim.
“Don’t you think you’re overdoing things with that scooter? Stay in bed and ask for help!” Esther said.
Her characteristic frankness startled me. I cringed at the thought that she might be right (she usually is) and I was asking for trouble by scooting around the house like a kid riding a Razor. Doctor’s number-one rule for post-ankle-surgery is “Don’t you dare bear weight or put your foot down. Ever.”
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