Skinny(25)

Roxanne jumps up, retrieves the tennis ball lying untouched by my hand, returns to her spot beside the bed, and repeats the whole process all over again. The ball rolls slowly across the bed until it rests beside my fingers. Her face says it all: PLEEEEASE! She is stubborn when it comes to playing. I pick up the ball and Roxanne dances back from the bed in happy anticipation. Then I throw the tennis ball out my open bedroom door over the banister, wincing at the sudden unexpected pain of the movement. The ball bounces down the stairs and Roxanne takes off — thrilled. It’s so easy to please a Labrador. I hear her thunder down the stairs in glee.

“Charlotte said they were going to hire someone to sit with me during the day,” I say.

“Voilà. You’re looking at him. Besides, I can use the extra money for a new lens for my telescope.”

Roxanne is back at the edge of the bed again. She opens her mouth and lets the ball roll across my comforter toward my hand then sits back and stares at me with huge, pleading brown eyes. PLEEEEASE! “I can’t. It hurts,” I say to her. She looks totally bummed and lies down on the floor with a big “I’m so disappointed in you” sigh. Guilt. It’s another thing Labradors are good at.

“What are they paying you?” I look back at Rat.

“Same thing they pay for Roxanne’s day care.”

“They’re paying you to dog-sit me?”

“Want a treat? Sit.”

“Very funny.”

“Well, I couldn’t say lie down because you’re already doing that.” He unzips the backpack and pulls out the all-too-familiar informational booklet. “Now let’s see what we’re supposed to do today.”

I groan.

He starts to read, “There will be white tape known as Steri-Strips on your incision sites. These need to stay on for five days post-op. They should then be removed so the incisions can have open air. Don’t worry about the incisions coming apart — there are two layers of dissolving sutures under the Steri-Strips.” He leans over the bed. “So, let’s see what they look like.”

“Really?”

He nods. Before the surgery there was no way I would show anyone my bare stomach. But in the last week, so many people have poked and prodded me, I am sort of getting used to it. Besides, this is Rat, and at the moment he is all I have. I pull up my T-shirt and reveal the two white bandages.

“Humm.” Rat inspects the incisions with the interest of a scientist looking through a microscope at the cure for cancer.

“Redness around the incision of one-fourth an inch is not unusual. Do they hurt?”

“Just a little sore.”

“Good. Some pain at the incisions is normal, but after forty-eight hours it should improve daily. If it becomes more tender after this period, especially if there is increased redness, if swelling has increased, and if there is drainage or bleeding, then there may be infection. At that point we should call the doctor.” He recites it all from memory. “We don’t need to call the doctor. It’s been nearly a week since the surgery, and there’s very little redness.”

I pull the T-shirt back over the top of my stomach and watch Rat retrieve his laptop out of his backpack. “What’s that for?”

“I need to record today’s data.” He types away at the keyboard. “I’m keeping a chart. Going to print it out and put it right up there on the wall.” He motions toward the space beside my bedroom door but doesn’t look up from the computer.

“What data?”

“Weight loss. Exercise. Attitude.” He looks up expectantly from the screen and announces, “Week two. Weight?”

Again, not something I would ever want anyone to know, but this morning I stepped on the brand-new bathroom scale Charlotte bought me before the surgery, and the news was actually pretty good.

“Two eighty-five,” I say.

“Weight loss?”

“Seventeen pounds.”

“Right on target.” Rat types it into the computer. “Exercise?”

“Since I’ve been home?” I ask, trying to stall. After all, he’d been there for most of my walks around the hospital hallways, carefully supervising me while I pushed my rolling rack full of connected bags of dripping liquids.

“I mean,” he pauses for emphasis, “over the last three days since I’ve been back in school and you’ve been here.”

“You’re looking at it,” I finally confess.

Rat glances back up at me and frowns. “That will have to change. Attitude?”

“Grumpy.” He types down my response. “I’m hungry. I want to eat something.”