I did my best to avoid her seeing me ill all of the time, but it was difficult. She spent most weekdays with her cousin, Marco, thankfully, so her attention was on playing with him or watching television.
Isabella couldn’t remember any differently. I was home with her the first year after she was born, and had returned to work only less than a year later. She had become accustomed to spending her days with her grandmother. I was glad for that. I was never worried about Isabella’s care. My mother did every thing for my baby. She was very well fed, always bathed, and always around loved ones. The best part of it was that I got to spend each day with her, even though there was little interaction between her and I.
My husband would get ready for work and drive my dad back to my parents’ house. Some evenings, he would pick him up on his way home from work, so my dad could have supper with us. If my mom gave him leftovers from the previous dinner, he would just stay home.
If it was a chemo day, Mariano would need to leave work early afternoon, so I could make it for my appointment at the hospital. With the traffic, it took him about forty-five minutes to get home and then another half-hour to get to the hospital, not including his search for parking in the busy area. It would be costly to park in the hospital lot every day, and I knew he never minded the walk, even in the cold. He would bring his car up to the door, and I would wait for him in the cold lobby until he returned, sitting in a wheelchair, my head resting on my hand – my elbow hoping it wouldn’t slide from the narrow arm of the chair.