If I've never mentioned it before, I'm a addicted to reading. My friend Jennifer and I joke that we are in a very exclusive book club consisting of two members, she & I. We take turns choosing books without limit to number of pages or genre. Most often we read fiction, with occasional dabblings in the biography department. We gobble them up at racer's speed, plotting our next conquest before finishing our current one. In recent months, I have been reading in the wee hours during nursing sessions. Our last few choices have been emotionally trying (The Glass Castle, Life of Pi, She's Come Undone). Oddly enough, I've been known to absorb the atmosphere or mood of a book be it elation, melancholy, friskiness, or even baby fever. Stranger things have been brewing, though, than my osmotic irritation.
My life last week, before our mini-vacation, had taken on interest of fictional proportion. I had wild dreams about murders and extravagant parties circa the roaring 20's. And then there were the odd occurences. We left our garage door open over night & some young bandits stole change from our car consoles. My husband bought a crazy expensive home gym without discussing it with me (he says Chuck Norris made him do it). One morning, after finally settling Ben down for a nap (ok so he passed out from sheer exhaustion), I looked out our kitchen window & saw something peculiar. A man, in his 50's, pulled up to the empty lot behind ours in a late 80's model, non-descript, American vehicle, got out with a post hole digger, and proceeded to dig a hole in the middle of the field. He had stopped to make or take a call on his cell phone when I was lured away from the window by a crying baby (not to mention any names...a-hmmph...BENJAMIN PHILLIP CATHEY). When I reach Ben's room & looked out the window, the man was gone. That night I walked the field with my neighbor who found the hole, empty and mysterious. Was he dropping off or picking up? I had hoped for a jar of money. Feared a severed hand or heroin. But...nothing.
Then last Thursday, my first patient of the day was Mrs. P. She was feisty and hard of hearing. She didn't like the questioning during my evaluation. No she had never heard of occupational therapy she said. She questioned me twice, "Your last name is Cathey?" Then, midway through my demonstration of an exercise, she stopped me to read my palm. "Hmmph", she said. "See this thumb? You are a natural leader. You can't help it; you always get put in that position. If it [thumb] was shorter you'd be a prostitute. And you'd make a terrible prostitute.You talk too much". "You aren't jealous of what other people have", she said, pointing at a seemingly random crease on my palm. "And here. You and your husband have different religious views, but that's ok because you really love him. You will have a long marriage and a long life. You will live to be an old lady". "There is something that you need to be studying. You know what it is...so do it!", she demanded. Then she said, "Well, do you have any questions?". I only asked one, how many children would I have. She asked me to make a fist, then observed the creases on the side of my hand, just below my pinky finger. Exasperated, she said, "Well you have 2 at home already right?". I told her no. She then proceeded, "Then you have one and he is very young, right?" Yes I replied in concealed disbelief wondering if perhaps I had a breast pad askew, self-conscious that there was a wet spot seeping through my lab jacket. "Well I see twins so if you don't already have 2 at home then you should be very careful or you will be having another one very soon. In fact, you will have 3 more children", she insisted. Up until that point, I admit I was buying into her crap a little bit. I left out my smart-ass question about whether she foresaw us winning the lotto, because that is Brad's stipulation for future IVF cycles. My thoughts strayed to harsh questions like, "If you can see the future then why haven't you won the lotto yet?", or worse yet, "Why didn't you see that fall coming?". Ah well. So are the pitfalls of selective psychic abilities. All and all....how bizarre.