A Body in Escrow

We all have no more permanent real estate than our bodies. We go to school and the gym to make home improvements; we slather on cremes to protect the decks from weather-induced decay; we sometimes find infestations that only professional pest control can heal.

And once in a while, only rarely, we put our bodies up for sale. You've tried everything else, and the only recourse left is to transplant out the current family and hope that a new one will treat your number one asset a little better than you can.

My body had been on the market since February 2006. Despite the nine-million registered home-seekers, I could not find that perfect match. Finally, my real estate agent team suggested that I settle for this European woman who loves busy clashing wallpaper and piles of unorganized clutter. I had to suck it up that the new person running the show at my house wouldn't be my perfect decoration match, but maybe crazy wallpaper is coming back into style?

So we shook hands on April 29 and she immediately started bringing her belongings into the house. We agreed that she wouldn't officially move in nor move in her family and pets until my house and I felt a little more comfortable that they would somewhat respect the way I'd had things for the past 28-years. So, we're keeping some chemotherapeutic controls on her and her polka-dot mauve prints. Then, if we're all ready, she'll move in and start really taking over the place starting around May 14.

In the meantime, this period of escrow has turned my abode topsy-turvy. I'm trying to be the best hostess possible, but I'm operating in Opposite Land. All the things you'd normally be advised to do during difficult transitions do not apply here.

• "Eat nourishing foods and drinks." I'm not eating anything, food consumption being quite the awkward sacrifice for a gal who loves to shop for, prepare, cook, share, and eat for three squares per day.
• "Try to keep your blood pumping for both psychological and physical finesse." No exercise. Being confined to one room is rather limiting in the mileage category.
• "Go soak up some Vitamin D." Sunshine will be a danger to me for the next year because my skin will be very sensitive and Graft V Host Disease often manifests itself in the skin.
• "Laughter is the best medicine", true, but when you have sores and mucusitis, a peal of laughter can lead literally to tears.
• "Rely on your family and friends." Friends help people through their trials normally, but without a functioning immune system, I have to restrict the contact I have with people severely.
• "What's good for the bottle,..." When I see someone nonchalantly toss a glass can into the regular trash, I cringe. Recycling has been drilled into me as an easy civil responsibility. However, at the hospital, the utmost in cleanliness takes precedence and so I am having to retrain my brain to toss out perfectly good items. Ouch.

Sigh. So, here I wait, letting the minutes of escrow tick by, their uncertainty drowning out all other sound. I have grown rather attached to my "home" over the years and I really hope to be on the right and most direct path toward its best laid plans.


Oh, and if you get a chance-- por favor drink a cerveza para mi hoy! Feliz Cinco de Mayo!