Author’s Note:

This story is probably not what you are most likely to think it is. First, there is almost NO SEX which occurs “on screen.” Second, no character in the story is pleased with the Mind Control elements in the story. It is about a wife and mother interrupted in the final stages of being mind-controlled by her father, and what the family goes through during and afterward. It does not go well for the mind-controller, the mind-controlled, or their family. Hope, memory, illusion, and the desire to restore the mother to her normal self have unintended consequences. The POV changes for a short time mid-story from the son’s to the mother’s POV, then briefly from the doctor’s POV, then switches back to the son’s POV for the rest of the story. Years pass between each of the POV changes except for the last one.

It was, it turns out, my grandfather who destroyed my mother, and, though I hate to admit it, I unknowingly helped. Who knew mind control was real, not just something from a bad television series?

About a week before it all started going to hell, Mom started acting in ways that were odd for her. Nothing we could put our finger on, Dad and I, but we both noticed. Mom was always a neat freak. When she stopped caring about the house, it was a huge red flag that something was wrong.

Mom sort of retreated into herself about then, too, seeming distracted or preoccupied most of the time. This was also very unlike Mom, who had always been engaged and supportive of Dad and I on a continuous basis. Instead, she seemed to retreat into her bedroom more and more.

Dad and I grew more worried, as time passed, since she didn’t snap out of it. Mom seemed to get even more confused and depressed every day. This was completely unlike her. The part that scared us, truly scared us, were the first hints and then signs that Mom was getting desperate about something, but she would not, or could not, tell us what she was so upset about. She couldn’t seem to admit that she was behaving strangely, and that was another signal flare that something was wrong.

About the middle of the third week, Mom disappeared. Vanished out of the house, I have no idea how long she was gone before I got home from school, and she was still gone when Dad got home from work. Of course, we called everyone we knew looking for her, not knowing what could have happened to her.

She did come home around midnight, finally, and we both noticed that she seemed more cheerful and focused. She told us she had been at Grandad’s house, which was odd, because his was one on the many numbers we’d called earlier, but there had been no answer. She said she did not know why we couldn’t reach her there, and apologized for upsetting us.

“I am just feeling the need for more family time with my father,” she said.

“Honey, just please answer the phone when we call. You just seemed to vanish, and that is never okay. Especially after the last few weeks! You don’t know how worried we were for you. We were close to calling the police reporting you as missing! Are you able to tell us what’s wrong?” Dad asked. He’d been a lot more concerned than I had, but hey, I’m eighteen and I still wasn’t mature enough to really understand how many terrible things can happen. I certainly had no idea that what had actually happened was even possible!

“It must have been on silent,” Mom said, pulling out her cell phone and looking at it carefully.

“Honey, we called you grandfather’s house phone, too. No answer,” Dad shook his head.

“It ... I don’t know ... I didn’t hear it ring, either phone,” Mom said. “My phone is not in airplane mode and the ringtone volume is on high. Huh,” she said, looking at it doubtfully. “I see where you called, really, seven times? Call me now.”

I pulled out my phone and called hers, which rang loudly in her hand.

“Huh,” Mom said, looking at her phone as if it were annoying, then her face cleared and she brightly answered it, smiling widely, “Hi, son! How’s my baby boy?” Then the smile left her face like it was switched off. She snatched the phone from her ear and thumbed the “End Call” icon on the screen.

Okay, first, what the fuck? ‘Baby boy?’ I’m sure that look showed on my face. She had never called me her baby boy, never, not once in my memory. She might have said it when I was an infant and so I can’t remember that, but really, never call an eighteen year old man a ‘baby boy.’ It will not be received with any appreciation at all. If she had done that in public, especially in front of friends, it would be an unforgiveable sin. No bueno. As it was, it was weird and embarrassing.

“I’m sorry, Miles. That wasn’t as cute as I’d thought it would be,” she said. She flushed with embarassment, and pulled at the neck of her top to fan cool air, looking down. “I just can’t seem to put a foot right, today. Forgive me?”

I nodded acceptance of the apology. This was more like Mom. Not that we ever needed to forgive her for anything often at all, but her caring and love showed through.

She looked back to Dad, and all that sort of dimmed, and she looked ill-at-ease. If I hadn’t been watching her closely, I would have missed the subtle shift. And now we come to the second ‘what the fuck?’ I have watched my Mom and Dad together all my life. Mom always, always, brightened whenever she looked at Dad, like he was the light of her life. They loved each other so deeply that it showed all the time whenever they were around each other, even when they were irritated with each other, as happens in all relationships. The subtle change made my stomach lurch. Were Mom and Dad fighting, and I didn’t know?

Then Mom hugged Dad, and the moment passed, but it left me wondering what was going on. She kissed him, then kissed him hard. “I’m so sorry, Andy! I didn’t mean to scare you! I’ll keep an ear out next time, okay?”

“If you do that, there won’t be a next time,” Dad laughed, throwing his head back and laughing as he hugged her. “I’m just glad you’re home safe!”

“Well ... um, I need to get some sleep,” I said, turning for the stairs. “See y’all tomorrow!” Watching those two lovebirds would get a bit nauseating if I hung around. I heard Dad’s “mmmmhh...,” of acknowledgement as he kissed her. Yep, definitely time to leave. I love my parents but sheesh! Get a room, guys!

As I closed my bedroom door, I heard their voices talking in low tones. Well, at least Mom was back, even if she hadn’t acted quite ... right. Something was off, but it had been a long day, and I really had been worried, and I was tired. I didn’t even read before crawling into bed and turning off the lamp.

As the next week passed, the oddnesses increased. Three days after Mom disappeared for a day, I heard something I had never heard before -- my parents arguing in their bedroom. Alarmed, I went downstairs and found Mom putting a blanket and pillows on the couch.

“Mom?”

Mom froze in mid-smooth of the blanket, and then she turned to me with a wide smile. “My baby!” she cried and hugged me.

Why did she use that word again? I’m fucking eighteen, not a baby! Didn’t she realize that was insulting? And why was she hugging me so close? I stepped back and looked at her. “I heard you and Dad arguing. What’s going on?”

“Ohhh, well ... that’s kind of private,” she said, red-faced.

“Mom, the two of you were arguing. Out loud. I heard you. You’re making Dad a bed on the couch! You’ve been acting weird for weeks, now. What is going on?”

Mom sat down and looked at me soberly. “I ... know. I’ve been ... going through some things. Maybe it’s the change of life. I don’t know.” Suddenly she was sobbing. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” she sobbed quietly, tears running down her face. Shit. I hugged her to show my concern, love, and willingness to help.

“Uh ... Mom, I’m sorry. It’s just ... well, something is wrong and I’m worried.” She seemed to bounce emotionally from one state to another. Maybe it was her change of life? She did seem kind of hormonal, maybe?

“I ... know, ba- ... Miles, sorry.” Mom corrected herself. “You’re at the age where saying that’s insulting. Well you are not alone! Every other male human on the planet your age or older has had to live with their mother using terms of endearment that they feel they’ve outgrown. Too bad. Get used to it.” Mom smiled sympathetically. “I’m trying to not step on your feelings, but, well, I don’t think I can keep from doing it from time to time. ‘Sorry about that, chief!’” she grinned, and I recognized the reference to an old TV show she watched when she was young. It was like she was on stable ground again, back to her happy, normal self. I wasn’t fooled.

“I know,” I sighed, “and I bet every mother has had to try to not use outgrown names with their kids at some point. But, really, try to keep that to a very private minimum, okay?”

Mom’s breath caught, then she laughed. “I’ll try if you’ll try to be more okay with it in ... private.”

The way she said ‘private’ was ... off somehow, but I didn’t know how. “Besides,” she said, “this isn’t for your Dad, it’s for me. It’s ... my fault, not his. Don’t worry, I’m sure this rough spot will all be over soon.”

I looked at her. My parents never argued. Never. Fussed a bit, got irritated sometimes, but I had never heard them argue before. “What ... what happened?”

“Oh, I just ... I find I’m not in the mood.”

“Uh, Mom, you’re on the couch. Not in the mood?”

Mom sighed. “Like I said, I think I’m going through the change of life. When that happens, you can lose interest in making love. That’s bad, because your father and I love each other very much, and we show each other that a lot. In bed, I mean. Anyway, it is starting to become a relatively long time since your father and I ... and well, I’d be cranky if our situations were reversed. Hah! I’d be a bitch, is what I’d be! Your father is just a little frustrated. It is putting a definite crimp in our style. But our disagreement really isn’t his fault.”

“He’s making you sleep on the couch?!”

“Uh, no, that’s me again. I just ... need to sleep in here.” She looked sad, then brightened. “But you can hang out down here with me for a while, right? I don’t ... I’m not ready to sleep, yet.”

I wasn’t ready for bed, either, and at least she was talking. Maybe She’d tell me what was wrong if we continued.

It was at that point Mom took over the conversation and grilled me about school, and was I seeing anyone I hadn’t told her about yet, and if I was finding it difficult as a new college student. We talked for about an hour, just like old times. I told her I was between girlfriends still, but was considering a young lady in my English class who had caught my eye. As I described her to Mom, she seemed to get happier and happier, but occasionally there would be a look that crossed her face amongst the looks of encouragement and love that seemed kind of sad. Well, I guess I’m no longer her baby, but almost fully grown, and that had to be difficult for parents, especially Moms.

It occurred to me that Belinda, the object of my recent and nascent interest, looked kind of like my mother in a general way. I guess I’m one of those guys who wants a girl just like the girl who married dear old Dad. Mom has always been such a great mother to me and wife to Dad, and, well, I wanted something as good as they have. Of course, I hadn’t even spoken to Belinda much at all yet, so I don’t even know if her personality is actually at all close to Mom’s, but I had hopes.

As I was reflecting on this, I was disturbed to notice that Mom was looking ... shit, those were her nipples! She was sitting cross-legged on the couch, and holy mother of God, her pajamas showed a damp spot! I freaked out a bit.

Mom looked down and immediately got embarassed. She pulled the blanket over herself and I heard her mutter something about hormones. “Ba- ... Sweetheart, I’m sorry. That was so inappropriate. I think I’ll see my doctor tomorrow. This is causing too many problems!”

I hate feeling stupid, which is how I felt for over-reacting to something that, frankly, I shouldn’t really have even noticed. Bodies do weird and unexpected things sometimes, and being judgey about that was uncool. I’d seen lots of guys and girls have reactions like that, and knew that the physical reaction didn’t always mean what it might seem to imply! For instance, teasing a guy for getting an erection in math class said much more about the teaser than the teased, and actually just demonstrated that the teaser was an asshole -- I’d learned that lesson pretty thoroughly in school.

“Uh, yeah, Mom,” I said, getting up from my seat, “good idea. I do understand hormones making people crazy!” God knew the last few years had been both fun and painful for me to discover how teenage hormones can complicate our lives. Was she going through something similar? Was she going through the female version of getting instant, aching boners for no reason and weird mood swings? Maybe so. I thought I’d heard that males and females had peaks at different times of their lives. That might make sense of all of this. I smiled and turned for the stairs. “Well, bedtime for me,” I said “‘Night, Mom!”

I did not turn around to look at Mom as I left, so as not to embarass her further. After being pretty relentlessly teased as a kid about yet another inappropriate boner, I didn’t want her to feel bad about an uncontrollable biological surprise annoyance.

It was awfully quiet below as I hit the top of the stairs and headed for my room. It didn’t take me long to get into some shorts and crawl into bed.

The next morning when I went sown to breakfast -- Mom fixes excellent breakfasts as well as dinners, by the way, she is an excellent cook and loves to feed us well -- I found Dad sitting at the table at an empty spot. I was surprised to find my own plate piled high with steaming blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs, with a cup of coffee just like I like it, and a large glass of orange juice.

“Hey, Dad! How is it?” I asked, mostly to be polite and make conversation, and figuring he’d already had his breakfast.

“You’ll have to tell me,” he said in a slightly strained voice that tried to sound amused.

“Huh?” I was brought up a bit short.

“It looks like you’re the one with all the food,” Dad said.

“You haven’t already eaten?” I asked. “Mom? Why didn’t you feed Dad if you’re making breakfast?”

Mom turned around with a brilliant smile for me. “Good morning, Ba- uh, Miles! What were you saying? My mind was somewhere else.”

I pointed at the over-bountiful breakfast in front of me, and asked “Why didn’t you feed Dad?”

“Oh, I’ll feed him later,” Mom assured me.

“Uh, Mom, he goes to work in less than half an hour,” I reminded her, and I think you’ve kind of hurt his feelings.”

“What? Daddy isn’t even here...” Mom stopped short, mouth open.

“My Dad, the man you married, not your Dad, Mom. Besides, I’ve never heard you call Grandad ‘Daddy’ before!” As I said the first part, I indicated Dad sitting across the table from me. He was looking very concerned and very sad.

“Oh my God! Andy! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there!” exclaimed Mom.

“Sweetheart, we were talking three minutes ago as you were making breakfast for, uh, Miles.”

“Did you want to eat? I can make something...”

“Well, dear, yes, that would be lovely,” he said, looking at her oddly.

Mom went back to the stove and started working again, and he turned to me. “Really, we’ve been talking almost the whole time I’ve been in here.” His eyebrows quirked. “Did you not want to fix breakfast for me, dear? I mean, if you don’t, I could just pick up something on the way to work...”

“No, no, just give me two minutes,” Mom said pouring a beaten bowl of eggs into the skillet, where they began to cook quickly.

I shrugged, and started eating. Cold eggs and pancakes are a lot less tasty. Dad shrugged and smiled to me.

After a minute, Mom finished up and brought Dad his plate. Of eggs. Just eggs. Slimy-looking half-cooked eggs that had somehow also been burnt. I pulled off my top two pancakes and put them on his plate next to the eggs and passed the syrup. “Thank you, Miles,” Dad said.

“Coffee, Mom?”

“Next to your juice, dear.”

“What ... uh, Mom, I meant for Dad.”

“Why would I make Daddy coffee now?” Mom puzzled.

I glanced at Dad. She’d done it again. When I talked about Dad, my Dad, she seemed to automatically think of her Dad, and called him Daddy. My dad was shaking his head in disbelief.

I’d had enough of whatever game my mother was playing. It was cruel and mean-spirited, which was weird because I had thought all my life that my mother didn’t have a mean bone in her body. “Mom!” I said sharply and she looked at me, startled. “Stop being a shit to Dad -- my Dad, not yours. Really, as if anyone would believe that you just forgot he was there and cooked a full breakfast for me and nothing for him, and then just poorly-cooked eggs that look terrible when you do make something. Look at these Mom! Now look at my Dad’s. See how different they are? I’m going to give you the same speech you gave me when I wasn’t fair with my friends when I was a kid -- it is mean, small-spirited, and behavior unworthy of him, of you, and of me. Didn’t your parents teach you better?”

“Miles!” Dad snapped.

I was certain that my reaction was perfectly appropriate. “It’s true, Dad. Whatever the problem is between you, acting like a shit is not acceptable. You both taught me that. You two should go to therapy.”

Mom was crying, the tears streaming down her face. She looked at Dad, and said, “I’m sorry, Andy. I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” I felt bad, but still justified.

“Mother, I know that you know better. You taught me better. What is going on?” Mom hung her head lower.

Dad glanced at the clock, and started eating quickly. He shook his head at his plate and focused on the pancakes. The eggs Mom had made for him did not look edible, let alone tasty. I passed him my coffee and juice, then went to get a cup and a glass and poured more for myself.

Mom still hadn’t looked up. She looked so very despondent that I began to feel guilty, but I felt like I shouldn’t be any easier on her. Finally, she said in a small voice, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, really, I don’t. I’m going to see the doctor today. Maybe she’ll know. I ... I’m not thinking and feeling right, and I know it. I’m trying to ... it’s like ... things keep disappearing in my head, and other things pop in. It feels ... confusing.” She looked up to Dad. “Andy, I’m so sorry. Let me make you a real breakfast! I didn’t really mean to serve you that crap,” she indicated the somehow-runny burned scrambled eggs.

“I have to leave for work, dear. And you know, while this is the worst breakfast you ever made for me, every other meal you ever made for me was delicious, so one poor one out of many thousands is certainly better than could ever be expected! My love, I hope the doctor can help! You’ve been so very unhappy the last few days, and I just want you back to your normal, happy self!” He kissed her cheek and said, “I’ve really got to go, now!” He drank the last of his coffee and moved out in a no-nonsense way.

Mom had flinched a bit when Dad kissed her cheek, and I only saw it because I was watching closely, something that I obviously had to do to gather clues. Something was much more wrong than just hormones, I was certain. If it were just hormones, she’d have been all over Dad the last few days, wouldnt she? But she seemed to actively dislike Dad now. And she didn’t seem to know why.

I was going to go to the doctor’s office with her and that was that.

“Aren’t you eating, Mom?” She was sitting at the table looking at its surface where her plate would be, looking miserable. She shook her head, and looked at me, and the smile slowly came back to her face. “You’ve got to eat something, Mom. Would you like me to make you some eggs and pancakes?”

Mom jumped up and moved quickly to the stove. “No, no, Ba- uh, Miles, I’ll just make an egg for myself. You eat your breakfast!”

I waited for Mom to whip up her own scrambled egg with a touch of cream beaten into the mix just before it hit the melted butter in the pan. It was fluffy and hot, and looked exactly like my eggs, and nothing like Dad’s. As she sat down and picked up her fork, I asked her about that.

“Mom, are you angry with Dad for some reason? I mean, look at the eggs you fixed him ... no, I don’t want you to feel bad, I want to know why this,” and I indicated the scorched slime on his plate, “ ... rather than this,” I said, indicating our plates.

Mom drew a deep breath. “I really don’t know. I keep doing things that are wrong, but they feel right and natural at the time. I don’t even think about them, they feel so normal and appropriate. I love your father, I know I do, but I can’t seem to bring myself to show it. Miles, something is wrong with me, and I’m afraid I will do something that will hurt you.”

“Me?! I’m worried that you will hurt Dad. You already have, several times.”

“I’d never hurt Daddy!”

“Not your father, my father! Geez Mom, why do you keep thinking I’m talking about your father whenever I talk about mine? This is recent. You never did that before. Is it so hard to realize that when I say ‘Dad’, I mean my dad, like I have for my entire life? And why are you calling him ‘Daddy’ now? I’ve never heard you call Grandad that before the last few days! What gives!?”

Mom took her last bite of egg and chewed a moment. “I think I may be losing my mind,” she admitted...

“I’m going with you to the doctor’s office,” I told her. I expected her to object, and to tell me to get to class. She didn’t. She reached over and took my hand, a somewhat embarrassed smile of thanks graced her lips.

One of my usual chores was doing the dishes, since Mom almost always cooked. I stood and grabbed up the plates and used silver and took them to the sink. As I got close, Mom quickly inserted herself between me and my goal. “I’ll get those, Ba- uh, Miles!”

“Nope! You cooked, this is my job. You go make the appointment and get dressed. This won’t take me a minute!” I replied.

She pouted for a moment then kissed me on the cheek and whirled to scamper off like she was a seven-year-old. I shook my head and did the dishes.

Mom’s mood swings seemed pretty extreme and odd. I wondered if perhaps she could be bipolar. I had a friend whose father was bipolar, and would sometimes go off his medication. He could get pretty extreme and odd during those times. But didn’t bipolar disorder show up earlier in life? Mom was in her mid-forties ... Maybe not, I don’t know, I’m not a shrink. I was pretty sure Mom needed one, though.

Mom scheduled the appointment for just after lunch, so I went and grabbed a shower, assuming she was doing the same. I was midway through shampooing my hair when the shower door opened and there was Mom.

She had an almost blank look on her face as she stared at me. I covered my groin and yelled “Mom! What the hell?”

She seemed to snap out of it and looked stunned, then horrified. “Oh, Baby! I’m so sorry! I did it again!” She turned and ran from the bathroom.

I was going in with her to talk with the doctor. I’d be asking her for a referral for Mom to a psychiatrist. This was getting scary.

I finished my shower, got dressed, and went to find Mom. She was in my parent’s bedroom, sitting on the bed looking scared and dejected.

“Hey, Mom,” I said, trying to keep things from getting worse. “How are you feeling, now?”

“Confused and sad,” Mom replied. “Miles, honey, I’m so sorry for walking in on you like that! I just sort of ... woke up there in the bathroom. I don’t know what I was doing. I don’t even know what I was thinking! I was just on auto-pilot, I guess.”

“That’s okay, Mom, just don’t do it again. I’ll make sure the bathroom door is locked in the future.”

“No!” The word was out of her before she could stop it, or even knew it was coming. She took a breath. “You might fall and be hurt in there -- so many accidents happen in the bathroom!”

“Uh ... sure, yeah, Mom, okay,” I agreed, privately thinking the door would definitely be locked from here on out. It was way too creepy to have her walk in on me in the shower again! “What is the last thing you remember before realizing you were in the bathroom?”

“Um, I was laying out clothes for the doctor’s office and about to go get in the shower...” she felt her hair and looked down at herself, “which I apparently didn’t do. I have no idea why I went to the hall bath instead of mu own bathroom!”

“Mom, get your shower and get dressed. We’ll have to ask the doctor about it.”

Mom nodded, picked up her clothes to change into, and trudged into the bathroom. A moment later, I heard the shower start. I slipped out and pulled on my socks and shoes, then went downstairs to wait for Mom.

When she appeared, she looked nice and normal. I hugged her and told her it would be all right, and we left.

When Dr. Henderson entered the exam room, she raised an eyebrow at my presence. “I want him here,” Mom informed her before the doctor could ask.

“Melina, how are you? I see you scheduled this appointment just this morning,” asked Dr. Henderson, “are you not feeling well?”

Mom looked pained and embarrassed, flushing bright red and hanging her head. “No, no, I’m not. I’m having ... some problems. I think I’m going through menopause, and I seem to be losing my mind because if it.”

“Oh? It seems a bit early for you to be going through menopause. Let me get a blood panel on you, and we’ll figure that out quickly!”

“Um, Dr. Henderson, Mom is having some problems doing things she would never do and not realizing it, and is treating Dad terribly.” I told her.

“Oh? Well, if it is menopause, hormone replacement therapy can take the edge off. What your describing could be attributable to menopause. Hormones are responsible for so many things, and when those hormone levels change, the body and mind have to go through an adjustment period. Replacing the missing hormones allows the body to run like usual, but then the level of replacement hormones is lowered slowly by steps down to nothing, so the body and mind can adjust easier. It spreads the change out rather than making it happen all at once.”

“She’s been kind of reminding me of a friend of mine’s father. He’s bipolar, and sometimes goes off his meds, and thinks and does crazy sh ... things.” I told her about that morning’s breakfast.

“That ... were you angry with your husband, Melina?” asked Dr. Henderson.

“No, not at all. I just forgot he was there,” replied Mom.

“While talking to him for ten minutes, Dad said,” I added. And when she made his breakfast she made burned runny scrambled eggs for him, while making fluffy perfect eggs for me and then herself.”

“Miles, why don’t you go wait for your Mom in the waiting room? I think she and I need to have a private talk.”

“Okay “ I said, “but I think she should see a shrink, and maybe she and Dad should get marital counseling. All this has happened in a couple of weeks, and most especially in the last couple of days. It’s getting markedly worse. She walked in on me in the shower, and some other stuff. Can we get a referral?”

“If she needs one, certainly! Let’s get that blood drawn now, and then we’ll talk, okay?” Dr. Henderson said to me, and then asked the last part of Mom. She pulled out a couple of empty blood vials and a Vaccutainer, which was essentially a needle to plug the vacuum-filled vials into so that it automatically drew out the right amount of blood.

As she was wiping mother’s arm with an alcohol swab, Dr. Henderson noticed a mark on her arm above the vein from which she was about to draw the blood. “Huh. What’s this? Have you had blood drawn in the last few days?”

Mom looked down at her arm in confusion. “No, I haven’t had blood drawn since I was here last!”

Dr. Henderson adjusted her glasses and looked more closely. “Yes, that looks like a needle mark to me.”

Mom looked mystified. “I have mo idea. Why would anyone want my blood?”

“Needles can inject as well as draw blood,” I said, wondering if my Mom was turning into a junkie.

“Well, yes, of course, but it is far more likely to be a blood draw,” Dr. Henderson said. “And, Miles, it’s just the one and looks professionally done, so don’t worry about that! It’s mostly healed.”

I shrugged. The doctor drew the blood from her other arm and took the samples to the lab down the hall. I followed her out, and continued on to the waiting room where I pulled out my phone and played a game while I waited.

After fifteen minutes or so, the nurse called me and said I could go back to my Mom. I walked back to the exam room to hear my mother crying, and Dr. Henderson’s voice trying to soothe her.

“ ... will be all right. Your family loves you, why, your son even cared enough to come here with you! Out of all my patients who aren’t invalids, you and only one other have been accompanied by a son or daughter. Your son and husband are showing you their love by wanting you to get better and getting you here. We’ll get the lab results back, and then we’ll be able to figure out how to best help you get your normal life back, okay?”