Trading Post

Every party has a pooper, that's why we invited you.  

You have to realize yours isn't a normal case. You had continence issues before hand, which interfered with normal peeing and the ability to un-potty train. It absolutely is possible for a normal person to become incontinent after reverse potty training and long-term diaper dependency. Just not for you. Another way to look at it. Are you able to play basket ball and jump up to slam dunk the ball while hanging on the rim? If not, that doesn't mean it's not possible. Only that it's not possible for you. Becase while your experience may vary, you can't discount the experience of others 

Yes, of course—I read every chapter with great enthusiasm. And today's chapter is especially interesting. Everyone's back? How come? Why? What for? I can't wait to see what happens next.

Book 2 – Chapter 31: Nothing a Diaper Couldn’t Solve   Theresa had chosen well. By the time Sally came downstairs, showered and properly awake, there was nothing about her clothes that suggested either convalescence or an attempt to impress anyone. A short, breezy summer skirt, a fitted T-shirt, simple white cotton underwear underneath and bare legs made the whole thing feel deliberately ordinary. No pajamas, no blanket wrapped around her shoulders, no expensive statement piece, nothing that belonged to Sally Weiss the heiress or Sally Weiss the patient. Just comfortable clothes for a warm day that seemed to say she intended to spend the next several hours doing absolutely nothing important and enjoying it. Sally liked that. She felt cleaner too, lighter after the shower, and for the first time since coming home she caught sight of herself in a mirror and thought she looked mostly normal. Still a little pale perhaps, but not washed out. Her eyes were clearer, and the strange hesitation in her movements had eased. She was not back to herself entirely—she could still feel a heaviness in her arms and legs when she climbed the last few stairs or stood too quickly—but it was unmistakably better. Dr. Huber was waiting in the family room with Bridget, her medical bag open beside her. She looked Sally over once. “You look better.” Sally smiled. “I was told to make an effort.” From somewhere behind her, Theresa said, “I said nothing of the sort.” Sally ignored her. Dr. Huber smiled faintly and gestured toward the armchair. “Sit.” Sally obeyed, tucking one leg beneath herself. “How did you sleep?” Sally hesitated. Elise noticed immediately. “That well?” “Eleven and a half hours.” Bridget glanced toward her daughter. Dr. Huber raised her eyebrows. “Without waking?” “Not that I remember.” “And yesterday?” “Mostly sofa.” “What does mostly sofa mean?” “Lounging around. Oskar. TV. A little reading. Renée came over. Theresa came over. I slept again in the afternoon.” “So you followed instructions.” Sally gave her a small, self-satisfied smile. “I told you I would.” Dr. Huber reached for her wrist. “Any dizziness?” “Barely. Not really anymore.” “Headache?” “Gone.” “Nausea?” “No.” “Appetite?” “Better.” Bridget answered before Sally could soften it. “She ate eggs yesterday morning. Some pastry. Orange juice. And she had chicken.” Sally looked at her mother. “I can report my own food intake.” “You were going to say ‘better.’” “That was accurate.” Dr. Huber was already counting Sally’s pulse. “Any fever?” “No.” “Chills?” “No.” “Shortness of breath?” “No.” Elise nodded and moved on to the blood-pressure cuff. Sally sat quietly while it tightened around her arm. “Still tired?” “Yes.” “How tired?” Sally thought about it. “Not Saturday tired.” “That is not a medical scale.” “You know what I mean.” “I do.” Sally looked down at her hands. “I feel rested. But my arms and legs still feel heavier than normal. Like everything takes a little more effort. Not bad. Just… there.” Dr. Huber nodded. “That is useful.” The cuff deflated. Elise glanced at the reading. “Much better.” Sally brightened. “How much better?” “Enough that I am pleased. Not enough that you get to renegotiate the entire treatment plan.” Sally’s expression fell. Theresa smiled from the doorway. Dr. Huber listened to Sally’s chest again, then her heart, checked her oxygen saturation and temperature, and had her stand for another blood-pressure reading. This time Sally rose without pausing and remained steady. Elise noticed that too. “Good.” Sally smiled. By the time the examination was over, she was beginning to feel genuinely optimistic. Dr. Huber packed the stethoscope away and sat back. “You are improving exactly as I hoped.” There it was. Sally waited. Elise looked at her. “You have something you want to ask.” Sally hesitated. “Maybe.” Bridget turned slightly toward her. Sally took a breath. “Next Saturday.” Dr. Huber’s expression became immediately suspicious. “What is next Saturday?” “Charlie’s birthday.” Elise waited. “In Hartford.” The doctor closed her eyes briefly. Sally pressed on before she could answer. “I know what you’re going to say.” “That saves time.” “But listen first.” Elise folded her hands. “I’m listening.” Sally sat straighter. “I will be a star patient all week. Seriously. I’ll rest myself into oblivion. I won’t train, I won’t do anything stupid, I’ll eat whatever everyone puts in front of me, I’ll sleep as much as I need. And in Hartford I’ll behave.” Dr. Huber’s expression did not change. “Define behave.” “Birthday party Saturday afternoon. That’s it. No running around. No extra plans. Church Sunday morning if I’m okay, and otherwise I stay at the house.” Elise shook her head slowly. “Sally, travel is not rest.” “I know.” “No, I don’t think you do. Airports, schedules, security, changes in routine, sitting for hours, disrupted meals, time zones, social expectations. Even first-class travel is physically demanding when you are already depleted.” Sally looked disappointed but not surprised. “I thought you’d say that.” “I am saying it because it is true.” A voice came from the study doorway. “What if most of those problems don’t apply?” Adrian stepped into the room. Dr. Huber turned toward him. He had clearly been listening just enough to know where the conversation had gone. Sally looked at him hopefully. Adrian came farther in and rested one hand against the back of a chair. “It would be my aircraft. Non-stop from Zurich to Hartford.” Elise watched him. “No airport terminal. No connections. No waiting around. She leaves from the private terminal here, boards directly, lands in Hartford and goes straight to where she is staying.” Sally remained very quiet. Adrian continued. “The aircraft has a separate bedroom. A real one. She can sleep for most of the flight if she wants.” Dr. Huber’s eyebrows rose slightly. “And on arrival?” “She’ll be with people she knows very well. Close friends. No hotel. No public schedule.” “No business.” “None.” “No appearances.” “None.” “No added meetings because someone discovers she is in Connecticut.” Adrian smiled. “I can make sure that does not happen.” Theresa stepped into the room properly now. “And I’ll be with her.” Elise looked toward her. Theresa gestured toward Sally. “I’ll watch her like a hawk.” Sally made a face. Theresa corrected herself. “Like an older sister.” Dr. Huber studied her for a moment. “That is a more reassuring description.” “Good.” Theresa leaned one shoulder against the doorway. “She won’t be alone. She won’t have to organize anything. She won’t be responsible for anybody except herself. If she looks tired, she rests. If she doesn’t want to go somewhere, she doesn’t go. If she starts pretending she is fine when she isn’t, I know what that looks like.” Sally looked toward Theresa. There was affection in the glance, but also trust. Dr. Huber noticed. Adrian continued. “She could leave Friday afternoon, sleep on the way, arrive with time to settle. Birthday Saturday. Sunday morning church only if she feels well enough. Then home.” Elise looked between Adrian, Theresa and Sally. Sally tried not to look too hopeful. It lasted approximately three seconds. Dr. Huber sighed. “You people make it very difficult to maintain a clean medical argument.” Sally’s face brightened. “That sounds promising.” “It is not permission.” Sally immediately went still. Elise held up a hand. “I will examine you again Friday morning.” Sally nodded quickly. “If you continue improving at the same rate, if your appetite is back, if you are sleeping normally, if your blood pressure remains stable, if the heaviness is substantially improved and if I am satisfied that you are not simply pretending because you want to go—” “I won’t.” “You absolutely might.” Theresa nodded. “She might.” Sally looked betrayed. “Whose side are you on?” “Reality’s.” Dr. Huber continued. “Then I will consider clearing you for the trip.” Sally stared. “Consider?” “Yes.” “That’s almost yes.” “It is not.” “But it’s not no.” Elise smiled despite herself. “No. It is not no.” Sally leaned back in the chair, visibly pleased with that distinction. Dr. Huber pointed at her. “And there is a condition.” “Of course there is.” “If I clear you, the trip does not end your recovery.” Sally’s smile faded slightly. “When you come back, you go straight back into rest mode for another week.” “A whole week?” “Controlled recovery. Perhaps not as strict as this one. If everything continues well, I may allow short walks and light activity. But no training program, no overloaded calendar, no immediate return to normal intensity.” Sally exhaled. “So Hartford costs me another week.” “No.” Dr. Huber shook her head. “Your body costs you another week. Hartford is merely something I may allow in the middle of it.” Sally thought about that. Then nodded. “Okay.” Elise looked at Adrian. “And I mean controlled. Not ‘she looked better, so we booked three lunches and a meeting.’” Adrian lifted both hands. “Understood.” She looked at Theresa. “No improvisation.” Theresa smiled. “I can be terrifyingly boring.” Sally snorted. “That is completely false.” “Medical emergency. I’ll adapt.” Dr. Huber stood and picked up her bag. “Friday morning. Until then, nothing changes.” Sally rose too. “Rest, food, water, sleep.” “Yes.” “No exercise.” “Correct.” Sally sighed. “That one is really dragging.” “I know.” Dr. Huber’s tone softened. “But you are improving. That is what matters.” Sally nodded. “And Friday?” “I evaluate.” “Objectively?” “As much as possible.” Sally smiled. “I’ll take it.” Theresa waited until Dr. Huber had turned toward Bridget before leaning closer to Sally. “See?” Sally whispered back. “What?” Theresa smiled. “Loooove.” Sally shoved her lightly with one hand. “Shut up.” But the grin stayed with her. -- Eventually, Sally had to contend with the fact that news of her condition was beginning to travel. It started with Erika on Monday afternoon.   Erika: My mother said you got sick after you left.   Sally stared at the message for a moment. That sounded considerably more dramatic than she felt the situation deserved.   Sally: Sort of. But I’m fine.   The reply came almost immediately.   Erika: What happened?   That took longer. Sally shifted deeper into the sofa, phone resting against one knee as she tried to find a version that was both accurate and unlikely to send Erika into a spiral of unnecessary guilt.   Sally: Many things. Three weeks of non-stop caught up with me.   A few seconds.   Erika: What does that mean? Sally frowned at the screen.   Sally: Exhaustion. I needed rest. My body went downhill.   The typing indicator appeared.   Erika: Breakdown?   Sally winced. That sounded worse.   Sally: Physically. Not emotionally.   There was a noticeably longer pause.   Erika: Oh.   Then another message followed.   Erika: I promised you rest. And I didn’t let you.   Sally sighed. Of course. She began typing in English, stopped, deleted it, and instead reached into the Italian vocabulary she had accumulated in Tuscany. Then she stole one of Erika’s own favorite expressions and sent it straight back at her.   Sally: Non fare lo sciocco.   Erika answered almost instantly.   Erika: You sound like me.   Sally: Exactly.   Then:   Erika: Promise me you are OK.   Sally’s expression softened.   Sally: I promise.   That still didn’t seem sufficient, so she switched to the camera, pushed her hair into something vaguely presentable and took a quick selfie from the sofa. She smiled properly rather than performing some exaggerated display of health, though she did angle herself toward the window where the light was better. She sent it. Then waited.   Erika: Better.   Sally smiled.   Erika: Mi manchi.   Sally’s thumb hovered for only a second.   Sally: Anche io.   That settled Erika, at least enough for the conversation to move on to safer things. Sally had hoped that would be the extent of it. It wasn’t. By Tuesday, Patricia had heard.   Patricia: Your mom says you’re recovering from a tough vacation.   Sally stared at the screen. Then she laughed.   Sally: Great. Now I have to explain my phantom sickness.   Patricia: Phantom?   Sally: Exhaustion. I sort of had a physical breakdown after three weeks on the road.   She considered that wording, then added:   Sally: My body was playing catch-up from everything, apparently. And it tripped and fell.   Patricia’s response came with a laughing emoji.   Patricia: That sounds very you.   Sally: I’m on a mission to rest now.   Patricia: Charlie says you are coming Saturday.   Sally paused. There it was. She looked toward the other end of the room, where Theresa was reading something on her tablet. Then back at the phone.   Sally: Maybe.   Patricia: Maybe?   Sally: Doctor checks me again Friday morning. If I’m good enough, she might clear me.   Patricia: Strict.   Sally: Very.   A moment later, Sally added:   Sally: Birthday party only. Maybe church Sunday morning. Nothing else.   Patricia: Wow.   Sally: Well, you can ask Theresa how I looked when I got home.   Patricia replied almost immediately.   Patricia: I will ask her.   Sally looked across the room. Theresa glanced up. “What?” Sally smiled. “Nothing.” Theresa narrowed her eyes. That, Sally decided, was a problem for later. -- By Wednesday, two things had changed. Sally woke at what felt like a normal hour. And she was hungry. For several moments she simply lay there, registering both facts with cautious satisfaction. The deep, dragging exhaustion that had seemed to pull her back into the mattress every morning was gone. Not entirely, perhaps, but enough that she noticed its absence. Her limbs no longer felt weighted, her head was clear, and beneath all of that was something she had not felt properly since Tuscany. Restlessness. She wanted to get up. That was precisely why she didn’t. Dr. Huber’s warning returned almost word for word: You are going to feel better before you are recovered. Sally frowned at the ceiling. Annoying woman. Unfortunately, she was probably right. And there was Hartford. That alone was enough to make Sally remain exactly where she was. If staying in bed another hour increased the odds of Dr. Huber looking at her Friday morning and saying yes, Sally could manage an hour. She could manage two if necessary. She had made promises—to her parents, to Theresa, to the doctor and, increasingly, to herself—that she would not turn recovery into another competition. The heavily boostered diaper she had put on the night before made the decision considerably easier. She was warm, comfortable and entirely unconcerned about whether she drifted back to sleep or simply stayed where she was. There was something almost luxurious about that. No clock watching, no getting up because she felt she ought to, no calculating whether she had rested enough. So Sally stayed in bed. She checked messages, scrolled through a few articles, answered Erika, ignored three emails that looked suspiciously productive, and eventually ended up reading something completely unrelated to anything she was supposed to accomplish. By eight, however, patience ran out. She showered, dressed in a loose T-shirt and shorts, and went downstairs.  Mia was already in the kitchen. “Morning, Mia.” Mia turned. Then blinked. Her expression shifted almost imperceptibly into suspicion. “How are you feeling, Miss Sally?” Sally noticed the tone immediately. “Fine.” Mia pressed her lips together. Sally corrected herself. “Better.” That did not entirely satisfy her either. Then Sally smiled. “Hungry.” Mia stopped. “You want to eat?” There was enough surprise in the question to make Sally laugh. “Yes.” “Properly?” “I think so.” That transformed Mia. Within moments Sally was sitting at the kitchen table with toast, scrambled eggs, fruit and orange juice appearing in front of her with remarkable efficiency. She did not finish everything, but she ate enough that even Mia seemed unwilling to complain. By the time Bridget came into the kitchen carrying Oskar, Sally was finishing the last of her toast and using it to wipe a streak of egg yolk from the plate. Bridget stopped. Her face brightened immediately. “Well.” Sally looked up. “What?” “You’re eating.” “So everyone keeps telling me.” “How do you feel?” Sally considered the answer before giving it. “Almost better.” Bridget shifted Oskar higher against her shoulder. “Almost?” “Still behaving,” Sally added quickly. “I know. Rest. Nothing stupid. I’m not going anywhere.” Bridget watched her for another second. “But?” Sally smiled faintly. “I just feel... normal again. Mostly.” That drew a visible sigh of relief from her mother. “I’m glad.” Sally nodded. “Me too.” Bridget came farther into the room. “Just take it easy, okay?” Sally laughed. “I’ve got some reading to do.” Bridget raised one eyebrow. “I hope it’s entertainment.” Sally raised her own. “That’s impossible. Reading is always learning.” Bridget paused. Then chuckled. “Fair point.” Oskar shifted against her. Bridget looked down at him, then back at Sally. “Here.” Sally immediately held out her arms. “Take him while I shower. Renée should be here soon.” That was an assignment Sally was entirely willing to accept. Bridget transferred Oskar carefully into her arms, and he settled against Sally with the ease of someone who had already decided she was familiar furniture. His tiny hand closed around a fold of her loose T-shirt. Sally smiled. “Morning, buddy.” She bent and kissed his forehead, and Oskar barely reacted beyond relaxing more deeply against her chest, his tiny body settling into the familiar warmth of her arms.  Sally leaned back in the chair and looked down at him with a quiet smile, taking stock of the morning almost without meaning to: it was Wednesday, she was hungry again, genuinely rested, still very much grounded and behaving exactly as Dr. Huber had ordered, and, for the first time all week, she was beginning to feel like herself again. -- Even Adrian seemed noticeably more relaxed as the morning went on, particularly when he found Sally settled comfortably on the sofa with Oskar asleep against one arm and a book balanced in the other. The sight seemed to reassure him more than any report about blood pressure or appetite had managed to do, and when he glanced at the book, Sally automatically lifted it enough to flash the cover for his inspection, already anticipating the comment. “Fiction?” Adrian asked, raising his eyebrows. Sally shook her head. “History.” His expression became mildly suspicious. “Sounds like work.” “Reading about other people’s mistakes is deeply entertaining,” Sally replied without missing a beat. “Besides, it helps me pass the time.” Adrian considered that for a moment before conceding the point with a nod and lowering himself onto the sofa beside her. Oskar had fallen completely asleep by then and was drooling quite contentedly against Sally’s shirt, so Adrian reached over and lifted him carefully into his own arms. “Thanks,” Sally murmured, shifting into a more comfortable position now that both hands were free. From there, the morning slipped into the sort of easy family banter Sally had been missing without quite realizing it. Adrian turned on the television, keeping the volume low, and after a while they landed on one of the car channels that could reliably hold both their attention without requiring much of either of them. Sally eventually decided she had accumulated enough recovery credit to abandon her side of the sofa altogether and lean against her father’s shoulder while he held Oskar, the three of them forming an arrangement that would have been almost embarrassingly domestic if either Sally or Adrian had been inclined to point it out. “I miss my cars,” Sally sighed as something loud and expensive swept across the television screen. Adrian chuckled. “I miss mine too.” Sally looked up at him with exaggerated disbelief. “You have a stable of cars at your disposal here in Zurich.” “That isn’t the same.” She rolled her eyes because, annoyingly, she understood exactly what he meant. Adrian had his own cars at Solano Prado, parked alongside hers, and they were not quite the cars he would have chosen for himself in Zurich. There was something about Florida that had loosened both of them stylistically, allowing choices that would have felt unnecessarily conspicuous or almost improper back in Switzerland. “Somehow the American approach to European cars has taken hold of me,” Adrian admitted. “Combinations that are almost forbidden to us Swiss.” “Or entire models,” Sally added. “Only foreigners drive M5s around here.” “Or very tasteful 911 Carrera 4S models with chrome wheels,” he said, perfectly straight-faced. Sally laughed because that were Adrian’s Florida cars. “I have to admit, you adapted very well to American style.” “There was never much difficulty in adapting,” he murmured. “I’m glad, because I’m going to have to choose carefully for my first proper car here. I don’t think I’m winning any popularity contests by taking the orange Aventador into downtown Zurich every time I want coffee.” “No,” Adrian agreed. “You most certainly are not.” “The black Range Rover is fine, I guess. It ticks all the boxes.” Adrian glanced at her. “Which Range Rover?” Sally lifted her head from his shoulder. “What do you mean, which Range Rover?” “It’s going back to the dealership. It’s time for a trade.” “Already?” “It’s old.” Sally stared at him for a beat, then laughed in disbelief. “That thing is not old.” “For that kind of car, it is.” “I suppose I’m going to have to get used to this.” “You are,” Adrian said. “Unless you intend to start collecting modern junk.” “Not modern SUVs,” Sally conceded, then her expression changed as an idea took hold. “A classic one might be different, though. We could find an early Range Rover, fix it properly, maybe keep the original interior and—” “No.” Sally frowned. “You didn’t even let me finish.” “I know where that sentence was going, and we already have plenty of classics.” “We should use them.” Adrian looked at her. Sally held his gaze, entirely serious now. “That’s the whole point. Cars are supposed to be driven.” For a moment Adrian seemed prepared to argue, but then he glanced back toward the television, where another immaculate classic was being discussed as though it belonged in a museum rather than on a road. “Maybe we should,” he conceded. Sally smiled and settled against him again, satisfied enough not to press her advantage. Oskar remained asleep in Adrian’s arms, the television murmured on, and the conversation drifted toward other cars they owned, cars they had sold, and cars Sally insisted they absolutely did not need but would probably end up discussing again anyway. It was pleasantly pointless, which made it exactly the sort of thing Dr. Huber had ordered, and Sally found herself thinking that recovery became considerably easier once everyone stopped treating rest as something that had to be endured. -- By Thursday, Sally felt almost entirely like herself again, and the daytime diapers had quietly disappeared from her routine without ceremony. She no longer felt the need for the extra security while lounging around the house, because the overwhelming sleepiness had faded and she could trust herself not to drift off unexpectedly on whichever piece of furniture happened to be nearest. At night she was still taking precautions, particularly after the spectacular Sunday-morning failure, but during the day she was back in ordinary underwear, ordinary clothes, and something very close to ordinary energy, even if Dr. Huber’s instructions still kept her firmly anchored to the house. Theresa was there again that afternoon, continuing what Sally privately thought of as her increasingly convincing older-sister act, although Theresa would probably have denied there was any act involved. She had taken over Oskar’s bottle and was sitting on the floor with her back against the sofa, legs stretched comfortably in front of her while Sally occupied the cushions above. “It’s good for my back,” Theresa said with a chuckle, shifting slightly against the base of the sofa. “I need something hard to sit on once in a while.” Sally smiled at that, though the comment still carried a quiet weight for her. Theresa had come a long way since the broken back that had once made even ordinary movement difficult, and there was something satisfying about seeing her sit on the floor now simply because she preferred it, rather than calculating whether she would be able to stand again afterward. Theresa glanced back over her shoulder. “So, Charlie’s birthday party.” Sally looked up from her phone. “What about it?” “What did you get him?” Sally made a face. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but admitting aloud that she had already bought Charlie a birthday present seemed somehow more revealing than it should have been. Theresa caught the hesitation immediately. “You want to tell me.” “I don’t know if I do.” “You absolutely do.” Theresa returned her attention to Oskar, who had apparently decided that the bottle was beneath him and was keeping his mouth firmly closed. She touched the nipple gently against his lips and waited, patient enough not to force the issue, until Oskar reconsidered and finally opened his mouth. His little fists settled against the bottle as he began to drink. “There,” Theresa murmured. “See? Negotiation.” Sally gave her a crooked smile. “Okay. I’ll tell you.” She slipped off the sofa and joined Theresa on the floor, sitting opposite her with her legs crossed. “It’s called a PlaneTag. It’s sort of a key chain, except bigger, and it’s made from an actual airplane.” Theresa nodded slowly. “An actual airplane.” “A DC-10,” Sally added proudly. Theresa looked at her. “And that is something boys who like airplanes become excited about?” Sally nodded eagerly. “Very.” “A DC-10 is old.” “Yes.” “Are you sure Charlie even knows what it is?” Sally’s grin widened. “He uses one as one of his screen wallpapers.” Theresa considered that. “Of course he does.” “And it’s not just some random piece of metal. It’s cut from the skin of the airplane, so you actually get part of a real aircraft.” “That does sound considerably more interesting than a normal key chain.” “Exactly.” Theresa adjusted the angle of the bottle as Oskar drank. “And I assume you have already verified that he does not own this particular piece of retired aviation history.” Sally shrugged with exaggerated innocence. “Patricia may have helped me with that.” “Ah.” “She told me Charlie doesn’t have a PlaneTag at all, so I bought it online and had it sent directly to her house. It’s already there waiting for me.” The last few words came out more softly, and Sally tilted her head with a faint, resigned smile. “Well, if I don’t make it, he’ll get it anyway.” Theresa looked at her for a moment before returning her attention to Oskar. “You’ll be there.” Sally raised an eyebrow. “Very confident.” “I am.” “The doctor hasn’t cleared me yet.” “No, but you look normal again, you’re eating, you’re not falling asleep halfway through sentences, and you have spent almost a week behaving yourself with a level of discipline I honestly did not expect.” Sally looked offended. “Thanks.” “You know what I mean.” Theresa smiled. “Just don’t ruin it tonight. Go to bed early, sleep properly, and let Dr. Huber see you tomorrow at your best.” “That part is easy,” Sally said with a shrug. “I’ve worked so hard on the Rest Project that I may be permanently incapable of sleeping less than ten hours.” Theresa laughed. “Then I’ll just have to come shake you awake every morning.” Sally groaned. “That sounds invasive.” “I’ll bring backup.” Theresa looked down at Oskar. “You’ll help me, won’t you, little buddy?” Oskar continued drinking with complete seriousness, one tiny fist still resting against the bottle as though he had already agreed to the arrangement. Sally narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t listen to her. She’s a bad influence.” Theresa smiled. “Interesting thing to say about the person currently helping you get to Hartford.” Sally leaned back against the sofa and conceded the point with a reluctant grin, while Oskar continued his bottle between them and the afternoon settled again into the easy quiet that had come to define the week. Friday morning was close enough now to feel real, and for the first time Sally allowed herself to imagine that the answer might actually be yes. -- By ten that evening, Sally was in bed and making a deliberate effort to treat the night as the final serious installment of her Rest Project. Sleep did not come quite as easily as it had earlier in the week, perhaps because she felt so much better now and perhaps because Friday morning was finally close enough to occupy her thoughts, but she resisted the temptation to reach for her phone again. Instead, she curled onto her side, found the position that felt most natural, and concentrated on breathing slowly until her body stopped arguing with the idea of another long night. She slept well, though not with the absolute, unconscious depth of the previous nights. A couple of times she surfaced briefly in the dark, aware of the room and the weight of the blankets before slipping back under, and by around six she was awake enough to know morning had begun even if she had no intention of participating in it yet. She let herself drift lazily, reminding herself that staying in bed still counted for something, at least today, and when her bladder began making its presence known she simply ignored it.  Nothing a diaper couldn’t solve. That, after all, was exactly why she had gone to bed in a heavily boostered diaper in the first place, and since it was already wet, getting up merely to preserve some imaginary standard of adulthood seemed contrary to the entire point. At some point she must have fallen asleep properly again, because the next time she opened her eyes the room was bright and her phone said it was already past eight. “Ten hours,” she murmured, doing the calculation. “Not bad.” She sat up and stretched, feeling the satisfying pull through her shoulders and back as her body loosened after so long in bed. There was a pleasant heaviness in her bones, the kind that came from actual rest rather than exhaustion, and Sally found herself smiling at the thought that nobody would be coming to wake her. By now the household had probably been instructed to let her sleep until noon if necessary, which was almost insulting considering how awake she felt. She reached for her phone. Nothing important. Katrina had sent a cluster of pictures from Medellín, apparently from somebody’s quinceañera, and Sally smiled as she scrolled through them. Katrina looked impossibly glamorous, surrounded by lights, short dresses and people Sally didn’t recognize, clearly having a much more socially productive week than she was. “Show-off,” Sally murmured affectionately. Eventually she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. The diaper immediately made its condition known. Heavy, bulky and thoroughly used after a long night, it shifted awkwardly beneath her T-shirt as she started toward the bathroom, forcing a slight waddle that made Sally glance down at herself with a rueful smile. There was still something undeniably childish about walking across her bedroom first thing in the morning in nothing but a T-shirt and a sodden diaper, but the feeling no longer carried much sting. It had done exactly what she needed it to do, helping her sleep, keeping her in bed when her body needed rest, and getting her through the week without turning every night into another exercise in bladder management. Now, at least, she felt rested, clear-headed and ready to face Dr. Huber. Wet and distinctly in need of a shower, certainly, but ready. Sally caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror, hair tousled and T-shirt hanging loosely over the bulky diaper, and grinned. “Crinkle-crinkle,” she murmured to her reflection, borrowing Erika’s favorite phrase before disappearing into the shower. -- Dr. Elise Huber arrived earlier than Sally expected, catching her while she was still finishing breakfast in the kitchen, comfortable in shorts and a fitted T-shirt that seemed entirely appropriate for another hot Zurich day. Sally had already finished her scrambled eggs and toast and was making respectable progress through a large chocolate croissant, while Mia, apparently determined to demonstrate that dehydration would never again occur under her supervision, refilled Sally’s orange juice almost as soon as she set the empty glass down. Sally noticed, considered protesting, then remembered exactly how much depended on her continued reputation as the world’s most cooperative patient and quietly accepted the refill. Bridget appeared in the doorway a moment later with Dr. Huber beside her. “Morgen,” Dr. Huber called brightly. Sally straightened instinctively in her chair, swallowed the mouthful of croissant she had been chewing and wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “This is an ambush.” “I see your appetite has returned,” Dr. Huber said with a chuckle, taking in the mostly empty plate and the half-demolished pastry. Sally grinned and shrugged. “Yeah. Pretty much back to normal. Almost,” she corrected quickly, because both Bridget and Mia were listening. “But resting.” “Good. Then finish your breakfast.” Elise sat beside her rather than immediately producing medical equipment, and when Mia offered coffee she accepted with an appreciative nod, adding milk and sugar before taking a slow sip. “I thought you might appreciate an early visit,” she confided. “Your parents have been remarkably transparent about your behavior this week, so I suspected you would want enough time afterward to prepare your suitcase.” Sally stopped halfway through reaching for her orange juice. “Really?” Elise smiled over the rim of her mug. “Does that mean I can go?” Dr. Huber raised one hand before Sally could build too much momentum. “It means I am favorably disposed toward allowing you to go, provided you continue following strict instructions. No unnecessary activities, no turning one birthday into a weekend itinerary, no proving how well you feel by doing everything you have missed this week. Keep the trip simple.” Sally nodded immediately. “I promise.” “I have heard that promise before.” “And I kept it.” “You did.” The acknowledgment pleased Sally more than she expected. Elise finished another sip of coffee. “Now, if you are ready, perhaps we should actually examine you before I sign off on an intercontinental trip.” Sally pushed away the remainder of her croissant, suddenly willing to sacrifice it in the interests of medical efficiency. “Ready.” They moved into the living room, where Theresa was already waiting near the windows with her arms folded and a slight smile on her face, looking suspiciously like someone who knew the outcome of the discussion before Sally did. Sally gave her a questioning glance, but Theresa merely lifted her eyebrows and allowed Dr. Huber to take command. “Sit down.” Sally sat on the edge of the sofa. Elise opened her bag. Sally stared at it. “We’re doing all of this again?” “All of what?” “The whole thing.” “Yes.” “I thought you were just checking whether I looked healthy.” “I can do that from across the room. You look healthy.” Sally brightened. “That is not the examination.” Her face fell again, and Theresa laughed quietly from behind her. Dr. Huber began with Sally’s temperature, slipping the thermometer into place while asking about the previous twenty-four hours. Sally reported no headache, no dizziness, no nausea, no unusual fatigue and, with some pride, a fully restored appetite. She also admitted to sleeping roughly ten hours the previous night, although she neglected to provide any unnecessary technical details about how thoroughly equipped she had been to accomplish it. “Any waking during the night?” “A couple of times.” “And you went back to sleep easily?” “Pretty easily.” “No unusual weakness this morning?” “No.” “Any heaviness in your arms or legs?” Sally considered that honestly. “Not really anymore. Maybe a little if I think about it, but nothing like before.” Elise removed the thermometer and checked it. “Normal.” “One point for Hartford.” “That is not how medicine works.” “It could.” “It does not.” Next came the pulse oximeter, which Sally accepted with exaggerated patience while Dr. Huber clipped it onto her finger and watched the reading settle. “Ninety-nine.” Sally looked pleased. “Two points.” Theresa coughed into her hand. Dr. Huber ignored both of them and reached for Sally’s wrist, counting her pulse manually even though Sally regarded this as unnecessarily old-fashioned after the little electronic device had just supplied perfectly good numbers. “You know the machine tells you that.” “I trust my fingers.” “That is extremely Swiss.” “So am I.” Her resting pulse was back where Dr. Huber expected it to be, and that earned no visible celebration beyond a small nod before the blood-pressure cuff appeared. Sally sighed. “Arm.” She held it out. Dr. Huber checked the pressure while Sally sat, waited a moment, then had her stand and repeated it. Sally rose without hesitation and remained still while the cuff tightened again, watching Dr. Huber’s face for any sign that the numbers had betrayed her. “Any dizziness?” “No.” “Light-headed at all?” “No.” “Completely steady?” “Yes.” Dr. Huber looked at the reading. “Much better.” Sally smiled immediately. “That sounded like another point.” “This is becoming irritating.” “Then I must be recovering.” Theresa laughed openly now. Dr. Huber motioned for Sally to remain standing while she checked her eyes and the color beneath her lower eyelids, then examined her mouth and throat. Sally endured a penlight in her eyes, opened her mouth on command, said “ah” with theatrical resignation and allowed Elise to feel carefully along her neck and beneath her jaw. “What are you looking for now?” “Lymph nodes.” “For mono?” “Among other things.” “You already tested me.” “And now I am examining you.” Sally glanced toward Theresa. “She really does everything twice.” “That is probably why your parents pay her,” Theresa replied. “No enlarged nodes,” Dr. Huber said, apparently uninterested in the commentary. She checked Sally’s hydration next, looking at her mouth, skin and capillary refill before seeming satisfied that Mia’s relentless campaign of water, juice and sparkling mineral water had produced results. “You are much better hydrated.” Sally glanced toward the kitchen. “Mia has been treating liquids as a competitive sport.” “I approve.” “Of course you do.” Then came the stethoscope. “Shirt up slightly at the back.” Sally complied, and Dr. Huber placed the chest piece against her skin. “Deep breath.” Sally inhaled. “Again.” She breathed in and out several times while the stethoscope moved methodically across her back, then Dr. Huber came around to the front and listened over her chest and heart, taking considerably longer than Sally thought necessary for someone who had already announced that she looked healthy. “Can you hear that I want to go to Hartford?” “No.” “Wrong instrument?” “Possibly.” Theresa shook her head. Dr. Huber listened once more along the lower chest, then removed the stethoscope. “Heart sounds normal. Lungs clear.” Sally held out both hands. “Surely that’s at least five points.” “You are medically intolerable.” “That sounds normal too.” Bridget, who had been watching from an armchair, laughed softly. Dr. Huber was not finished. She had Sally lie back on the sofa briefly while she palpated her abdomen, asking whether anything hurt and receiving a succession of increasingly amused noes, then checked for tenderness around the liver and spleen, something Sally recognized immediately from their earlier discussion about mononucleosis. “No enlarged spleen?” Sally asked. “No.” “So I can go.” “Sit up.” Sally obeyed. Dr. Huber took one final look at her, this time less as a doctor examining individual systems and more as someone assessing the entire girl in front of her. Sally’s color was normal again, her eyes were bright, her movements had regained their usual easy confidence, she was eating properly and sleeping deeply, her vital signs had normalized, and there was none of the dull depletion she had seen six days earlier. Dr. Huber closed her bag. Sally watched her expectantly. Theresa did too. Dr. Huber let the silence stretch just long enough to be annoying. “You may go to Hartford.” Sally’s face broke into an immediate grin. “Seriously?” “Seriously.” She looked toward Bridget, then Theresa, almost as though somebody might contradict the verdict. Nobody did. “But,” Elise continued. Sally’s grin remained, although now with caution. “There’s always a but.” “There is. You leave under the arrangements your father described. You rest on the flight whether you feel tired or not. You keep meals regular and stay hydrated. You attend Charlie’s birthday party Saturday afternoon, and you do not transform the evening afterward into another social event.” “I won’t.” “Sunday morning church is conditional. If you wake tired, you stay home.” Sally hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding. “Okay.” “No shopping expedition, no sightseeing, no Foundation business, no spontaneous detours because Hartford happens to contain somebody you suddenly remember you need to see.” Sally smiled. “You really do know us.” “I know your family well enough.” Theresa pushed away from the window. “And I’ll be there.” Elise looked toward her. “Older-sister mode,” Theresa added. “Good.” Sally rolled her eyes but smiled. “And when you return,” Dr. Huber continued, turning back to Sally, “you are still recovering. This trip is an exception inside your recovery period, not its conclusion. Another controlled week afterward, although if you continue doing this well, I will loosen the restrictions.” “That means exercise?” “It means we will discuss exercise.” Sally made a face. “I knew there was a catch.” “The catch is that I would like you not to collapse again.” “Reasonable.” Elise smiled and rested one hand briefly on Sally’s shoulder. “You have done very well this week. Better than I expected, frankly.” Sally looked pleased. “I told you. Star patient.” “Do not ruin your reputation.” “I won’t.” Dr. Huber stood, and Sally did too, already looking more animated than she had at any point during the examination. Theresa glanced toward Bridget. “There goes the Rest Project.” “No,” Elise corrected as she picked up her bag. “The Rest Project has acquired a field trip.” Sally laughed. “That,” she declared, “sounds about right.”

What started out one way has just found a new dimension lol. Just being padded and cuddling has been so healing. For myself, it feels nice to allow myself to be vulnerable and soft. It scares me because I had lived a life where being vulnerable and soft is unthinkable. I’m finding the courage to admit that it’s okay to feel cute and soft once in a while lol 😊