ellauri062.html on line 153: Ask for help. For instance, say, “Let’s set the table” or “I need help folding the clothes/pulling the curtains.” "Please arrange the xmas napkins on the defibrillator."
xxx/ellauri138.html on line 286: About a year after my diagnosis, in 2010, Philip invited me to join him for weekends at his country home. After that he dropped me, as it was getting too hard for him to turn me on my back. I didn't want to use the clothes drier but hung my panties on a line. Philip joked that I was turning his home into a trailer park but never insisted I use the dryer. I didn't need to cook, Philip planned where to eat and made the reservations. I used to like resting my ear on the hard metal of the implanted defibrillator that sat just below the skin of his chest to treat dysrhythmia.
xxx/ellauri138.html on line 287: This was the second defibrillator he'd had after the first had to be replaced. Philip's original defibrillator had pride of place on the kitchen table. When he first handed it to me, I had no idea what it was and palmed the smooth metal disc in my hand. I almost dropped it when he started laughing and told me its original purpose. Over time, I came to appreciate it too and when I was alone in the kitchen, I often picked it up and held it in my hand. We called each other Toots. I found out Philip died when a friend called me at work. I swivelled around in my office chair and googled Philip Roth. There he was on the front page of The New York Times. Dead.
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