Left on Tenth

What happened to Delia Ephron was objectively horrible. Within a few short years, her beloved (and famous) sister Nora died from leukemia, Delia's husband of 37 years died from prostate cancer, and she herself was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia (AML). The one bright spot was the serendipitous email from Peter, a widower she dated briefly in college. The emails became calls, calls became visits, and Delia surprisingly found the second great love of her life at age 72.

The portrayal of the trauma and suffering that Delia experienced from her illness, including an experimental bone marrow transfusion that almost killed her until it saved her life, is truly harrowing. And I'm glad she recovered and can enjoy her life with Peter and her numerous friends.

But honestly why do I keep reading memoirs about rich women when they make me so crabby? Delia does acknowledge her privilege that she can fly cross-country and to Europe whenever she wants, knowing that her beautiful apartment is in the care of her housekeeper. But she is still incredibly annoying about it. When she is discharged from the hospital after a long stay, she needs physical therapy but wants it on her terms.

The hospital suggests that I spend five weeks in their rehab facility, but I can't bear to do that. We meet with two physical therapists who we can get through Medicare. I think I am allowed a few weeks' coverage. No one can come back from this enfeebled state in a few weeks. It's shocking how little government assistance helps.