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The month, the week, the day, have been long, inviting exhaustion, hence a greater possibility of accidents. My day starts an hour earlier than usual on this particular Saturday. It's hair wash day with temps predicted above 90 again so I opt for an air dry. The result - some messy loose ringlets which will be a ponytail once it dries. My 8:30 pick up likely surprises the kitchen guys at Bommarito's as my time has been 9:30 all summer. Next stop - hospital for a quick check and visit before the usual busy Saturday. No indications of discharge today, though we anticipate it will happen soon. One o'clock the phone call comes telling me my mom is being transferred at three. I desert my work family at two to be present for the transfer. At

2:45 I learn the time has changed to 4. Watching the clock turn to 4:30, I am told another hour and a half. Ughh! Not knowing how many more delays will ensue, I let her sleep, and I drop stuff at the rehab before grabbing dinner. One of our friends at dinner tells us her mom is my mom's next-door neighbor at rehab. An unusual place to run into friends.

Exhaustion set in hours ago. Entering the dark room, slivers of light poke through the Venetian blinds while a glow emanates from the bathroom as the roommate enters with her wheelchair. A squiggle of clear oxygen tubing lays across the floor looking like a string of my wavy hair. Gingerly I step over it, trying not to disturb anyone. As I cross the tube, the bathroom door shuts and the cord goes taut, lifting a few inches off the floor, startling me, and tripping me simultaneously. I feel the yank and worry I have killed the roommate as I begin splaying to the ground. Oh no! I could be a murderer. Now my mom will have me as a roommate. Luckily, my guardian angel was handy, saving me from landing on my face. Jeff, directly behind me, has the same thoughts going through his head minus the concern of murder.

"Are you OK? I am so very sorry." How would this be explained. I must ask my Dateline loving family members for suggestions. Accident? Exhausted? Klutz?

She is alive. I am fine. And my mom is in her bed looking more peaceful than I have seen in days.

Jeff and I recall our thoughts on the way to the car, laughing all the way. The curled cord is still across the floor when we return Sunday morning - an accident waiting to happen or a possible a ploy for new business. For the safety of the Lamontagne clan, we change this.

I need a rest. Thank God for Sundays.