“I already see the kind of old lady you’re going to be!” she told me

MY friend Esther, who’d come to visit me as I recovered from ankle surgery, sat back in the rocking chair, while I maneuvered my knee scooter to the kitchen to get a stack of plastic clear cups. Back in the room, I reached for a pitcher to pour Esther some water.

“Here, I’ll pour the water myself. Thanks,” she said, taking the pitcher and sitting back down.

“Wait,” I said, as I scooted toward the kitchen again for napkins. Heading back into the bedroom, one wheel bumped against the doorpost’s wood trim.

“Don’t you think you’re overdoing things with that scooter? Stay in bed and ask for help!” Esther said.

Her characteristic frankness startled me. I cringed at the thought that she might be right (she usually is) and I was asking for trouble by scooting around the house like a kid riding a Razor. Doctor’s number-one rule for post-ankle-surgery is “Don’t you dare bear weight or put your foot down. Ever.”

Now, to be clear, I wasn’t actually in violation of the rules. My knee was staying on the cushioned scooter seat, not the floor. And even if I was using that scooter with what some might call reckless abandon, I wasn’t hurting myself.

“I’m fine, Esther,” I said again.

She told me she didn’t think I was fine. While she admired my bravery, she thought multitasking was dangerous and that it was ridiculous that I insisted on doing things that could be done by others. “I already see the kind of old lady you’re going to be!” she told me.