I was cleaning out old emails and came across this one (to my siblings) from October 2008. Dad died on May 28, 2010 and Mom died on May 28, 2012. I miss both of them horribly.
*****
"Good Lord!", as
Poodle would say. Sometimes I have to wonder if aliens came and took the parents
I had when I was 7, or 16, ... or 40. There are days I swear I'm living in an
episode of 'Waiting For God.'
Today all three of
us were scheduled for Pre-admission Testing (PAT) at the Outpatient Center of
the local hospital. Dad has that lumpectomy on Wednesday and Mom has a
colonoscopy a week from tomorrow. My procedure is equally ookey and of no
importance for purposes of this missive (I didn't go to law school for
nothin'!). Dad was scheduled to be first and we had to be there at 8:45 this
morning. That may as well be the middle of the night for those two, so I called
twice on my way over there to make sure everybody was up and marginally
functioning. I should have known things were going to get dodgy when I saw Dad
sitting behind the wheel of their car when I got there. First, he nearly ran
over me in the garage. Now come on, people; you know how small that garage is!
Then, I got in the back seat and he started grumbling that Mom 'just had to eat
her breakfast before we left." I panicked because I know that Mom can take up to
4 days to eat a meal, so I went inside to check on her. She had finished her
breakfast, but she was making some sort of inspection tour around the house
making sure that none of the bathtubs were filling up, no irons had been left
on, all doors were locked, the temperature on the hot water heater was correct,
etc. I reminded her that we were running a little late and needed to leave ...
um, NOW. When we finally got in the car, Dad backed out and nearly hit my car,
which was parked across the street. As we corrected course and headed down the
block there was a running vaudeville act in the front seat consisting of Dad
complaining that he didn't even see that car and Mom shouting, "Did you hit her
car? Did you hit her car?" I just rested my head against the back of the seat
and took deep, cleansing breaths ... Then I asked Mom where her PAT paperwork
was. She turned around and gave me her deer-in-the-headlights look and said,
"What paperwork?" This, of course, precipitated another chorus of
what-shall-we-do. I told Dad to just drive to the hospital and I'd go back to
look for the paperwork. We went inside and I got them signed in and started to
leave to go back to their house. Mom told Dad to sit down and wait while she
went with me. Taking yet another cleansing breath, I turned to her and said,
"Mom, have you got any idea whatsoever where those papers are?" She smiled and
said, "Not a clue." I then suggested that it might be faster if I just went and
looked for them by myself. So I planted both of them in the waiting room and
headed out. While I sometimes get the creeps going through all the stuff they
save, I did manage to find the paperwork pretty quickly and beat feet (or
wheels) back to the hospital. They had just gone into the admissions office when
I got there so I slipped in and handed the clerk the paperwork. Mom asked me
where I found it and, although I told her, she insisted that it couldn't
possibly have been there ... !!! This, of course, set Dad off and they were off
again in their own little world together having one of those disputes that make
the rest of us slap our forehead and want to throw water on them. Yet another
cleansing breath and I suggested to both of them that, perhaps, we could
continue this discussion later because we needed to answer the admitting clerk's
questions ... NOW. Mom kept muttering that she couldn't figure out how the
paperwork got there.
When the nurse
called us back to do Dad's pre-surgery testing I found myself feeling a bit
uncomfortable because the nurse kept looking to me for answers and I suspected
that Mom was probably perfectly capable of answering most, if not all, of the
questions herself if Dad couldn't answer them. It continues to amaze me that she
gets lost half-way through a sentence, but can remember dates and details of
Dad's medical history like a computer. The brain is a mysterious thing. Because
Dad's answers were a bit confusing to the nurse, they are going to have the
anesthesiologist talk to Dad's cardiologist before they do the procedure on
Wednesday. He's had several procedures involving anesthesia since that memorable
one when we nearly lost him. You will recall that one because we all flew or
drove in from all over the country. Don't want to do that again, so it's best to
check.
We're supposed to go
to Cade's Cove tomorrow and Dad assures me he'll be fit and ready. Mom couldn't
remember where we were going. Oh well, at least it's not
dull!!
Keep well, do good
work, and stay in touch,
Love
ya,
Jayne
Gatlinburg 10-08
Old age, if it's nothing else, should at least be theatrical, don't you think?
(Martha Grimes)
