Visit to the Doctor

Except for open-heart surgery eight years ago, and except for arthroscopic knee surgery about fifteen years ago (oh, and two umbilical hernia operations and a silly event at Emergency one evening to cut two rings off my enflamed fingers following indigestion of a pan of bacon fat when I was on the otherwise very successful Atkins Diet), I’ve had little to do with doctors and hospitals throughout my entire life. At this juncture my duties focus upon shepherding my elderly mother to her physician for increasingly regular visits.

Today’s outing was prompted by mother’s concern last week that she had a lump in her abdomen. Accordingly the appointment was made and my mother duly alerted. We thought we’d profit by the occasion to enlist the doctor’s review of everything imaginable which may affect my mother.

No less than two days before the appointment mother began to resile from the arrangement.  She denied the necessity of the scheduled visit (though I reminded her that it was she who had requested it).  As is now so often the case my mother’s stock denial was easily assailed and the meeting took place as arranged.  And as I had anticipated the visit precipitated the request by the doctor for further tests, namely an X-ray, blood work and naturally a return visit in about six weeks.  Making those plans was thankfully not terribly difficult though two of them were made at different offices and the third (with the help of another party) was made on-line over the internet.

Precedent to her meeting with the physician I took my mother to the local branch of the Royal Bank of Canada.  When we got there my mother advised that she didn’t need to do anything at the bank notwithstanding that she had previously told me she needed to go to the bank (which normally she does for purposes of withdrawing a small amount of cash and to have her savings account passbook updated).  Argument in this instance served no purpose whatever so we simply moved on.

From the Royal Bank parking lot we therefore proceeded to the nearby Equator coffee shop where my mother had a mocha coffee and I had a small espresso.  She also ate half a large cinnamon roll, the remaining half of which she wrapped in her paper serviette and stuffed into her purse.

During our travels today two events transpired which speak to the current state of affairs.  First, my mother informed me that her credit card had expired and that a replacement had not been mailed to her by the bank.  When I examined her card I pointed out that the expiry date was over a month hence, the absorption of which took my mother about a minute.  Second, upon returning home she said the key to the house was not working. I observed that she appeared to be turning the key in the wrong direction.  I opened the door for her without difficulty.

Considerable controversy arose when, as requested by my mother’s physician, I removed the unused blister packs of medicine which are delivered weekly by the pharmacy.  Mother insisted that a.) she was taking her pills (which clearly she wasn’t); and b.) she needed to retain them in any event (which was preposterous considering the scheduled future deliveries).  No amount of logic on my part was sufficient to convince her otherwise and she soon lapsed into what has become her common refrain that a.) she is tired of people interfering in her affairs; and b.) things are going to change.