Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Katy is represented by
Greg Johnson at
WordServe Literary
Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net
Recent Posts
- Try
- Becoming Brenda Starr
- Off Beat
- Scattered
- That’s It
- So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What?
- The Spoon
- Sciatica
- Sweetheart
- A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose
- However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time
- After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices.
- As with everything in life, balance is key.
- Slow down, you move too fast…
- Yeah, I know. I have issues.
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
Pretty Seedy If You Ask Me
“I’ll need you to arrive at least fifteen minutes ahead of time to fill out a few forms,” Bea, Dr. Couchonnal’s nurse, said.
Yeah. Yeah. Even with my mother’s medications list ready to photocopy and her history of previous surgeries, hospitalizations, diseases, fractured bones, and accidents (along with their dates, the names of the attending doctors, etc.) emblazoned forever on my consciousness, it’s gonna take more than fifteen minutes.
Give me thirty minutes and a high-quality pen, and I can make it happen. Throw in power of attorney, and you’ve got yourself a deal.
Mom has been battling a nasty infection in a fingertip for weeks, and now—despite antibiotics both oral and topical—it’s spread to the bone. Osteomyelytis. With a fine infectious disease doctor, probably IV antibiotics, and God’s mercy, she’ll probably get to keep her finger. We’ll see.
As for me, the entire landscape of my dining room has been called up for re-evaluation.
The doctor’s nurse continued to rattle off specifics of what to bring to the office visit besides my poor mother. “I’ll need the results of her most recent blood work.”
“They did it last week,” I said. “Forward thinking man that her GP is, he ordered the sed rate and C-reactive protein, in addition to checking her white blood count.”
“Great!” she said. “What about a plain x-ray?”
“Sorry,” I said. “We’ve only got an MRI. You’ll have to do the plain films yourself.”
“Can do,” she said, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to make a trip back over to Diagnostic Imaging to pick up the CD of the MRI.”
“Whatchoo talkin’ about, CD? No films in enormous manila envelopes, so big they take up the back seat of the car and blind me like a white-out blizzard when I’m trying to carry them down a flight of stairs?”
“Films? That’s SO early 2006. We’ve all gone to CDs, honey. Call ahead and they’ll have your mother’s waiting…”
“Sure,” I said, “but what am I going to do with my china cabinet? It serves no useful purpose except to—”
“Your china cabinet? I don’t under—”
“I keep my skull back there! And my mother’s broken humerus! And my daughter’s foot, my sinuses, my mother’s entire skeleton, my mother-in-law’s abdominal abscesses and my ovaries! Where am I supposed to keep my ovaries?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Raymond. Doctor is NOT a gynocologist. But if your china cabinet needs a purpose-driven life, why not just get it some china?”
Smart alec.
- Sooo funny!
I was just thinking about you.
Happy Thanksgiving.Posted by Suzan on 11/20/06 at 07:56 PM
