Friday, May 11, 2012


On my daily trip to the market prefixed with Wal, I picked up various prescriptions.  Then over the counter medicines.  Then tiny cupcakes and toppings for an ice cream party we're holding tomorrow.

"Will you come to my party at school?" Smallest One asked each of us when she called yesterday. 

"We can't, sweetheart," we all replied gently.  "Grandma has to go to the doctor and Grandpa isn't feeling so well after his treatment."

Yet in another shift that I suppose I could expect, all was well today.  Dad ate his ice cream bar and deemed it excellent after his anti-nausea medicine kicked in. 

Mom slept for much of the day after her early procedure and I distracted myself from fretting in the waiting room with work and books. 

I thought about Mom's surgeon as I wandered the aisles, picking up pastel sugar sprinkles and heading to the refrigerated case for whipping cream.  She was late - nearly 30 minutes - for the procedure this morning.  Then didn't start until about an hour after the scheduled time as she screwed around with changing clothes and doing other suitably egotistical nonsense. 

My tolerance of medical personnel is pretty low for this region of the country.  Dad didn't let me go to chemo since I'm not properly respectful.  But Mom's love for me overpowers her ingrained awe of doctors.  I suppose I'm desensitized - I ask questions and raise my eyebrows when I get sarcastic responses.  And when someone berates my mother for being afraid or in pain?  I become an overprotective bear cub, growling with claws extended and eager to do some damage.

And while I tolerated the wait for the office visit and her dismissal of normal questions before and after surgery, the delays and comments this morning are intolerable.  She's a miserable bitch.  And I'm plotting my comments to her staff so they can tell her I think so.

Luckily, I think we're done with her and on to doctors I've liked better.  Dad's perking up again and my perusal of the blood reports Brother brought home have me feeling better about his progress.  So I'll keep praying and trekking to WalMart and fetching drinks for thirsty parents. 

And tomorrow, we'll make wishes of tiny cupcakes and bowls of ice cream.  I'm planning on blowing out lots of candles - let me know if you need anything.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Glad to hear that you and your family don't have to deal with the difficult surgeon anymore. I've had similar experiences with some physicians. Some are great people and colleagues, but an awful lot of the physicians I've observed (the ones I don't work with) talk down to patients or ignore them or otherwise disrespect them. I saw this a lot at the big name hospital at which I volunteered on occasion, but even GPs can be this way. It's sad.


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