The doctor trip was just this side of harrowing...
...so I'll probably write about it slowly over a few (or more) posts. For a year and a half, now, I've observed that these trips are successively harder on Mom, despite her love of travel and her heightened interest in seeing family, which we managed on this one. But, my oh my, on our way back up the one-time continental slope of the rim that separates the low, sandy desert here in Arizona from the high scrub desert, she said, "I hope we never have to do that again."
    I'd been thinking this, too, since before we started out Thursday morning. I hope, over the next few months, we have some luck finding her a local doctor with whom I can work. That's important...but, if all we can find is a local doctor who pays absolutely no attention to me, well, in the interest of keeping all her medical care up here, I expect I can probably be "flexible", whatever that might mean.
    Something her still current doctor mentioned at the appointment that I'd not known and want to remember: "[A hemoglobin count of] 9.1 in someone with emphysema, like your mother, is the same as 7.1 in someone [without lung issues]." This doesn't surprise me. Anemia, of course, effects oxygen absorption. So does emphysema. He also mentioned something about the possibility of "shots" if she had local care. I don't know whether her meant epo shots, iron shots, I didn't ask, although I probably should have but I was beginning to reel, even though our trip wasn't yet accomplished by half. If I find an available doctor, here, I'll mention that.
    Aside from being in a weakened condition, in part because of the lingering effects of her cold and in part because of her low hemoglobin, Mom was in characteristically "rare form", as she would put it. I've often wondered what that phrase means to the general population, although I can tell you what it means from Mom's perspective: She was in awfully good spirits, thrilled to be made over and took such full advantage of the situation that I often had to step in, when she was about to allow MPS, who has a tricky back, to literally lift her off chairs, which, despite Mom's weakened condition, was not necessary. It was as though she melted into a puddle from the heat of the love surrounding her in order to be scooped up in a ladle and passed around the house. MPS was surprised, somewhat unpleasantly, I think, each time I stepped in and gently but firmly insisted that Mom arise with nothing more than steadying arm support. I made concessions regarding my niece's bed, on which Mom took a nap, because it was one of those high beds...seems they are not only hotel fashion, anymore, they are the height of home fashion, now. The top mattress, to, was very soft which, I understand, is current home fashion as well as commercial fashion, which made it impossible for my mother to "get comfortable" without us moving her around on the bed into her favorite and most comfortable sleep position. By the time we were slated to leave for home, I judged that Mom was so tired that it would be best to leave her in her footsies, rather than shod her, and transport her to the car in the wheelchair, even though she had walkered into the house when we first arrived and continued walkering from room to room most of the day. In the middle of this extensively physical day for Mom, MPS and I, when at the doctor's, although I insisted on wheeling her in and out of the office, she insisted on rising out of the wheel chair, walking across the examining room to a chair, then doing the reverse after the appointment. She did so with ease and aplomb. She's great in performance for acquaintances and strangers. She was, too, her usual chatty, entertaining self in the waiting room. I indulged her and we did our usual Waiting Area Routine, even though our audience consisted of only two other patients, one of whom was an elderly man who had fallen asleep in his chair, the other of whom was an elderly woman whose interest could not be seduced from the Sports Illustrated magazine she was reading.
    The day was so physically arduous for me (and, I'm sure, for MPS, as well, although, since this sort of day doesn't happen for her, often and she was very pleased to visit with my mother, I suspect that she would not characterize her experience so) and I was so exhausted from the labor and the cup after cup of unusually strong coffee with which I kept myself going, that I scolded Mom on the way home. I know, I know, to most people who haven't cared for an elderly infirm person, a scolding, no matter how lenient, seems uncalled for when one's care recipient is 90, beset by a variety of health issues and enduring a trip that, regardless of her anticipation, proved to be an unusual (for her) physical challenge. But, I live with the woman and I wanted her to know that I was on to her. I also wanted to remind her that if one is capable of being considerate of others, needing extra care and attention is no reason to throw that consideration out the window.
    I was not harsh, just firm and meticulously analytical of her behavior. I pointed out the times, that day, when her laxity had been appropriate and times when it had not been appropriate. She didn't argue. She quietly took in what I had to say. She didn't respond with her usual, dismissive, "I suppose so," which is one of her standard responses when we encounter disagreements throughout our usual days.
    She was quiet most of the way home after that, except a short, interesting conversation that began with her asking me if I had heard anything, lately, about "Lynell Price" (I'm guessing at the spelling of the first name). The name was so unfamiliar to me that when I told her, "I have no idea who she is, Mom, fill me in," Mom responded, with that have-you-lost-your-mind disdain, "It's a he, not a she!"
    Seems that Lynell is a young man Mom dated, probably fairly exclusively, throughout high school. She said she received some letters from him "a while ago" after he went to college but hadn't heard anything from him for a couple of months.
    I peppered her with questions:

• What did he look like?
  She couldn't remember, not even seemingly large details such as whether he was taller than she, to which she responded, "Well, I suppose so."
• How had she met him?
  Absolutely no idea, wasn't even sure that it had been through high school classes.
• What did his parents do?
  She wasn't sure, but she supposed that they were farmers, a safe supposition, considering that they all lived in farming country in Iowa, at the time, although when they lived there her parents quickly gave up farming after trying their hand at it.
• How did he feel about her?
  Apparently, he wanted to marry her and was a persistent suitor. She, however, admitted to me that she "didn't like him that much."
• "You mean you didn't like him enough to marry him?" I asked.
  "Oh, she said, "there were other things."
  "Then," I prodded, "why did you date him for so long?"
  "What else was there to do?" she asked.
  Apparently, not much else.
• What didn't she like about him?
  She couldn't remember, then paused, reflected and said, "Could be that's what I didn't like about him; there wasn't much to remember."
• "Then," I continued, "why are you remembering him now?"
  "Just wondering what happened to him," she said. She didn't, however, remember what he studied in college, if he returned to their town afterwards, if he ever married, etc. She mentioned, though, that he probably "settled down around there." He probably did, which my mother did not. "I just thought you might have heard something from him," she mentioned.
  "Well, Mom, I didn't know him. I didn't even know what his gender was. So, I guess you're out of luck with me."
  She sighed. "I guess I'll have to ask mother," she said. "She's good about keeping up with everyone."
  Unlike me, I guess.

    Although this trip was harder on her than any of her previous doctor trips, she's recovering well. Of course, yesterday, she slept more than usual (which is hard for her to do, actually), but was alert and perspicacious when awake. Her CPA faxed us e-filing forms, yesterday, for her to sign, granting him permission to file on her behalf. We received them in the evening and it wasn't until much later that she arose from a late nap so I could place them in front of her. So far, only one has been signed because she is insisting on reading them first. "I don't like to sign anything I haven't read," she said. The print is tiny and a bit on smudged from the printing but she read, understood to her satisfaction and signed the first and I expect the second will be perused and approved today. What a gal.
    Monday I'll call to see if the next name on the list I've compiled of possible local doctors is back from vacation and willing to take her on as a patient. I hope so. If not, though, her current PCP has authorized us to bring in a local hematologist to whom I've talked on consult so that her anemia, the most pressing of her health issues, can be more easily and, perhaps, more completely addressed.
    Rural medicine. Jesus. Well, I guess it's not just rural medicine. MPS informed me of the current and extreme doctor shortage here in the U.S. during one of our much needed sister times on Thursday. She's in a position to know, as her MPBIL works through a local hospital (not a physician) and her son is back in school (after becoming a jet mechanic in order to subsidize further education) in pre-med with the hopes of becoming an orthopedist.
    In the meantime, I'm glad I've got the weekend to reorient myself. I'm still plowing through recovery. Even though I couldn't settle down enough to get myself to bed until 0300 this morning (I'm assuming I'm still running on the extraordinary amount of caffeine I ingested on Thursday), I was wide awake at 0815, still exhausted but depressingly ready to ride with nowhere to go.
    Oh, yeah. Lots of blood was drawn during Mom's appointment. Lots of tests were slated. Guess I'd better get around to entering the last four or so results before the new ones arrive.
    Hoh. Well, later.
- posted by Gail Rae @ 10:18   email  this post