Watt is the What?

"I just pushed the circuit breaker switch back to the "on" position," I said. "Now I'm going to turn on each lamp and light switch that are on that circuit and see if the breaker trips again." My mom stood in the kitchen in her pink flannel snowman pajamas nodding. I started with the living room lamp in the corner, then proceeded to the next lamp, then the light switches that turned on the hall lights, the outside lights, and the light at the top of the stairs. The house was blazing with light and everything stayed on. "Success," I told her. "Look, it's all good." We had a brief discussion then about why the breaker blew in the first place. I couldn't explain that. Maybe the breaker is wearing out, was the best I could muster.

"I'll bet it's the furnace," my mom said. "The heat came on and blew everything out."

"Nope," I said. "Couldn't be the furnace, because the heat has been working. That's on a different circuit." She nodded. "Well," I said, "I'm going to go run my errands."

"So, what time is the electrician coming?" my mom asked.

"He's not," I said. "It's fixed."

"We don't want the furnace to go out," she said. I explained about the furnace being on a different circuit again and went on my merry way.

I'm never quite sure what is happening when my mom and I fail to communicate. Is it the hearing aids?
Dementia or maybe a negative result from the Namenda? True, she's 88 and grew up as one of the "rural poor" which in her case meant kerosene lanterns in a log cabin for part of her upbringing, but I'm pretty sure she used to know her way around a fuse box--at least well enough  to stand behind my dad with a flashlight while he changed a fuse.

Maybe part of what gets in our way is her definition of gender roles. More than once, she's said that I should wait until the man who loves me appears for the weekend to perform this or that task. A couple of times she's said that it's too bad that I don't have a man to do things for me--so maybe she didn't believe that I could get the lights back on. Maybe she's afraid that due to my "tinkering" we'll be plunged into cold and darkness or electrocuted while using the toaster. I can't say, but communication is a complicated business even when our hearing and our brains are functioning well.

I had a mini freakout inside my head the other night in the emergency room when the doctor asked her how long she'd been having the pains in her abdomen. "Weeks!" she cried. "Months!" The doctor looked at me and frowned. I saw my self being photographed in profile, then from the front with a number under by chin. Oh, good, I thought, now I can add elder abuse to my rap sheet. I explained to the doctor that while my mom often complains of stomach cramping in the morning, she's consulted with more than one doctor about that, but the recent acute pains were something new. I guess I'll be allowed to walk the streets for now. But if I call you in the middle of the night, listen carefully. If I say I'm in prison, you might need to take me literally. Then again, I might just be talking about how I feel.


photo credit: expertintegratedsystemsblog.com

Report from Pillville: the Podiatrist, the Cardiologist and Miracle Ear Part V, etc. etc.

The Podiatrist:
Doctor+ power tools-general anesthesia=thank god, I'm sitting down on a chair that has arms because I began to sway. My mom was a trooper, though. Corns removed on the outside and inside of little toes. Toenail fungus ground into near oblivion. Plus, I acquainted her with some spiffy new shoes from Arcopedico. I discovered what a miracle these shoes were for my backaches when I was walking to and from the train before I left the City of Angels. They're easy on the toes, too. Mom has the blue ones and the hot pink ones. I now have three colors--hot pink, orange, and green. The red ones are tempting....don't worry I can stop at any time. Uh, but what I really need is a pair of Arcopedico sandals...in some nice colors.

The Cardiologist/the carotid artery and an echocardiogram of the heart:
"I've never had any tests like those before," she said.
"Are you sure? You have a pacemaker.....wouldn't they perform these tests before installing a box in your chest?"
Hmmm. Who knows? Maybe it's one of those past memory fragments that's just fallen away. In any event, now we await the results--the doctor will call if there's anything scary to report.

Miracle Ear:
5 appointments=1 working hearing aid. The only thing good I have to say about Miracle Ear at this point is that the technician who has been taking care of my mom and the her receptionist are the sweetest. There's a little hug fest every time we say good-bye. Really, these are nice, nice people. The hearing aid tech had tears in her eyes on the last visit when she had to break the news that one of the new hearing aids arrived not working. Hellooooo people, can you hear me? Floss, wear sunscreen, and take care of your ears. Hey, you with the ear buds and the music so loud that I can dance to it, turn it the fuck down.

The New Medication (Namenda): 
So far, so good. I've been watching and waiting. Yesterday, I heard a little freakout outside the laundry room (smoking area #2.) It was the first thing in the morning and I rushed downstairs, half gym clothes/half pajamas, to check it out. She had a ball of lint in her hand the size of a mouse. It startled her. But the same thing has been happening on the patio with spiders all along. She's always had a big reaction to things that scare her. I swear I can still see her and hear her screaming in our kitchen as she fashioned a dish towel into a sling the day my brother broke both the bones in his arm 45 years ago. Blood is even worse. I won't churn those waters. And the morning shortly after my high school graduation when she figured out I was pregnant? Oh, if I ever self-publish my book, you can read about it.
I asked her at dinner last night if she noticed feeling any different from the new drug. She shook her head. "Not at all," she said. But the only thing she was really feeling right then was the gin.
The real trouble is that whenever I want to think of the name of this drug...uh, I can't remember it. I got it now though....Amend+Namasté.

Bone Density and the Density of the Demeanor in Doctors' Office Staff:
Call to office #1: Hello again, you little bitch, I'm not asking for your first-born child, I'm just asking if you could ever-so-kindly double check to see if there is a bone density scan in my mom's records that maybe didn't get sent to her new doctor.
Call to office #2: Oh, hi, gosh thanks for calling me back so fast, wow, yes, please fax the scan to my mom's new doc. Oh, and you have some of the doctor's notes and you want to fax those, too? You have a nice afternoon, too.

The Calendar:
There's some white space in front of us. I told her last night that the only thing we have on the calendar for the rest of October and November is an appointment at Miracle Ear. Of course, that could morph into a series of follow-ups, but maybe not. "You might need to start going out to do other stuff," I said. "Fun stuff." She likes staying home, she said. Watching the birds, and the boats. Crocheting. And she has a stack of books that the man who loves me gave her for her birthday.
And yes, she should see a gastroenterologist. The Beano has been an utter failure. Flatulence and poor hearing is a comically cruel combo. My son laughs about it---says it's an awesome  way to proceed with life--giving up that bit of self-conscious propriety. He's got a point, but I'm not signing on to that yet. Farting just doesn't match up with those cute pink shoes.

Pillvillian I'm Sick Blues

(with apologies to the inestimable Bob Dylan)

Mama’s in her bedroom

Mixin’ up the medicine

I’m on the telephone

Talkin’ ‘bout Primadone

The man in the white coat

Good doc, paid off

Says he’s got a bad cough

Wants to get laid off

Look out, Mom

You’re on Klor-con

God knows how,

But you’re havin’ some fun

You better run to the boat dock

Lookin’ for a new friend

The phlebotomist 

In a cubicle

Wants eleven vials

You only got ten

Fleet foot optometrist

Old Pulmonologist

Hearing heart beats, but

They put you in bed, called

The Cardiologist anyway

Medicare says that many say

They must have hearing aids

Orders from outer space

Look out, Mom

Don’t matter you’re too thin

Walk with a cane

Don’t try your brain

Stay away from assholes

That push Pantoprozole

Keep a clean house

You don’t need a pacemaker

To know which way’s the undertaker

Get old, get bold,

Hang around, get told

If anything’s gone to gold

INR CPR

DNR, no car

Bacteria, Hysteria

Look out, Mom

You’re gonna get hit

Oh, Medtronic

Gin and tonic

Hang around the pill eaters

Man with the oxygen

Wants a new pathogen

Don’t follow leaders

Eat Egg Beaters

Ah get born, keep warm

Nice pants, romance, learn to dance

Potassium, Calcium

Try to be a good mum

Please you, please me, buy gin

Don’t steal, don’t sin

Twenty years of Plavix

And they give you Coumadin

Look out, Mom

They keep it all hid

Better slug down some alcohol

Lower your cholesterol

Don’t wear anger

Try to avoid the cancer

Don’t want a genie

Just a martini

Microwave don’t work

‘Cause the Namenda’s in the blender.