TBT: Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

 

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Juggling Monkeys

I thought I would have a free and clear day. There was nothing marked on the calendar on the fridge. I'd get the Young One to school, the Eldest to work, and then I'd be able to settle in and work on the book project. Maybe even have it finished by the end of the week.

As the Young One got ready for school, I took my morning tea and booted up my square headed spouse. The hum of the disk drive spinning up was meditative. The desktop widgets blinked to life. The Heath birthday countdown calender. Big Bopper's cheery "Helloooo, Baby!", the day's weather, monthly calendar, and the day planner. My eyes popped out of my head. It couldn't be. A 10:30 Weeble doctor's appointment? We were just there a week ago! It must be a mistake! Yes, that's it! A mistake. I marked the wrong date.

Before I left to take the Eldest to work, I made the mistake of calling the Weebles. Ma answered the phone.

"Do you have a doctor's appointment today?"

"Yes, at 10:30."

My heart sank at the loss of productive me time. At least I'm good at juggling monkeys.

Ma must have been in a good mood because she was yelling at Dad when I got to the house. She went to get dressed and Dad and I had a few minutes alone.

"Did that check clear?"

"No, the bank is still holding it."

"Do you still have the letter from the postal inspector?"

"What for?"

"Because I want to give him a call."

Dad gave the letter to me, one spy making a drop to another.

Ma's good mood held as we left the house. She yelled at Dad as she tried to maneuver around the metal folding chair that was on one side of the stairs. The bricks had come loose so she wanted to make sure no one would kill themselves on the loose bricks. Course, I don't know what she'll put out so people won't kill themselves on the metal folding chair. I helped Ma down the stairs. 

She took another breath in the car and began singing the "Your Stupid" song to Dad. I looked in the rearview mirror, and he was feverishly making the sign against evil. She sang repeated choruses from the parking lot to the lobby to the doctor's waiting room.

"Enough!" I yelled at her. "This is not the time or the place for that! Sit over here!" I'm not sure whether I'm their parent or the referee. The waiting room was fairly quiet so I wandered back to say hello to the lab tech and to hold an OPD Support Group meeting.

"Weren't you here last week?"

"Yeah, that was to see the middle toe doctor. This week they're here to see the big toe doctor."

"How are they today?"

I took a cautious peek around the corner. Ma was nodding off in her chair, and Dad was flipping through the pages of a magazine. "Good. Today, they're being good. How's your mother?"

"Oh, she's just wonderful! She had an operation, and it's like she's a new woman."

I wondered if the procedure was similar to what happens to the pod people in The Body Snatchers, but as I was about to ask, patients came in so I went to sit down in the waiting room.

As I was just getting engrossed into the latest happenings of the characters in the book I'm reading, another weeble lady sat down next to me. She was terribly concerned with the goings on of the trial for the body of Anna Nicole Smith. I refrained from rolling my eyes, smiled politely and turned back to my book. She didn't seem to notice, but happily kept on chattering.

A half an hour had drifted by, but the doctor hadn't sailed in. Rather frosts my fanny the office books appointments at 10:30 but the doctor doesn't show up for another half an hour or so.

Finally the doctor arrives and calls them into the exam room. My waiting room weeble neighbor asks me what time my appointment is.

"Oh, I don't have an appointment, I'm just the chauffeur."

The Weebles are in an out before I've finished my sentence. Ma had fallen earlier in the week. This now being a weekly occurence. She handed the doctor's prescription to me. He had written a prescription for Advil and Ben Gay. 

"We can go to the Stop and Shop to get these," I told her.

Dad decided to come in to the store with me to get the "prescription filled.

"Would she mind the generic Advil and Ben Gay because it would save you a few dollars?"

"No! You better get the real stuff, because they'll be hell to pay if it's not exactly what the doctor ordered." I rolled my eyes, but got the items. We headed to the check out. "Do you need anything while we're here? Bread, milk, juice? The bank?"

He shook his head.

I dropped them off at the house and was on my way home in hopes of salvaging some of my work day.

"Before you go, give your father a ride downtown to the bank?"

"To the bank? We were just there!" (there's a branch bank at the Stop and Shop) I roared. "Why does he need to go to the bank downtown?"

"I got another check for $2000 and he needs to deposit it."

I silently borrowed a phrase from Himself. No, not horse's patoot! Help me, Lord! All morning Ma and I had been dancing around the issue of the check. Both of us desperately wanted to tell each other "I told you so!" but the jury was still out for both of us.

Dad turned me toward the door as I was still sputtering. 

"You go on. I can walk. I need to get a haircut."

Yes, a walk would do him good. It would get him away from her for a couple of hours. He didn't need to hear the "Your Stupid" song being hammered out like "The Anvil Chorus." I was going back to the Stop and Shop to pick up a bottle of baby aspirin to eat on the ride home.

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

  In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Tuesday's Child is Full of Grace

I had Tuesday all neatly planned. Ma and Dad had a doctor's appointment mid-afternoon. Since it was school vacation week, I thought I'd drag take my Young One (born on a Tuesday) with me for a visit with Grandma before the appointment. I planned an hour and a half visit. We'd sit, have tea, whine and I'd score points as the Golden Child for bringing the grandchild for a visit. Perfect.

My plans didn't work out the way the way I had choreographed things in my head. They rarely do, but I'm ever hopeful. The minute we walked through the door, Ma wanted to go to the bank. I don't think she even noticed the Young One with me. She urgently needed to go to the bank to cash a check.

Every family has a skeleton, dirty secret, or crazy relative hidden in the attic. The dirty secret in my family is Ma is addicted to bogus lotteries, psychics, contests all promising prize money and riches. The amounts she sends out are small but over time it has added up to a hefty chunk of change. She dreams, wishes and talks about money. As if there's a celestial slot machine that will rain quarters on her. I'm reminded of the line from The Quiet Man "Money! Is that all you Danahers think of? I'm sick of the talk of it."

So that was the reason we had to dash to the bank. "Someone" had sent her a check for $250. No amount of telling her these things are scams penetrate gold fever. If I try to point out these letters with their checks (and we're not talking about one or two, but stacks and stacks) are scams or equity loans, she yells I have no faith in her. She's right, I don't. But "someone" has sent her the check, and she has to get to the bank. There is no reasoning with her. She's like a spoiled child hounding and whining for a treat. Some children need to learn lessons the hard way. I take her to bank so she can cash the damn check. Let some scam artist drain the account. It's bound to happen sooner or later, let it be sooner. I can have the satisfaction of saying "I told you so."

The Young One and I wait in the car, me with my book and the Young One with an electronic game. We are startled when the car door is wrenched open. It's only Grandpa speaking in tongues. Grandma must have started singing the "You're Stupid" song at the bank. Grandpa takes a few deep breaths and then goes back into the bank as Ma will need help coming out. The Young One and I watch from the car window. Soon Ma and Dad come out. The Young One remarks that Grandma looks sad.

"The teller wouldn't cash the check!" She is upset and very unhappy.

"And why is that?" I know the answer. I hope having a stranger tell her what we've been telling her all along will have finally sunk in.

"She said it looked funny and she wouldn't cash it. She said we need to go to the bank at the mall and have them cash it."

"No! The check is illegal. We don't have time to go to the mall and make it to the doctor's appointment."

"Why would she tell me to go to bank at the mall?"

Because if she told you to go to hell, she'd lose her job. "Because she didn't want to deal with a pain in the ( ! ) customer who wouldn't listen to her her when she said there was something wrong with the damn check.

Ma was not happy, but her mood improved when she came out of the doctor's office. She was beaming. The doctor told her for her 88 years old she is in top shape. He cut back her heart medication. She also has the blood pressure of a 25 yr. old woman. Dad also had a good report, much to his chagrin. Good news, the two of them are going to live forever.

Back at the house, she wants to find the envelope the check came in. I feel the familiar throbbing of the vessel behind my left eye. She has the blood pressure of a 25 yr. old woman. I can feel mine start to skyrocket.

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Children's Song

I had another Weeble run this time for a doctor's appointment for the two of them. I sailed down the Pike in good spirits as there wasn't much traffic. It would be an easy run today. The doctor would check heart and monitor blood pressure. Both appointments wouldn't take long. We'd be in and I'd be out to get back to my own work.

The front door is bolted as if it was the entrance to Fort Knox so I rang the bell. I heard the click and scrape of the locks as bolts were slid free. Dad opened the door. He was fully dressed which was a good sign.

"The doctor cancelled our appointment," he said. "I tried to call but the girl said you had already left."

I spoke in tongues. One has to give a doctor 24 hour notice of cancellation, otherwise, one is billed for the missed appointment. Well, nothing to be done but have a fast cup of tea and bolt, or so I thought.

"She has other plans for you today." Dad smiled elfishly.

More phrases. "Don't tell me. She wants to go to...."

"Mahket Basket."

I could hear Himself "Help me, Lord" but that's not what I said. "I thought your friend took you."

"She did. Yesterday. But Ma didn't finish her shopping."

As if on cue, Ma made her appearance. "I didn't get the fruits and vegetables. His friend wasn't feeling well, and she had us paged!"

Light dawned. It was colder than a witch's.....well, it was pretty darn cold that day. The poor woman must have succumbed to hyperthermia waiting the three hours in the car for the Weebles to totter around the store.

Dad was putting the kettle on to make tea.

"Don't bother, I said. If she wants to go to Market Basket, there's no time for tea now." So began the shuffle to get them out of the house. Just when you think you have both of them going in the same direction, one turns around and goes in the opposite direction. Herding cats is easier.

The parking lot to the store was packed, and all the handicap spots e filled. I offloaded the Weebles at the front door. Dad left me the handicap placard and I'm left to happily troll the parking lot for a handicap space. I settled into a space at the far end of the lot where I have a clear view of the front door and 6 handicap spots. I settled in with a book. I always carry a book to read for the times I have to wait, doctor's offices, Young Ones getting out of school or work. I don't mind waiting. Beats the hell out of administering sacraments to meat and veggies.

I looked up and saw a space available. Started the car and as I headed down the lane, another Weeble careened around the corner and slipped into the space. I went back to my spot and waited. I looked up and an enormous monster truck  pulled along side of me. I no longer had a clear view to the front door and the handicap spots. I couldn't even see the building, the truck was so large. I muttered some choice phrases and then moved to another location.

More reading and more looking up. A spot had been available and another Weeble slipped into it. Another phrase. I'd have to watch more and read less. Shortly after, I saw some Weebles coming out of the store, and they were heading to a handicap spot. I started the ignition and revved the engine. As they pulled out, I headed down the lane and neatly slid into the space. I was insufferably pleased with myself. It's a grown up version of musical chairs, and I won. All around the cobbler's bench the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought it was all in fun. Pop, goes the weasel!

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 n 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

The Second Wednesday

Today was shoe fitting day. Ma already had her coat on when I arrived. The route was the same as last week. We had to drop Dad off at the senior center, and again, he was out the door before I had brought the car to a complete stop.

There was plenty of parking at the medical center lot too. I even got a handicap parking spot. That should have been a clue.

I would never think skipping was possible with a walker, but that's what Ma did across the crosswalk and into the building. We didn't even have to wait for an elevator. The doors opened up just as I was to push the up button.

I held the elevator door open for Ma and she skipped across the lobby to the doctor's office. I reached around her and pushed the door handle. Imagine my surprise when the door wouldn't budge. It was locked tighter than Scrooge's purse! Ma kept trying the door and I finally got her to sit in a chair in the lobby while I went to the doctor's office next to the podiatrist. That office was locked too. The third office I tried was open.

The receptionist was on the phone, and I tried to be still and polite all the while screaming in my head Get off the damn phone and help me!

I told her my tale of woe and she kindly called the podiatrist's office.

Relief! Someone's in the office. The door must have been locked by mistake!

"Yes, I'll let her know," said the receptionist. She scribbled something on a note pad, tore the sheet and handed it to me. Neatly printed on the paper was the doctor's name and office number. "Their office is closed on Wednesdays. No one would have made an appointment for Wednesday. That was the answering service."

I thanked the receptionist and went to get Ma in the lobby. She was not happy, and she sputtered like a teakettle all the way to the car. It was not going to be pretty when we picked Dad up. I heard the "He's Stupid" song, along with variations on the theme. I told her the blame really wasn't on Dad, but on the doctor. Afterall, Ma was in the office last week. He could have taken her foot measurements, let her pick the shoes from the catalog, and put the paperwork aside until her primary care doctor sent the signature needed for the insurance. It would have been no skin off the podiatrist's nose. It's not like he had to pay for Ma's shoes out of his own pocket. On the other hand, he couldn't bill the insurance company for another office visit if he had taken care of business last week. I hope the needles fall off his Christmas tree.

Now, I'm not sure what happened. I wasn't sure if Dad had forgotten to make the actual appointment. He swore up and down he had called the doctor's office, and they gave him the appointment for Wednesday at 10 am. Maybe they meant the appointment was for the second Wednesday of the week. I'll have to check my PDA

TBT: Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Waiting

Yesterday, took Ma and Dad to the doctor's office. I was hoping the doc would be on time as I needed to be out for the afternoon run to driver training and school pick up. Ma was ready, waiting, and half way out the door when I arrived.

We were 15 minutes early for their appointment, and Ma was hoping the doctor would take them early. The waiting room is set up like a bus station with two rows of seats facing each other. Nearly every seat was taken. Blew Ma's idea about the doctor seeing them early. Ma and I found two seats at one end of the room, and Dad took a seat by himself at the other.

The med tech saw me and said, "Are you here again?" (Since the Weebles have a doctor for every toe, we were there two weeks ago to see the heart toe. Yesterday's appointment was to see the primary care toe.) Two weeks ago, the med tech and I had an OPD Support Meeting. "So, how's it going?" she asked. "The same. You?" "Same." We both laughed. She was busy so I couldn't chit chat with her.

After ten minutes, she looked out from the lab area, "Wow, they're really quiet today." Ma had nodded off in her chair, and Dad was reading a magazine. "Oh," she said, "You have them separated." I winked.

Their first appoitment came and went. Their second appoinment came and went. They weren't called until a half hour after the first appointment. Why can't doctors keep their appointments? It's so rude. Makes me want to send the doctor a bill for the wait time, and then a denial to pay from the insurance company.

We were there almost an hour and a half just for them to have their blood pressure taken. Still, I got them there and back and made it home in plenty of time for the afternoon run.