patty and mom go to the doctor

Mom was due for a physical, I had an appointment for a follow-up. We both go to the same husband and wife team. I get Rob, she gets Jennifer. It seemed logical to schedule her on my day. Save a trip. Get all the ucky out of the way in one shot.

They called Mom first and I went with her, telling the nurse where I would be when they got to my turn. Mom likes me to be with her, even though, in the process, I've come to see more of Mom than my eventual therapist would like. A guy I'll call "Mike" came in to take her vitals. I don't know what Mike is in the hierarchy. Nurse? Tech? PA? I know that every time I've take Mom to the Doctor, "Mike" has taken her BP and stuff and made notes in a laptop and regaled us with stupid jokes and forced conviviality. He means well.

When Mom was complaining about waiting and asking for a pillow for her back and quizzing him on office protocol (i.e why am I waiting?) he and I exchanged amused glances and, at one point I pantomimed loading a gun, pulling back the catch and shooting myself in the temple which sent Mike into peals of laughter.

He left us to wait in the examining room. You know that room. The one with all the scary looking stuff, no TV, no magazines, nothing to amuse you while you wait. And wait.

After 5 minutes she started. Where were they. They forgot her. We've been waiting a half hour. sigh. sigh. louder sigh. I tried to amuse her. No way. After about 10 minutes that her brain computed as an hour, she stood and marched resolutely to the door, ignoring my "No! Sit!" Quincy listens when I say that. Mom doesn't. She pulled open the door and ran into Mike. He reassured her that she was next, that the PA she was seeing that day was taking care of someone who was sicker than they thought and she would be in as soon as possible.

I shot the imaginary gun onto my mouth that time and he cracked up again. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

We chatted a bit, Mom and I. She asked me what my middle name was and I told her "Elaine" and she frowned and said "where did I come up with that??" and then for some reason she asked if I had a scar from my surgery. I laughed and told her I had a doozie. She wanted to see it. Anything to amuse her, I unzipped my jeans and pulled
them away from my tummy to show her. She gasped, touched the scar gently and whispered "I had no idea". I zipped up and sat down. Show and tell over, I thought.

Suddenly, she brightened up, announced that she had a hysterectomy once (Yes, I remember, it was in 1972) and that she didn't "leave marks". Then, to my horror, she stood, unzipped her slacks and pulled her clothing down to her never regions. At this point her never regions were about 3 inches from my face. You think I'm kidding abut eventual therapy. Look, she crowed, no marks. Nobody can believe I had surgery. I mumbled something complimentary while trying to look past her at something more appetizing, like the clogged artery illustration on the far wall and pondering how many people had told her it didn't look like she had surgery. Who else had she shown? The mind reels.

OK, Mom, I said, the doctor should be in soon. zip your pants. And she attempted to do just that except it was clumsy to gather her undies and girdle and slacks all at once and pull them up and something had to go and it was her slacks.

She was holding her other things against her never regions while I bent to grab the slacks that had puddled at her feet and that's when Mike opened the door.

I'll give you a moment to ponder the scene.

What's going on in here? he laughed and he and I fell helpless into a fit of giggles.

Comparing scars, I told him while pretending to stab myself in the gut with a huge sword.

Your Doctor is ready he told me and he escorted me to my little room, leaving the door open. I heard him briefing the Dr: "BP good, not sick, looks good, great sense of humor"

Mom and I left, both of us with glowing reports from our respective medical professionals except she needs an appointment for her eye problems and I really need to find that therapist.