—
Dad has been battling SAD (Selective Attention Disorder), a degenerative disease for the past thirty odd years. At any given time, the man can tell you what horse is running in the fourth race at Belmont, what the Jockey’s name is, what said jockey had for dinner and probably the last time he had sex. He can tell you what supermarket chain has the best price on mayonnaise, who in the Senior Housing Complex got rebate checks; however, he goes blank when he goes into any doctors office.
Recently his heart rate went out of wack, and the doctor had to alter his medication levels depending on what his blood tests showed. The doctor explained that they were checking his INR levels, which is responsible for the clotting mechanisms. The doctor asked dad if he ever had such a test done before. I responded, “No, he has not.” Dad whipped his head around almost snapping his neck, put his hand on his hip, purses his lips and says “I can talk for myself you know.”
Stance still held, he tells the doctor, with conviction that yes, he is familiar with this test and just had one about six months ago and the doctor said he does not need a new eyeglass prescription. The Cardiologist was confused and asked dad what that meant. Lesson one: Dad is never confused and questioning his clarity he will automatically assume you are confused and begin to eat you alive.
If that eye-roll and sigh could be captured in volumes, it would blow out any speaker on this planet. On the end of the sigh recoil, dad tells the doctor, “ Doc, I had my INR tested at the eye doctor, where he has that poster, and you tell him if the I,N,R are pointing straight or to the left, etc.” He then puffs out his chest and proceeds to ask the doctor if he is familiar with this test or if he’s not “that” kind of doctor.
Yes, I shrivel in my chair and try to sweep up any self-esteem I have left in me to selvage this visit before we are asked to take our medical records and do not return……Oh yes, it has happened. Thankfully the physician was seasoned and played dads game in a way that he turned the situation around and managed to regain his clinical credibility in dads’ eyes. He discussed the plan and scheduled the visiting nurse’s to come to the house and draw his blood. Once the levels were read, we would receive a call on how to proceed with his medication schedule.
Dad was annoyed at the fact that he had to “wait” on results to begin with; after all, he was way to busy honing his newly learned social media skills. We are still trying to redirect him to the fact that if you post to Facebook, it is not a text that goes to my phone. The entire town knows that he is out of Milk of Magnesia, my son still hasn’t gotten a haircut and that I have not signed up for online dating yet.
There was a glitch in the schedule, and the visiting nurse claims she has no Bob on her schedule and since it is a Saturday we can call the office Monday morning and straighten it out. How do I know this first hand? Well, Wilma from the visiting nurse services called me asking if I can tell Bob to not refer to her as Nurse Ratched; it’s offensive, and by the way, I have to take him to the hospital for his blood draw today, oh and they close in an hour.
Surprisingly dad is ready and waiting for me outside, albeit annoyed and he’s going to show them who’s boss because he didn’t comb his hair, period, end of story. The hospital access center is a lovely place, with lovely patient registrars who deal with angry, sick people most of their day, kudos to every one of you. There is no sign in sheet where your name is slashed when it’s your turn; there is no deli counter ticket spit out at you, they assume we live in a kind, social society and people will use the honor system and wait until it is their turn.
Dad does not like this system and every time he sits there and does a head count and time check while staring people up and down when they walk in like he is the waiting room warden.
He begins to get up about four people ahead of us and paces the perimeter of the registrars’ cubicle so that he can make a point. When they finally call “next”, on cue, he plasters a surprised look and does a three-person glance, holds his hand out while he moves his lips staying “you?”. I do believe he relishes in it when they say “ No, I believe you were here before me.” Dad then adds a cordial bow and thanks his adoring fans as he leaves them in the dust and plops down in the chair to be registered. The kind gentleman begins to process us in lightning speed which I am thankful for because the blood station closes in fifteen minutes.
The kind man tells us they are ready in the back for his blood draw he needs to make a photocopy of his Identification. Dad gave him a stern eyebrow flash, and stated, “ID? Why do I need ID? I know who the hell I am.” Once again, only out of the mouth of Dad.
—
What’s your take on what you just read? Comment below or write a response and submit to us your own point of view or reaction here at the red box, below, which links to our submissions portal.
◊♦◊
Sign up for our Writing Prompts email to receive writing inspiration in your inbox twice per week.
Photo: iStockPhoto