Today’s doctor’s appointment was a follow up on lab work taken last month. Upon arriving at the community, I found the doctor and asked, “What’s our plan of attack this time?” We reviewed the last two appointments, and my daughter and I let him know mom thinks seeing a neurologist is in her future. The doc didn’t think that was going to tell us much we didn’t already know. When I suggested a new MRI might show us further hippocampal atrophy, he quipped, “Or worse, it won’t!” To some, that may sound awful, but we are slowly building a body of irrefutable evidence to convince someone, get them to accept, that they need the care provided in assisted living when they are hell bound on returning home and obtaining another car to crash. The three of us paused for a moment, and I asked, “How about neuropsychology?” The doctor liked this idea and knew who he’d refer to. It was at this point the wellness nurse, understanding what we are trying to accomplish, said, “They’re booked through August. We won’t be able to get her in until September. She and I high-fived. At times it seems like we’re all living in a docu-drama-comedy show.
The appointment itself went well. Mom is being taken off of a couple of supplements. She was entertained when the doctor told her, “After 1000mg, your body just pees it out, so no need to take it.” Mom was repetitive and forgetful with the doc, but pleasant. She enjoyed sharing details about her time on the ranch, multiple times. It was actually sweet because the memory is so fond.
After the appointment mom went on quite the mental wander. It included asking twice what was next (neuropsychology), and how it’d be arranged, getting back to the Island, driving again, insisting her license was still active, asking me to bring her a driver’s handbook so she could study the rules of the road, scattering my father’s ashes, riffing on my paternal uncle, which was forgotten when she saw a cute kid through the window at the school next door, asking me if her insurance covered part of her stay at the community, then back to driving and buying a car, at which point I said there wasn’t gonna be any driving and cited her Island doctor. She said, “That was a long time ago…” I cut her off and said, “That’s what this is all about,” and walked her through it, simplistically. I followed up with, “If I’d lost consciousness while driving I’d never drive again until ‘they’ found out why it happened and fixed it, definitively. I buttered it with, “You could have killed someone, a family.” Mom didn’t fight me on this, but I’m sure she didn’t agree either.
Mom was perfectly cheerful as I left. She waited by the elevator with me, and we laughed at my daughter’s very excitable standard poodle, who kept jumping up at the office door window trying to understand why we weren’t coming over to play with her