Mom & Me Four Archive

    Today is one of those, "Hello, it's fa-a-a-ll, I'm here early!" days. Thus, I'm exhilarated, delightedly anticipating the possibility of a cold, snowy winter. At the moment, at least, I don't feel like dwelling on other give-ups, so I'm going to start down my appointment trip list, bullet by bullet, although not necessarily in order. I'll link the bullet subjects forward to their discussion locations as I go.

    The Plebotomist started the blood draw session with: "Okay, Mrs. Hudson. Medicare has sent out a whole bunch of forms with questions that I have to ask you. Sorry about this, but you know how the government is, forms, forms, forms."
    "Oh, yes," Mom said, rolling her eyes. "Everything has to be recorded on a form."
    I was, frankly, surprised by her response: First, because she heard him clearly even though, through half his introduction, his head was down while he shuffled through the forms in question; second because her response indicated that she understood what he was saying. I was primed to help her respond but decided to "stay back" unless she had a problem with a specific question.
    "Do you have Black Lung Disease?"
    She registered shock. "Black Lung?!? What is that?!?"
    The Phlebotomist looked at me as if to say, "You want to handle this one?"
    Instead of answering, I decided to go with the optimistic assumption that she'd never heard of Black Lung and answer her directly. "It's a disease that coal miners get from exposure to coal dust in the mines, Mom," I said.
    Mom chuckled. "Well, let me think...back in the old days when I was a coal miner..." her voice trailed off, her eyes twinkling as she glanced at the Plebotomist for an appreciative chuckle.
    Instead, the Plebotomist gave me a frantic glance, as if to say, "She's pretty far gone, isn't she?!?"
    I laughed.
    Mom noticed his confusion and said, with humor but a distinct corrective tone, "Well, of course not!"
    And we were off and running. I knew, at this point, she would probably make it through the entire stack of questions on her own and settled back into my chair.
    "Are you a veteran?"
    "Oh, yes!"
    "Do you have any service related disabilities or illnesses?"
    "Well, no, not that I can think of," upon which she looked at me for confirmation.
    I shook my head, "No."
    "My daughter's saying 'No,' so I guess not."
    "Are you receiving any special compensation from the government or the military for any service related disabilities or illnesses?
    Mom registered surprise. "Well," she said, "if I don't have any, I'd better not be!"
    The Phlebotomist smiled, nodded and looked at me for quick confirmation, which I gave him with a shake of my head.
    "I notice you're a former smoker," the Plebotomist said.
    Mom started. "I still smoke," she asserted, proudly, as though it was a badge of honor.
    The Plebotomist rifled through her file and directed at me, "Is that right? It says here that she quit."
    Mom: "That's wrong."
    Me, to Plebotomist: "That's right." Me, to Mom: "Mom, you did quit, without realizing it, about two years ago."
    Mom, to me: "Well, we'll have to do something about that!"
    Uh oh, I thought, I can see we're going to have a looking-for-cigarettes day, but, you know, whatever.
    The Plebotomist continued: "Did you start smoking in the military?"
    Mom hesitated on this one. "Hmmmm...I think so, but I'm not sure. I knew about cigarettes before going into the military, but..."
    The Plebotomist looked at me.
    "As far as I can tell," I told him, "she probably did. She didn't live in a family or community that smoked until she joined the military."
    Without making a mark, the Plebotomist asked Mom, "Do you have any lung conditions or diseases related to smoking?"
    "Well, goodness, I don't think so!"
    As she said this, I could see the Plebotomist focus on the cannula attached to her face and the oxygen tank attached to her walker. "It says here," he continued, "that you have COPD."
    "Well, if it says that there, I guess I do."
    The Plebotomist looked at me.
    "Yes, she has COPD. It's much improved, though, since she, you know," I lowered my voice, although I'm sure my mother heard me, "quit."
    The Plebotomist nodded.
    "The doctor just listened to her lungs and said they sounded very good but, you know, she still needs oxygen, especially when she moves. I'm surprised by that question, though. Do you know why they're asking that?"
    "I think it's because some WWII veterans have attempted to sue the government for their smoking habits after contracting lung cancer."
    "Oh," I said. "Well, I don't know what to tell you to put down. She can't remember and I wasn't there."
    "You weren't where?" my mother asked.
    "With you in the military."
    "You weren't?!?" she exclaimed, clearly indicating, by her tone, that she knew I was lying.
    "Well, no, Mom, I wasn't even a gleam in your eye."
    "Oh, well, no," she confirmed. "I guess you were still at home."
    The Plebotomist and I exchanged grins. He asked me, "To the best of your knowledge, would you say your mother started smoking in the military?"
    Mom said, "I believe I'd like a cigarette."
    I asked, "What difference would it make?"
    The Plebotomist responded, "Not much, since she's already covered by TriCare."
    "Okay," I said, "to the best of my knowledge, yes."
    That was the last question/discussion before the blood draw. Within moments Mom had forgotten her catalyzed desire for a cigarette.
    The blood draw continued without incident, except that Mom and the Plebotomist had a minor debate about which arm he should stick, which he controlled by saying, "Well, I see a good vein right here," touching her inner elbow, "so let's use this one for a change."
    She agreed. As she watched him stick her with a butterfly needle, she exclaimed that he was doing, "...much better."
    He looked surprised.
    I said, more for his edification than hers, "You're thinking of last week, Mom. You had a trainee and he wasn't experienced with veins like yours. This guy is an expert. He knows what he's doing."
    "You sure do," Mom confirmed. "I wish I could take you home with me. My daughter," she continued sotto voce, nodding toward me, "makes me do this every month."
    I was surprised that she remembered this. The Plebotomist nodded toward me and smiled.
    As we exited the room, the Plebotomist drew me aside. "Sorry about that," he said, referring to the cigarette memory triggering. "I hope you don't have problems, today."
    "No problem," I said. "I can always count on her dementia to make my life easier in that respect!"
    "Your Mom's pretty aware, though."
    "Yeah," I said, "Not too little, not too much, I guess!"
    In summation, she only looked for cigarettes twice more that day, once after dinner at the restaurant and once in the evening at home as we were leisurely and appreciatively reviewing our day. Both times she looked but didn't register what she was looking for. Both times I simply ignored her efforts and the moments passed without verbal incident.