Thursday, June 23, 2005
Remind me never to buy a Monte Carlo!
What a day! Everything went without a hitch but each thing blossomed into something else. On our way home Mom said 'anew' several times in almost exactly the same way every time: "You know, I think it's always the days that start without a plan that turn out to be the most satisfying." We did have a sketch of a plan, at least I did, and assumptions about how each notch in the plan would contribute to the play of our day. But Mom's bridle can't be notched anymore so everything was unplanned, for her. And she loved every minute of it! So did I, actually, though much of it was unexpected, which changed the character of what I thought was going to be wholey expected and correctly anticipated, our visit with MCF and her family. All of them, including, "...that girl who came later, who was she again? She seems like family...oh, then she is family..." Mom, of course, including her as a member of MCF's family, of which she considers herself a member in permanent-no-renewal-necessary-you've-paid-your-dues standing.
Yes, she smoked. Maybe five cigarettes. I was very strict, citing her difficulty breathing in the Health Advisory Alert Quality Air blanketing the Phoenix metroplex today. I insisted, on behalf of our friends, myself, her laboring lungs and the dignity of our food, no smoking at dinner.
At one point during the evening, not in defense but in an overwhelming need to express her deep appreciation for the smoking salon, she said, directing her robust delivery using her cigarette, held delicately between the index and middle finger of her left hand, "I don't care what they say. I've always enjoyed a cigarette, from the time I started smoking. Always will. And I think I should have a cigarette or two every once in awhile."
The occupants of the room expressed a hushed assent. Yes. Of course. Everything in moderation. One of these days someone will discover, in one of those danged studies, that occasional smoking is a dare because of the risk involved but it has been discovered and loved for a variety of reasons, throughout many cultures and many eras. In some countries, right now, this is an era of smoking.
So, long story short, she enjoyed her cigarettes, today. That family doesn't smoke all that much, anyway, so, considering that she once before, instantaneously, in the presence of available cigarettes, became a chain smoking fiend, again, I was surprised she was so mellow about her smoking today.
The car we rented was non-smoking, so was the room, so, of course, was the doctor's office, and she took all that with gracious forgetfulness. But, interestingly, much like my father in the latter stages of his alcoholism who became drunk when he decided he wanted to be drunk long before ever touching his lips to a glass, when she understood that we were finally on our way to MCF's she began worrying the upholstery, her pockets, the glove compartment and although she couldn't quite remember what she was trying to locate, I knew. I prompted her by asking and it took seconds for her to answer, "Cigarettes."
"This is a non-smoking car, Mom. Not until we get to MCF's."
She clicked her teeth together in mock agitation, but she did good.
At home, she asked for a cigarette. I was going to allow her two, with the stipulation that if her attention wandered enough from her awareness of holding a lit object that ashes and she dropped the ashes or cigarette, that was it. This happened about two thirds of the way through her 'first' cigarette, which became her last.
I think, after a few days, she'll forget, again, that she considers smoking a natural activity.
The rest of the day? The appointment with the new physician/PCP? Suffice it to say, I think I'll be writing an open, and sent, of course, letter to him. It was a turning point visit for me, that's for sure. It could be for him, too, and we could both benefit through our association with and about my mother if we step back and check with each other in stereo to understand what really happened today.
What it a bad visit? Well, I don't know. I think it contained latent possibilities, both negative and positive, and it depends on whether The Good Shiny New Doctor and I can come to a mutually beneficial understanding.
To be less abstract, at one point I spontaneously told him, with no bluster but with definition, nonetheless, not that I 'considered' myself my mother's PCP but that I was her PCP. My exclamation surprised us both. I hope we both recognized that this admission, and other, hmmm, well, spontaneous, strong reactions of mine were not contrived and a surprise to both of us and were not fundamentally antagonistic.
Got you wondering. I'll cover it, from at least two angles...
...later.
Yes, she smoked. Maybe five cigarettes. I was very strict, citing her difficulty breathing in the Health Advisory Alert Quality Air blanketing the Phoenix metroplex today. I insisted, on behalf of our friends, myself, her laboring lungs and the dignity of our food, no smoking at dinner.
At one point during the evening, not in defense but in an overwhelming need to express her deep appreciation for the smoking salon, she said, directing her robust delivery using her cigarette, held delicately between the index and middle finger of her left hand, "I don't care what they say. I've always enjoyed a cigarette, from the time I started smoking. Always will. And I think I should have a cigarette or two every once in awhile."
The occupants of the room expressed a hushed assent. Yes. Of course. Everything in moderation. One of these days someone will discover, in one of those danged studies, that occasional smoking is a dare because of the risk involved but it has been discovered and loved for a variety of reasons, throughout many cultures and many eras. In some countries, right now, this is an era of smoking.
So, long story short, she enjoyed her cigarettes, today. That family doesn't smoke all that much, anyway, so, considering that she once before, instantaneously, in the presence of available cigarettes, became a chain smoking fiend, again, I was surprised she was so mellow about her smoking today.
The car we rented was non-smoking, so was the room, so, of course, was the doctor's office, and she took all that with gracious forgetfulness. But, interestingly, much like my father in the latter stages of his alcoholism who became drunk when he decided he wanted to be drunk long before ever touching his lips to a glass, when she understood that we were finally on our way to MCF's she began worrying the upholstery, her pockets, the glove compartment and although she couldn't quite remember what she was trying to locate, I knew. I prompted her by asking and it took seconds for her to answer, "Cigarettes."
"This is a non-smoking car, Mom. Not until we get to MCF's."
She clicked her teeth together in mock agitation, but she did good.
At home, she asked for a cigarette. I was going to allow her two, with the stipulation that if her attention wandered enough from her awareness of holding a lit object that ashes and she dropped the ashes or cigarette, that was it. This happened about two thirds of the way through her 'first' cigarette, which became her last.
I think, after a few days, she'll forget, again, that she considers smoking a natural activity.
The rest of the day? The appointment with the new physician/PCP? Suffice it to say, I think I'll be writing an open, and sent, of course, letter to him. It was a turning point visit for me, that's for sure. It could be for him, too, and we could both benefit through our association with and about my mother if we step back and check with each other in stereo to understand what really happened today.
What it a bad visit? Well, I don't know. I think it contained latent possibilities, both negative and positive, and it depends on whether The Good Shiny New Doctor and I can come to a mutually beneficial understanding.
To be less abstract, at one point I spontaneously told him, with no bluster but with definition, nonetheless, not that I 'considered' myself my mother's PCP but that I was her PCP. My exclamation surprised us both. I hope we both recognized that this admission, and other, hmmm, well, spontaneous, strong reactions of mine were not contrived and a surprise to both of us and were not fundamentally antagonistic.
Got you wondering. I'll cover it, from at least two angles...
...later.
