I Have Seen the Future

And it’s…old.

Spent most of the day shepherding 94-yr-old Mum through the medical system. I am, I have to say, incredibly lucky. She’s cogent, mobile and shake-free. Unlike everyone else in the waiting room (and, boy, do you wait).  Once the doctor realizes she has to speak up, because, duh, a 94-year-old is hard of hearing, she did a good job of asking lots of questions anyway. Which Mum answers with answers that were probably correct about 5 years ago, but how’s the doctor to know that? Then drag Mum off to chat with the social worker so maybe we can come up with a plan to get her out and mentally & socially stimulated more. Mum assures her there are lots of lectures she’d go to, etc.  Which I know she has no intention of doing, but again, how’s the sw to know that?

In other words, without attendant kids or someone who really knows us, how’s the doc to know what’s really up?

Last time I was in town, we visited an assisted living facility, which Mum will probably never agree to move to. Must say, after waiting endlessly for elevators, then squeezing in among all the walkers and wheelchairs, I wouldn’t either. Not that the residents didn’t seem pretty with it (with the exception of the ones in the wheelchairs in the front room where we waited for the tour guide. Which was okay, because Mum loudly announced as we sat down, “I’m glad I’m not in a wheelchair.” And our Borat-moment, when Mum asked the tour guide: “Is everyone here white?”).

Maybe all you can/should do is laugh. The show that managed this was the BBC’s  1990 Waiting for God (I identify with Diana — and come to think of it, Husbando is pretty much Tom). I do not plan, btw, to watch the Frontline show on aging, because with the genes I got, I’m pretty much going to be around for awhile. Or, as the doctor attending to my 89-year-old, post-triple-bypass father said: “You better start referring to your husband as your first.”

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