One Bad Random

Effective Communication

On the fourth morning after her knee surgery my mom is released from the hospital and we take her over to the rehab center. It winds up being fairly close to the hospital and quite a bit easier to get to. They're expecting her so the check-in goes smoothly. She gets to her room (which she shares with three other patients) and the staff starts the questioning.

Of course one of my frequent gripes with my parents is how poorly they communicate things. While in the hospital my mom's IV would empty and the machine starts to beep letting anyone nearby know that the device needs attention. So my mom hits the "call" button and says, "I've got a beeper!" Plain as day, yes?

Doctor: What day was your surgery?
Mom: Tuesday.
Doctor: Did you have a catheter?
Mom: The woman next to me had a catheter.
Me: I think he just wants to know about you.
Mom: Well she did. Your father also had a catheter when he had his gall bladder out. That was something, let me tell you. Here we go. You know?
Doctor: Okay. No on the catheter. I also want to go over your medication list.
Mom: I need Ex-Lax. It wasn't listed.
Doctor: Okay. I'll order it.
Me: Um, she doesn't take it regularly. I think she just wants a single dose because she hasn't gone since the surgery.
Mom: No, I went this morning. I need the Ex-Lax just in case.
Doctor: Uh, okay. Any other medications not listed?
Mom: Ginger root. I take it for arthritis.
Doctor: I haven't heard of that. Is that a prescription?
Mom: No. But it helps with the little nagging tingles. You know?
Dad: You probably haven't heard of the white raisins and gin either, have you?
Doctor: Um.
Lisa: Sheesh. What kind of doctor are you?
Doctor: Um.
Me: This was all part of her double blind study. I'm surprised you haven't read about it.
Doctor: Heh. Yeah. I bet it was multi-site, too. Okay. I'm not going to order the ginger root–
Me: Or the gin I suppose.
Doctor: –or the gin. But if you have ginger root I didn't see it.

Once we get all of that settled we hang out for a while and eventually decide we need to get my dad to dinner.

You're After My Cheddar

We head out for the normal 5pm dinner. It seems if you stray from the very small selection of restaurants that my parents normally frequent you're going to deal with a night full of complaining. With that in mind we decided to eat at Cheddar's which is in the regular rotation. In fact we ate there three nights in a row. As always the dinner conversation is fascinating.

Dad: So mother tells me you've been walking every day.
Me: Yep. We walk a couple of miles every day.
Dad: Every day?
Lisa: Yes.
Dad: Two miles? Every day?
Me: Yes. You know once mom gets that other knee done it'd probably be a good idea for you guys to start getting some regular exercise.
Dad: Someday maybe you'll get to be 75 and you'll see there ain't much point to doing that once you get to be a certain age.
Me: Oh, I don't know about that. Did you know that people over 70 that walk regularly have a reduced chance developing Alzheimer's?
Dad: Is that what you think?
Me: Well, it was in a medical study.
Dad: And you believe that?
Me: I prefer to say I'm convinced by the evidence. Given the family history of Alzheimer's and diabetes I've been trying to exercise more and watch what I eat.
Dad: There's diabetes in the family. I've got it, your uncles have it, your brother Andy has it. You can't avoid it.
Me: I have a genetic predisposition. I can greatly reduce my chances of–
Dad: Aw, bullshit. Well, I hope you're healthy when you get hit by that car.
Me: Good point.

There's no convincing some people. The next day at Cheddars we settle back into our routine of having odd conversations. I order the Monte Cristo even though I had it the day before. It was a pretty tasty sandwich. Lisa orders the same on my recommendation.

Me: Shit. If I had known you were going to the order the Monte Cristo I would have gotten the Shepherd's Pie.
Lisa: Oh, sheesh.
Dad: Why's that?
Me: I don't like ordering the same entrée as someone else at the table.
Dad: You mean you're that paranoid? Where do you get that?
Me: I don't think paranoid is the correct word. I don't know. I think it comes from having three brothers. I overvalue my individuality in some cases. I used to hate it when mom would buy us all the same shirt. I hated wearing the same clothes.
Dad: Well I guess me and your mother were terrible parents then!
Me: Wait. What?
Dad: Well I'm sorry you had such a horrible childhood. I didn't know it was so bad.
Me: I think you're just being silly now.
Dad: Is that why your brothers are so paranoid? Because you all had the same shirts?
Me: You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.
Dad: I'd hate to see how paranoid you'd be if you had the same pants.
Lisa: This sandwich isn't that good.
Dad: Careful, you're going to make him paranoid.

We finally wrap up "dinner" and head back to the house for the night. While there I discover a side project of my dad's. He's planning on making a clock out of an old saw blade. He's made a frame for the blade and everything. And then for some reason he painted some sort of Satanic symbols all over it.

I'd ask but the whole thing makes me…paranoid?

This entry was posted on Friday, May 7th, 2010 at 10:05 pm and is filed under Humor. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.