"You're 81 and I think it's a good idea that we do a cardiac check up on you," said Dr. L. That was two months ago and ever since the stress test has been scheduled all I've been hearing from my mother is how she doesn't want to do it, how it really isn't necessary, and of course how scared she is of doing it. I explained how I went with my father in law for his and it really wasn't anything to be concerned about. It's really a couple of shots and siting still for some monitors. Of course there was no convincing her that it was going to be fine. Yesterday she asked me to Google how many, "old folks were outright killed by this test."
So today was the big day. I wore my Dorothy shoes in honor of her wishing to be back home in front of the TV. She wasn't impressed. When they gave her the drug for the nuclear stress test, I told her not to go towards the light. She wasn't impressed. When they told her they were going to give her the drug for the cardiac stress test, I said I could stress her out without the drugs; by now sick of my picking, she agreed. I know I'm terrible, but it's how I deal with stress. Hell, you should have seen me after Katrina, I found a dead squirrel plastered to the window, named him Rocky and made him my, "little buddy," but I digress...
What impressed Mom was when the male nurse smacked me on my rear end, accidently. She actually didn't see it, but came in on the conversation afterwards. I felt the smack and immediately knew what had happened. He turned to walk away and his hand swung back making full and firm contact with my left buttock. Poor guy was six shades of maroon and apologizing all over the place even before I could turn around. I gave him a stern look and said, "you now owe me a dinner and a movie for that; pick me up at seven thirty." Even I couldn't keep a straight face after that one. To his credit he came back with something along the line of having gotten to know me better. I can say that had Mom leaving the place smiling.
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