Mama called to talk about her appointment with her general practitioner yesterday. She was looking forward to this all week, because she couldn’t wait to tell the good doctor that she “was off all this medicine on her own.”
“Lord that makes for a long day, they kept me forever.”
I tire very easily when Mama moans about a “long day”. A long day to her is a couple of hours at a doctor. Or it might be that she had to go out and pay two bills. Or go to both the grocery store and the gas station. Anything that consumes more than a half hour of her time makes for a long day that requires three or four days to “recover” from. If she had to have what most of us consider to be a typical day…you know, work eight or nine hours, squeeze in a few errands at lunch, then go home, cook dinner, do a load of laundry, and scrub a toilet or two, then, my God, she would have to be put in traction.
At odds with this long day at the doctor was mom’s claim that “She didn’t weigh me, check my pulse, or nothin’.” Clearly, this was a poor examination paid for by Mr. and Mrs. Taxpayer.
“She couldn’t believe I’d gone off them drugs by myself.” Mom said proudly.
“But when I took the piss test, she could see wudn’t nothin’ in my system but a little marijuana. And that’s ok, it helps me be more creative.” She went off onto a tangent about how she used to go take a few puffs of OO-wee in the bathroom when we were kids, and then come out feeling very creative and make Christmas ornaments out of lace or stencil paint canvas hoops to hang on the wall.
But, hold my mule. Piss test? What’s this about?
“She could tell I wudn’t takin’ anything.”
Now, I don’t know an arrhythmia from an armadillo, but why exactly would a doctor do a drug test on a patient? Does anyone else think that just maybe Mama’s doc declared “no more scripts for you” a few weeks back? So do I, puppies, so do I. I think this even more because Mama went on to say “She told me I’d have to see Dr. Pushapill (her psychiatrist) to get somethin’ fer my nerves though.”
“What do you need for your nerves?”
“Probly valium or klonopin, ya know, just somethin’ to take the edge off.” Yes, take the edge off of those long and stressful days when she not only has to go get the mail, but might also have to take the trash out.
Mama kept building the case that her recent sobriety was not altogether her own choosing.
“I know I’ze takin’ my life into my own hands with them pills.” Does anyone else think the part of the story I’m not getting here included her doc saying a few weeks back, “Crazymama, you ought to get to rehab, you’re risking your health with this.” Yes, I think so too. Does anyone else think mama told her doc, “See! I don’t need ’em, I aint addicted, but can’t you per-scribe somethin’ for my nerves?”
Whatever the reason, I’m glad she’s dried out. BUT, a prediction. Within the month, she will have a new doctor. She’s laid the groundwork for this by moaning about how her current doctor didn’t even weigh her. She will have a new doctor, owing to the shoddy treatment the old one gave her, and once again have a prescription for a monthly 5-gallon drum of party favors, with daily proclamations that “I done proved I don’t need ’em, that much I can say!” Anybody want to make a bet?