I Swear I Don’t Have Cooties

Mom had to go to to group therapy yesterday afternoon. Her sessions are once every three months, so it’s important she goes or she won’t be eligible for her psych meds. Even if her appointment hadn’t fallen yesterday afternoon, she wouldn’t have been home because my parents go grocery shopping on Wednesdays because Kroger has a special discount for seniors that they only give on Wednesdays. So I guess that in some warped way, I was destined to pick up the phone yesterday afternoon when the call came.

It was the aunt that hates me. She was calling because she had taken Nana to the vascular surgeon as planned. (My mom had called her to ask if she’d taken her when mom found out about the appointment because my mom couldn’t reschedule hers and if the nursing home took Nana, we’d have to pay over $100.) The aunt said that the doctor told them that Nana’s aneurysm had been at 3.6 cm in 2008, when the original scan had been done; now, depending on how he looked at the scan, it was between 3.6 and 3.7 cm in size. Because of the lack of growth over the years, he felt that there were four options for Nana:

  1. She could have a stint put in, but this would be difficult because her veins curled.
  2. She could have coiling done, but this could cause something to go wonky with her spleen and then it would have to be removed.
  3. She could have her spleen removed, but this is too much of a risk because of her size (and age) that it really isn’t an option.
  4. She could come back every six months so that he could monitor it to see if it gets worse. If it does get worse too quickly, she could die, but death’s a risk that could happen with any of her options.

Nana chose #4. She didn’t want surgery. The aunt seemed shocked that Nana picked to go with the non-surgical option and kept telling me over and over that Nana picked it on her own. (I didn’t doubt that Nana picked it on her own.) I wasn’t surprised that the aunt was shocked because I remember back when Nana was seeing a neurosurgeon for her back and neck problems that the aunt said that she thought that Nana enjoyed having surgery and medical procedures done. I didn’t bring that up during the call because I knew it wasn’t the time and it was from so long ago that it shouldn’t even matter that she said it.

Then the aunt started saying that she just thought she ought to call because she thought that Betty (my mom) might be worried. I told her that I would tell my mom when she got back from therapy. This was when I could honestly hear her jaw drop. She sort of screeched, “JANET?!” I confirmed that it was me, and she was quick to end the conversation. I guess that after six minutes and forty-five seconds, she realized that she might get my phone cooties. It was safe to talk to me when she thought I was my mom, but she didn’t really want to say anything more when it was just me. That’s fine with me because I really don’t enjoy phone conversations…ever. And I was trying to figure out a way to politely end the conversation because my anxiety was building as it kept going.

I just thought it was funny how fast it ended when she figured out that it was me. I felt bad that she thought it was my mom because I know that she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore than I want to talk to her. I wonder if she determined I was less evil after the call; if she did, that opinion will probably change just by my making this post…even though there’s nothing really bad about her on here.

In completely unrelated news, I found out that my mom has both a Facebook and Twitter account. It’s kind of odd because she has always sworn that she would never have either. I guess she decided it would be easier to get coupons and stuff with social media accounts.

About Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.