It's funny now but wasn't at the time

A few years ago we had a serious health issue with mom. She was suffering fainting spells and eventually ended up with a pacemaker, but is doing well now. That allows me to view the incident with a bit more humor today, because, as with much of life, there is humor even in distress. Especially when the distress has passed.
While at work one day my phone rings, and I saw it was mom. I knew it because our phones tell us everything today, so as I took it out of my pocket the words 'incoming call Mom' stared back at me. "Hi Mom, what's up?"
I didn't like the uncertainty immediately obvious in her voice. "Do you have my doctor's phone number?"
"Yeah, somewhere, why?"
"Well, I blacked out and fell and hit my head..." I interrupted her to say, "I'm closing, ma, and I'm taking take you to Emergency."
"I'd rather you call the doctor to see what he says."
I replied tensely, "He's gonna say take you to Emergency."
"I'd feel better if you'd call him." So, not to make her any more upset, I said I would and then call her right back. The doctor, of course, though very nice about it, made it quite clear that I should not be speaking to him but rushing her to the hospital instead. I do believe I could hear his eyes rolling as we spoke. I called Mom back and said I would be at her house right away.
As I had a key, I let myself in. Mother was not to be found, until I noticed her bathroom door shut. I knocked frantically and said, "I'm here, ma, let's go."
"In a minute. I'm brushing my hair and fixing my lipstick."
"We're going to Emergency, Mom, not a wedding reception," I barked in dismay. "They're not going to say, 'oh, don't treat Mrs. Cosgriff, her hair's mussed' Let's go!"
"I'll only be a minute." She had responded with the finality of tone that told me I would be waiting until she was good and ready to go. Being a North Carolina girl, she would not be pushed, and I knew not to push back when she became that way. It would only make things worse, 'cause them southern gals, when they get riled, they's fractious.
So we get to the hospital, they take her in right away, and we begin to sit and wait. She was soon lying on a gurney in a room as I sat next to her. After a while she opined, "Well, I hope they find something, but I've lived a good life, no matter what."
I said nervously, having been thinking about the never never myself all along and not wanting to, "Let's not talk like that, Ma, let's see what the doctors say."
About half incensed she asked, "What, don't you think I've had a good life?"
"No one says you haven't, Ma, but let's not think about that just yet."
"Well, I've lived a good life anyway." There's that finality again, so I clammed up. But I really didn't care for it that second.
An hour or so later I was standing next to her. She said, stating more than asking, "It don't look right, does it, you seeing your mother lying in a hospital bed with all these wires and needles."
"No, Momma, it don't," I whispered. I couldn't help but remember barely a year before, watching my dad as he lay dying in that same hospital. She was right on the money. It didn't look right at all.
"But I've had a good life." she said again. Aw, c'mon, ma, didn't we just go through this? I felt the exasperation of Ray Romano.
So a few weeks and several tests pass, and the doctors became sure she needed a pacemaker. It was obvious that even Mom was now believing that her good life had an indefinite amount of time left and that she needed to get about living it. I sat with her on that Wednesday morning, waiting for the procedure. She fretted, "I wish they'd hurry up and do it. I have to weed my garden.", getting anxious. "And I'm hungry. But you know they won't feed me until after they're done."
Several starts and stops later (you know how hurry up and wait hospitals can be), and after not too little worrying about all the things she had to do, they put in the pacemaker. After she left for the OR, the next time I saw her was back in her room, all rosy cheeked after appearing grayish and wan a few hours before. She was eating and complaining, "They better let me go soon. I've got to get to work on my garden, and you know the house needs cleaning."
As my siblings were by then with her, I slipped out to find her doctor. I advised him to release her soon for his own good, because them southern gals, they's fractious.

Dad's Birthday

Dad would have been 89 today. I sure didn't think we'd lose him at 77, especially as his dad, me Grandpa Joe, did every health thing completely wrong, indeed almost obstinately, spectacularly wrong, yet missed 86 by just two days. I almost believe Joe would still be alive today somehow if he'd have taken even modest care of himself. If anyone could have willed himself to 120, it was Joe.

The thing is, I have to feel as though me Pops was given twenty more years. He had stage 4 cancer at 57, and the treatment the doctors employed on him was so new he was told that an identical diagnosis five years earlier would have led to, 'Here's some morphine, Mr. Cosgriff, we'll make you as comfortable as we can these next few months'.  Dad fought the cancer too, fought it hard, had vowed on Day One that he'd beat it. By the grace of God, he did. If I ever face such odds, I hope I can find his courage.

We don't appreciate the world we live in as much as we should. Something like with Dad, Mom had a pacemaker installed in 2014 because her heart started stopping. Started stopping? What an odd turn of phrase. But to the point: she lived until 2022, just about 8 more years on the dot in fact, because of technology, of improvements in medicine. In 1914, one day later that year her heart would have simply stopped and never restarted. 

It's easy to be melancholy; I'm fighting it right now. But isn't sadness looking too hard at the wrong side of the ledger? Life itself is a gift, indeed the greatest gift. Twenty Eight more years with my parents? This isn't such a bad old world we live in.

Athletic Pulse

Doctors. They all presumably have, if not the same then similar training, and access to pretty much the same information. Yet they draw different conclusions. What's up with that?

My pulse has always been on the low side, hovering around 48, 49, 50 beats per minute. It's been that way all my life, so far as I recall. My old doctor was okay with that, but out of curiously I asked when we should be concerned. "If it's regularly at 40 or below," he explained. So, all right. I'm all right.

Yet that physician retired, and I transferred to a doctor he recommended. He seems like a good guy too. But when my heartbeat was 48 last month he did the old slow head shake tsk tsk. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Oh, 48, that's too low. Unless you're an athlete?" He queried.

Even I laughed out loud at that, as did most of you. Don't deny it. "Well, are you?" He persisted.

"No. I walk 45 - 50 minutes most days, a brisk walk mind you, but I'm no athlete."

The Doc har-umphed. "We must keep an eye on that." He assured me I'm in no danger, yet he let slip the word 'pacemaker'. "If this keeps up, at some point we'll have to consider it."

Be all that as it may, why is one physician unconcerned with a pulse of 48 and the next one, a colleague of the one who retired, tsk tsking me?

I don't get it. But I'm not a doctor. I'm also not an athlete.

For Mom on Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to all the Moms out there. Happy Mother's Day too to all of you whose Mothers had you. They deserve the credit, and you owe them everything. Don't waste the chance they gave you. Start by thanking them.

I know she won't see this, but I feel bad that I don't talk about my own mother here anywhere near the degree to which I talk about Pops or even Grandpa Joe. She's been a great Mom, a bit headstrong, maybe, but with her moments. One of those wasn't that long ago.

When she had a pacemaker two and a half years ago at 80 the doctor was explaining after the surgery that it had a ten year battery. "But I need twenty," she immediately told him, as though obvious.

It is a good attitude, right?

Happy Mother's Day Mom.

Them Southern Gals

We recently had a serious health issue with mom. She was suffering fainting spells and eventually ended up with a pacemaker, but is doing well now. That allows me to view the incident with a bit more humor today, because, as with much of life, there is humor even in distress. Especially when the distress has passed.

While at work one day my phone rings, and I saw it was mom. I knew it because our phones tell us everything today, so as I took it out of my pocket the words 'incoming call Mom' stared back at me. "Hi Mom, what's up?"

I didn't like the uncertainty immediately obvious in her voice. "Do you have my doctor's phone number?"

"Yeah, somewhere, why?"

"Well, I blacked out and fell and hit my head..." I interrupted her to say, "I'm closing, ma, and I'm taking take you to Emergency."

"I'd rather you call the doctor to see what he says."

I replied tensely, "He's gonna say take you to Emergency."

"I'd feel better if you'd call him." So, not to make her any more upset, I said I would and then call her right back. The doctor, of course, though very nice about it, made it quite clear that I should not be speaking to him but rushing her to the hospital instead. I called her and said I would be at her house right away.

As I had a key, I let myself in. Mother was not to be found, until I noticed her bathroom door shut. I knocked frantically and said, "I'm here, ma, let's go."

"In a minute. I'm brushing my hair and fixing my lipstick."

"We're going to Emergency, not a wedding reception." I barked in dismay. "They're not going to say, 'oh, don't treat Mrs. Cosgriff, her hair's mussed' Let's go!"

"I'll only be a minute." she responded with the finality of tone that told me I would be waiting until she was good and ready to go. Being a North Carolina girl, she would not be pushed, and I knew not to push back when she became that way. It would only make things worse, cause them southern gals, when their dander's up, they's fractious.

So we get to the hospital, they take her in right away, and we begin to sit and wait. She was lying on a gurney as I sat next to her. After a while she opined, "Well, I hope they find something, but I've lived a good life, no matter what."

I said nervously, having been thinking about the never never myself all along and not wanting to, "Let's not talk like that, ma, let's see what the doctors say."

About half incensed she asked, "What, don't you think I've had a good life?"

"No one says you haven't, ma, but let's not think about that just yet."

"Well, I've lived a good life anyway." There's that finality again, so I clammed up. But I really didn't care for it that second.

An hour or so later as I was standing next to her she said, stating more than asking, "It don't look right, does it, you seeing your mother lying in a hospital bed with all these wires and needles."

"No, momma, it don't." I whispered. I couldn't help but remember barely a year before, watching my dad as he lay dying in that same hospital. She was right on the money. It didn't look right at all.

"But I've had a good life." she said again. Aw, c'mon, ma, didn't we just go through this? I felt the exasperation of Ray Romano.

So a few weeks and several tests pass, and the doctors became sure she needed a pacemaker. It was obvious that even Mom was now quite sure that her good life had an indefinite time left and that she needed to get about living it. I sat with her on that Wednesday morning, waiting for the procedure. She fretted, "I wish they'd hurry up and do it. I have to weed my garden.", getting fractious. "And I'm hungry. But you know they won't feed me until after they're done."

Several starts and stops later (you know how hurry up and wait hospitals can be), and after not too little worrying about all the things she had to do, they put in the pacemaker. After she left for the OR, the next time I saw her was back in her room, all rosy cheeked after a month of appearing grayish and wan. She was eating and complaining, "They better let me go soon. I've got to get to work on my garden, and you know the house needs cleaning."

As my siblings were by then with her, I slipped out to find her doctor. I advised him to release her soon for his own good, because them southern gals, they's fractious.