Relish

Noun: means great enjoyment, delight, pleasure, glee, satisfaction; humorous delectation.

“I appreciate everything you’re doing for me but I’m tired of going to all these doctors.” Miss Cathy said as we walked off the elevator in route to her latest appointment to see her new therapist.

Walking behind her (less like a Sherpa and more Bodyguard-meaning ‘guard of her body’ if she happens to fall) I thought to myself that I find it interesting that she forgets the day of the week, how to operate the can opener and whether or not she’s taken her meds but she never seems to forget how to complain.

But, for all her complaining before the thereapy sessions she seems and says that she feels better after.

It wasn’t exactly a fragile day (“fragile” are those days when she’s especially tired, confused and she looks as if the entire world is against her) but I could see that all the appointments of late to the various doctors were taking a toll on her.

My problem with her complaints (which are numerous and often) is that she just seems to be negative for the sake of being contrary.

No, it’s more than that, I get that she feels powerless; she can’t live alone, make decisions, drive, cook or even plan her own day for the most part, so I understand that the only thing she (may) feel she has control over is the ability to say “No”.

But, I also see (more often than not) that she’s not doing anything positive or constructive with her day (like exercising, going to adult daycare or anything else except lazing in bed watching TV and napping all day) that would prevent her from whatever it is that I’ve scheduled.

She may talk a good game about how she ‘loves to go places, talk to people, laughter, blah, blah’...but given the opportunity to engage with others (outside of talking on the telephone in her condo) and she will usually find an excuse to stay home and not participate.

Her therapy appointment is a good example.

She has an opportunity to talk her head off (to a captive audience no less) and after two sessions she was grousing that she didn’t want to go anymore.

“Well,” I replied, closing the door after we’d entered the office, relishing the opportunity to parrot back to her something that she’d said (and I loathed) my entire childhood, “Sometimes you have to do things that you don’t want to do.”

You’ll understand that someday when you’re a parent and You have a child she always said.

“Yeah, well I know that.” Her voice trailed off as she plopped into a chair, unaware of the irony in the reversal of roles.

Physician, "Heal Thyself": Pt. lVe Dr A

I know that I'm not trying to ‘play’ doctor.

I'm just trying to be an informed advocate for my mother. I also know that Dr A has tons of patients…good for him. I’m hoping he’s making buckets of money and buying more Ferragamo shoes.

But, I only have one (patient-not pairs of shoes) so Miss Cathy is my one and only focus.

“She came in saying that she could not see and that is what I am focused on.” Dr A said self-righteously during our telephone conversation.

“Yes, that’s true but when she came in I also told you that she’s confused and yes, I-know-that-having-difficulty-seeing-would-be-stressful-for-anyone but this is more than that, that’s why we came to you for help”, I said.

I could not believe I had to explain myself to this asshole.

The conversation continued (and believe me) it did not get much better. We agreed that she’d come back to his office in three days time and he would examine her again and explain the MRI results.

Interestingly enough I got a call the next morning from Dr A’s assistant telling me that he wanted Miss Cathy to go back to the hospital for an MRA (something he never mentioned during our ‘chat’ on the phone).

I had to wonder if my insistence on his doing something hadn’t prompted the additional brain scan.

Back in his office a few days later Dr A told us that (unfortunately) the MRA was just as inconclusive as the MRI so he said that he would confer with Dr S, the ophthalmologist.

I (unfortunately) had the same misfortune to spend several days leaving voicemail for Dr S (these guys must be reading from the same ‘script’) trying to follow up with him.

When Dr S finally retuned my call he told me that he never heard from Dr A (quelle surprise) but suggested it was time that I take Miss Cathy to (get this) yet another doctor (this one a “Low Vision Specialist”).

So, another appointment was made for a potential addition to Miss Cathy’s ‘team’ of doctors.

As for Dr A, it was becoming very clear what roles we each played in this little ‘doc’udrama.

And if you asked me (…and you didn’t but I’m gonna tell you anyway) Dr A seemed to be missing too many of his cues.

He may be the Doctor and I just the Son of the patient but I’m also Miss Cathy’s ‘Legal Primary Caregiver’ making me the Director of this little production.

And as the director I thought it was time (way past time in fact) to hold auditions and recast some one new into the role of Neurologist.

My Life Coach back in New York said to me many years ago, “If you don’t like the story that you’re telling, you have the power to rewrite it anytime you want”…and in this case that’s just what I intended to do.

Physician, "Heal Thyself": Pt. lVd Dr A

After two doctors and one round of tests we knew nothing more than when we started. Miss Cathy still couldn’t see much more than large objects like people but could not read and she was getting more confused and anxious with each day that passed.

Dr A, the neurologist was on speakerphone with us and had just told us that the MRI she’d undergone for (possible) answers held none.

He listened to mom’s questions and pacified her as best he could.

Putting aside the vision loss for the moment, I tried to press him for something that could explain her confusion and more specifically what could be done to help her right now.

He said that his focus was on her eyes (which I thought was odd because I remember him referring us back to the ophthalmologist the last time we met for that issue).

Don’t get me wrong, any help was appreciated but she had more than one problem to solve, and since her was her ‘brain doctor’ I thought he should be addressing her cognitive issues, too.

I was beginning to wonder if this guy could walk and chew over a diagnosis at the same time.

“I’m the doctor”, he said emphatically.

“I have to prioritize what my patient needs. Are you a doctor?” he asked.

Oh no he diin’t!

I was taken aback by his sudden change of tone, but not so surprised that I backed down from his rhetorical challenge.

“I know my role”, I said, measuring my words carefully, wanting to tell him that in this moment he wasn’t a doctor so much as a douche bag but he was Miss Cathy’s ‘doctor douchebag’ so I was working overtime to be cognizant of my place.

“…And I know that I’m her son and you are her doctor. I’m just asking questions. I don’t know why you’re getting so defensive.”

I do have to ‘check’ myself from time to time (my approach, my motivation, how I’m being perceived) and after a quick gut check I was confident that I hadn’t over stepped, over-reached and I certainly had not been over-indulged in any way (not by this guy anyway).

Physician, Heal Thyself: Pt. lVc Dr A

As I suspected, the call never came from Dr A the night after the MRI.

I didn’t exactly sit by the phone like some school girl back in the 1950’s, waiting to be asked out on a date, but I did feel like an asshole carrying my iPhone everywhere I went that night and checking that my ringer was on every ten minutes to make sure that I wouldn’t miss his call (hmmm…sure reads like a young woman of yesteryear that had unknowingly given up her power to a male and to a communication’s devise invented by another man a century before, reinforcing negative gender stereotypes between the sexes).

But, unlike my unaware mid-century sister, I knew not to wait, and to take control. Why wait when u can take the action and call you?

Whether it’s a date or a doctor you should never think the balance of power only flows one way….his.

The wasted evening didn’t bother me so much (believed me I racked up more than my fair share of those on my own) as much as the fact that in the days after the test I had to chase him down (each time I left a voicemail I was starting to feel more and more like Glenn Close in the film “Fatal Attraction”, ‘I will not be ignored Dan’ (Dr A to be more precise)…now that I resented.

Dr A finally called in the early evening two days later.

After a perfunctory greeting I asked that he hold on the line while I put the phone on speaker so Miss Cathy could hear and talk to him as well.

He protested (which I thought was odd) saying, “Why can’t you just tell her what I’m saying?”

“Well”, I explained in my best teacher voice, honed over many years of explaining the obvious to college art students, “My mom has been anxious to talk to you since yesterday and she-is-the-patient.”

“Besides, I don’t like to convey information third party, it’s better if she hears whatever it is directly from you.”

I had made a promise to myself when this all began that (whenever possible) I would make sure that people talked directly to one another and not rely on me.

I learned early on not to fall into that trap, I didn't want anyone to come back and say that I got something wrong. So my rule is part making sure nothing gets misconstrued or miscommunicated and part covering my own ass.

I could hear his accented voice protesting on my iPhone as I walked the few feet to Miss Cathy’s bedroom where she was already lying down for the night.

Unfortunately the doctor said that the MRI film didn’t show him anything that identified the cause of the problems she was having. Hearing our disappointment he said that he would gladly show us the film and explain what it all meant the next time we came into his office.

He spent a lot of time telling us what was ‘ruled out’ but nothing about what this was or what we should do.

So what were we suppose to do with this non-information?

Oye!

The brain guy says her brain looks ‘good’…the eye guy says her eye(s) look ‘good’…yet she still couldn’t see and she was still trying to wear her tee shirt as pants and in my book that’s still ‘bad’!

Physician, "Heal Thyself": Pt. lVb Dr A

Miss Cathy has seen Dr A at least a dozen times in the last 2 1/2 years.

During her appointments he’d perform a few rudimentary tests to check her short-term memory and cognitive skills after which he’d determine that she was more or less the same…which was good news.

And so it was year after year, it was all pretty routine more or less until the last two visits.

Given that set of facts my complaints against Dr A seemed pretty much ‘surface’ stuff (like his patronizing ways (he always called Miss Cathy ‘Mom’ which I am convinced he doesn’t do out of affection or as a pet name but because he can’t be bothered to learn what her name really is).

I didn’t campaign for his removal from the ‘team’ since it was his manners and not his medicine that were in question.

We went to see him the day after our appointment with Dr S, the ophthalmologist (and we all know how well that didn’t go) hoping he’d have an explanation for her increased confusion (at least) and maybe some insight into her loss of sight.

Upon hearing about the changes in Miss Cathy’s condition Dr A seemed to rise to the occasion and focused his exam on the new information that we were bringing him but ultimately (surprisingly…not surprisingly?) he let us down when he didn’t have much in the way of answers or an explanation as to what was happening to mom.

Miss Cathy was very concerned (understandably) about going blind and made a moving plea for his help.

Truth be told he didn’t seem ‘moved’ one way or the other.

I mean, I know he sees distraught patients everyday but his sensitivity to her rapid decline was minimal at best (holding her hand and calling her ‘mom’ was something I was already doing on my own time at home-and I don’t have a medical degree).

Besides, what we (me) wanted were solutions not sympathy.

As for diagnosing her loss of vision…he simply ‘passed’ on that one, deferring to the ophthalmologist (whom we had just seen and I made a point of reminding him of that fact) and referring us back to where we’d just come from.

In the end he did order an MRI for the next day thinking it would give him more information as to what might be happening to her brain and said that he would call that night to discuss what he concluded after reviewing the film.

So, the next day Miss Cathy took a couple of Valium (even in a partially open MRI she gets claustrophobic and panicky) and took the test.

That evening we waited for a call that never came.