More Fun With The Olds

So driving home from my visit last week to my ancient Mom and father in law, I called my California sister to report on Mom's condition. She gleefully told me how fortunate I was to be "sharing Mom's wisdom" at this end stage of her life. Yes -- it's a real barrel of monkeys... Wifey and I went yesterday. At 1 pm, I went to my Alzheimer's affected father in law, and met with him and my mother in law. I brought my notary stamp, to perform my yearly task: notarizing their forms from the German government to renew their reparations payments. I must admit I enjoy this -- 68 years after WW II ended, I get to say my continuing fuck you to the Nazis. The community of Holocaust Survivors shrinks daily, of course, but each year the German government has to pay brings some satisfaction, and my notary stamp helps it out... I told my father in law 5 times what the Ds were up to...but each time he heard the good news, it brought him happiness. Wifey arrived, and we left to go see my mother. I made an awful tactical decision as we sat outside in the gazebo. For years, my mother has made it clear she couldn't care less about her one surviving sister, Florence. Whenever I'd bring her up, my mother would frown -- still upset about her sister's blowing off a granddaughter's wedding, after my mother assiduously remembered and gifted all of Florence's children and grandkids... My cousin Eddie, Florence's son, called last week and said his mother was a goner. I told Mom this. She freaked -- how could her "baby sister" be dying? Florence is 82. Mom's whole mood and affect changed -- she became fidgety and sad. So I employed the maneuever that works with toddlers: I feigned a cell call from Eddie, saying that his mother had recovered and was happily resting in New Jersey. Mom seemed to buy it, and looked skyward and thanked and praised God and mother nature... But the fun never ends when dealing with the extremely elderly, and as Wifey and I watched TV last night, the dreaded caller ID marker came onto the U Verse screen: "Miami Jewish Health Systems." Wifey and I play electronic hot potato when we see that incoming call. "You get it." No, YOU get it." Since I had moved a sofa to change a light bulb, Wifey claimed she was trapped in her recliner, and I lost the hot potato game...it turned out it was for my mother, after all. I discerned through the heavily accented Creole-English that Mom had a dislocated shoulder, and the doctor wanted her to be taken to Mt. Sinai for care. I objected, as I have been doing, and asked that she be treated on campus, at the small hospital there. I was directed to the nurse manager, Mr. Joseph, who has a somewhat less accented English. He was a bright and nice fellow, who knew Mom pretty well, and explained to me that the on campus place has no orthopaedic service, and Mom was in pain, and while he understood the trauma being taken in an ambulance caused, it was truly the right move. I agreed. So, this am, after being placed on hold by the ER Secretary at the hospital of my people for an amount of time rivaling anything a cable tv company does, I learned that she was discharged back to Miami Jewish early this am. So I'm guessing it was a dislocation of her osteoporotic shoulder, which they hopefully popped back into place. She's so, so frail. I think she dislocated simply trying to adjust herself in the wheelchair. What a life. As we sat together earlier in the day, Wifey asked her father what he does on a typical afternoon. "I rot aVAY," he answered in his Yiddish accent. "Rot AVAY" is the cheer for extreme aging. My California sister is most welcome to share as much of this "wisdom" as she'd care to. I've had more than my fill.