Episode 143 in which Mama goes to the nurse practitioner and I end up drugged

Mama is in wonderful health. Aside from high blood pressure that would be controlled by medication if she TOOK her medication, and arthritis, she is in good shape physically. For 78, she is remarkably well. She seems to be the only one who doesn't know that.

She has been obsessing about her weight. She thinks she is wasting away. "I'm so skinny. Why am I so skinny?" Aside from having bird-legs, Mama is not particularly skinny, but if she is concerned about her weight, so am I. Every waking moment. Seven days a week.

"I only weigh 112 pounds" she laments, "I used to weigh 163, now I weigh 112." I nod. It's true; 30 years ago, she weighed 163 pounds. She looked like a keishka, so round, so firm, so fully packed. It's the 112 pounds I have some doubts about. "Let's put you on the scale", I say in my most patient voice. I think ahead, and have a witness- Mama is slightly less likely to argue with the scales if there are multiple witnesses. I recruit Stephanie. We maneuver her onto the scales. We make her let go of the sink. We look at the bright, digital numbers. Mama weighs 125 pounds. "There", I say, actually thinking this will resolve things. "See? You're not losing weight. You're just where you should be, not too skinny and not too fat." Most people would be happy to hear this.

But, as my constant readers can attest, Mama is not most people. Within days, she is obsessing about her weight again. "I'm so skinny. Why am I so skinny?" I don't bite. I just let it go. And on it goes... until, finally, she starts the "I need to go to the doctor" obsession. I really can't see any justification for taking her, but hey, it's her money and her right to see a doctor, so I make an appointment with our nurse practitioner, Sharon, whom we both love and trust. I use as an excuse Mama's need for her pneumonia shot.

We get to the office ahead of our appointed time because it's never a sure thing how long it will take to get Mama into the building. She seems to develop a cornucopia of symptoms the minute we get into the parking lot. Her speech becomes slurred. She loses the capacity to walk. She goes totally blind. And deaf. Pathos, thy name is Mama. Once inside, I sign her in while she inflicts her personality on the genuinely unwell.

We get called back and Sharon asks what's up. "She needs her pneumonia shot, and she's obsessed with her weight. She thinks she's wasting away." Sharon looks at the chart. Mama not only weighs 125 pounds, but she has gained 8 pounds since her last visit! The only thing Sharon sees that concerns her is Mama's blood pressure. She talks to Mama for several minutes and gives Mama a lecture about taking her pills, then sends her outside so we can talk.

And suddenly, we're talking about ME! " She's driving me crazy!" I say. "I love her, but I need some help," I say. "I'm not sleeping and I am battling depression again", I say and then I burst into tears. No one is more surprised than me!

Sharon understands. She sees this all the time. She says I am suffering from caretaker burn-out. She gives me some good advice, offers some alternatives, suggests senior day-care. She is very helpful.

I stop blubbering, feeling completely foolish. Sharon goes to get Mama's shot (and my chart) and calls Mama back into the room.

"What's wrong with my Katie?" Mama demands as she walks through the door- she apparently heard me crying, or else noticed my red eyes and attractively running nose. "There's nothing wrong, Mama," I lie, "it's just this damn nose of mine," which I blow convincingly into a tissue.

Mama sits down in the chair and looks me straight in the eye. "I know you're lying. Give it to me straight, " she says, "I have cancer, don't I?" and SHE bursts into tears.

"Good God, NO!" Where the hell did THAT come from? "No, Mama, absolutely not, you do NOT have cancer." I rush over to comfort her. Sharon comes back into the room, and I tell her why Mama is crying. She reassures Mama that the only thing wrong with her is her blood pressure, and she can control that. No, she does NOT have cancer. Does she understand? Nod, nod, nod. Sniff. Nod, nod.

Sharon gives Mama her shot. She gives me the charge sheet. The diagnosis for Mama is anti-pneumonia therapy... and dementia.

Imagine my surprise.

My diagnosis? Insomnia-induced depression.

Mama feels so much better. She got a shot and a big dose of sympathy.

I will feel better. I got prescriptions for an anti-depressant and sleeping pills.

Mama has been complaining of a terribly painful arm ever since she got the shot in it. She was looking for her sling for awhile there. She IS taking her pills, though.

If I feed her MINE, can I use caretaker burn-out as a defense?

I JEST! C'mon, people, if I was going to kill the old thing, she'd be dead already!