“I’d like to see your mother gain a little weight. She’s a bit below the charts.” Jacob sat beside me in one of the chairs in Doc’s old office while the new doctor in town flipped through my chart and made a notation.
I watched him scribble whatever orders or medicines he thought might improve my health. His gorgeous dark skin contrasted totally with his white lab coat. Perfect spoken English, obviously from India.
I glanced at his certificate on the wall, framed in dark mahogany; “On the recommendation of the faculty of the Harvard School of Medicine, the trustees have conferred on Kumar Anjee the degree of Doctor of Medicine.”
Jacob crossed his legs and reached for my hand. “Doctor Anjee, my mother eats a healthy diet and exercises regularly. She walks every day. We were wondering if perhaps any new drugs or supplements might help with the memory loss.”
Doctor Anjee closed my chart and leaned forward to address Jacob. “That is good. Walking is the best possible exercise, but of course you know – all indications are that the brain continues to wither, especially the temporal lobes.”
Wither. What a disgusting word! Old withering Reverend G. Withering like a rotten tomato on the vine, left too long in the Kansas sun. Withering brain cells drying up and disappearing into the sunset of life. Withering old lady with dried up temporal lobes.
I can’t stand it, God. I’m withering like a plum that morphs into a prune. Is there a Bible verse that talks about withering? How am I supposed to deal with this? How am I supposed to age gracefully if I’m withering? And why won’t this doctor look at me? Doc Sanders never treated me like this.
The doctor continued, “You also might begin to notice another type of regression, almost a personality shift. Your mother may exhibit more of the behavioral characteristics of an adolescent; such as arguing, becoming more interested in childish things, maybe even a desire for toys.”
Great! Not only was my brain withering but I also lived in a time warp. What happens next? Zits?
My stomach growled, and Doctor Anjee glanced at me. Must have heard the rumbling. He made another notation in my chart. Probably something like “Withering old lady has a loud stomach especially when sitting in office chair.”
“Can you tell me your name and your birth date?” he asked without looking up.
“Yes.” Idiot man. Of course I could tell him my name and my birth date. I just chose not to.
Jacob laughed. “Well, sir, she did answer your question.”
Not even a snicker from the doctor. He made a checkmark on my chart then asked, “What day is this?”
I was ready for this one. I practiced it all morning, because I knew the doctor always asked that question. “It’s the day after yesterday and the day before tomorrow.” So there, big shot doctor who never looks at his withering patients.
©2014 RJ Thesman – “Intermission for Reverend G” – http://amzn.to/1l4oGoo