Failing

Authors: Tracey Delaplain

Publish Date: 2011/01/05

Volume: 26, Issue: 7, Pages: 819-819

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Abstract

I’m sitting in a doctor’s waiting room My daughter gives me a handful of pills every day so I suppose it would not be unusual to visit one of my doctors every few months I have a doctor for my failing heart my degenerating eyes my deaf ears and I guess this doctor takes care of the rest My daughter thumbs through a magazine I am envious having not been able to read for three years Maybe I’ll crawl out of this chair and find my own magazine to look at Or not Why do they put chairs like this in a doctor’s office They are impossible to get up from and I’m not going to ask for help “Do I know that person on the TV” I ask “Mom I’m trying to read” she barks I try to imagine the speaker’s face without black holes I tilt my head until I can focus on different parts of her face and then try to put all the pieces together in my head to form a whole She’s a little clearer than a Picasso painting but not much I ponder the image—if I could just smooth out the lines of that face I think I could remember her name The TV volume is low so hearing her voice is impossible and I can’t read her lips So I sitMy name is called by a voice I’ve heard but cannot place “Why don’t nurses wear name badges anymore” I blurt but she’s not looking at me She directs all questions to my daughter Doctors and nurses used to speak to me not about me I can’t hear their questions so they have to repeat themselves that annoys them The nurse leaves the room with my daughter “I want to talk to the doctor first today” my daughter says over her shoulder I know that tone in her voice She’s mad at me againI remember yesterday vividly I told her that someone had taken my red blouse In the darkness of my bedroom my clothes are all the same graybrown color I don’t recognize them when they’re moved from their usual places Imagine your closet Now imagine looking at it through a very dirty window pane with the center completely obscured by gray paint Try to imagine your closet on the other side of that window As far as I was concerned the blouse was gone so I assumed that someone took it out of the closet Apparently that makes me paranoid “Not being able to find your clothes might make anyone paranoid” I snapped “Leave my stuff the heck alone” So we fought about the red blouse She scolded me like a naughty child and I threw a tantrum pulling clothes from my closetI run through all the other mistakes I made this week Dropped my pills and couldn’t find the tiny round one Poured salad dressing on my mashed potatoes In all fairness lettuce and potatoes look the same through that dirty window pane Lost my hearing aid—again Stepped on my glasses—again Dumped my purse out on the ground in frustration trying to find the abovementioned lost items You can’t really call that a tantrum can youThe nurse returns alone “I need to…blah blah blah OK” she mumbles to her clipboard “OK” I say without any idea what she’s asking of me Using the available clues I guess she wants to take blood or a blood pressure I roll up my sleeve but she looks at me and does not take my offered arm Guess I guessed wrong “I need to ask you some questions” she shouts “I want you to remember these three objects—a red ball a blue skate and a green apple” Red ball blue skate and green apple Wait—what did she ask me just now “You don’t know your name” she asks again “Of course I know my name” I snap She waits I wait—then I say it She checks a box I concentrate intensely afraid to ask her to repeat her questions How can I remember the three objects when I have to concentrate so hard to hear the next question The objects have flown the coop One flew over the cuckoos’ nest I think humoring myself Why doesn’t she ask me about my grandkids I keep up to date on things I care about I don’t care who’s running the country What color was that ball I know she’s going to ask me I miss another question What was the second object I’m smart enough to know that I have dismally failed my mental status examThe nurse leaves and returns with the doctor and my daughter What were those damn objects she asked me to remember I know for sure that this can’t be good ganging up on me I concentrate on the doctor’s voice though he is talking not to me but about me “Blah blah blah…medication” What medication “Risk of sudden death…blah blah…worth it to control behavior…blah blah blah” What WHATHow about a pill that makes lettuce green and potatoes white again How about cleaning the damn window pane so people’s faces new and old aren’t stored as Picasso paintings How about I get back everything that life on earth has taken away from me at 90 in full color and technosound How about I see hear and walk unassisted again Even if I knew I’d still not give a hoot about who’s running the country From this point on my prayer is for sudden death leaving my failed body and the cuckoos nest behind

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