Déjà vu

December 3, 2014

I took my mother to see a surgeon today, someone who had operated on Willy.  The doctor even seemed to remember me, although it was over eleven years ago.

A specialist to whom my mother had been referred by her primary care doctor had arranged for her the appointment with the surgeon, so it wasn’t an arrangement I had made.

There are so many parallels.  There are also a lot of what I might call “unparallels,” what feel like ironies — very similar issues coming up in very contrasting ways.  My mother notices them too.

The thing my mother and I differ strongly on is our reaction to her needing medical care in this way so shortly after she moved up here.  She thinks of it as surprising, whereas I felt for months before she moved that she needed to get out of there so I could provide this kind of help in just this kind of situation, that she was staying there “on borrowed time,” so I react to it more as playing out in clear detail something I sort of had a vague hunch about.  (And, of course, she needed to get into a home without steps, and her apartment up here provides that.)

Over a year ago I started looking into assisted living places in town, on my mother’s behalf, but my mother didn’t want to move into one.  So I found her an apartment in a complex with about 30% senior citizens.

In many ways, I feel now as if she’s in a sort of “assisted living” situation, but much of the assistance is coming from me.  Sure beats having her too far away to help.




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