Could I have a Margarita With That Straightjacket?

Ever since Mom's medicines got changed in April, Mom has been working herself into a panic. She was convinced that the dosage changes were to be temporary, that they were causing her to fall asleep more, and that the doctor had simply forgotten about her. She asked me to make her an appointment and, once I talked with the nurse about Mom's worries we agreed that she would benefit from just coming in to visit so she got us in this week. Mom was relieved and seemed to have fewer "problems" after that, but was adamant about reminding me of the date of her appointment over the next week. Mom is definitely slowing down and the extra fluid that was in her lungs was a legitimate worry, but her body responded so well with the dosage changes that Don and I breathed a sigh of relief. However, it became for Mom a catalyst for worry and we, too, were glad of her upcoming appointment to settle her fears. But, here's that crazy thread that runs through the fabric of our lives... The night before her appointment, Mom came ambling to the table as we stood waiting for her, with a grimace on her face as she exclaimed, "I'll be so glad when this appointment is over!" Ba dum ching. Is that God's sense of humor? I would laugh if I wasn't so close to the edge.

Both the doctor and the nurse were really good with Mom. She went in loaded for bear with all of her complaints and questions and they were answered with patience and a touch of humor. They did another blood sample check and called back today to say that everything was fine and they both stressed that she should stay on medication until one of them called and told her to stop. The doctor was pleased that her lungs sounded better and that her blood pressure stayed the same when she went from laying down to standing up. Those were all things I was grateful to hear. However, Mom was more concerned to learn that taking a second non-aspirin at night would not be harmful and that the pinpoint-sized spot on her cheek was not cancerous. Although when she said that all she wanted to do everyday was sit around and the doctor only responded that he felt the same way, he made up for his humorous insolence by giving her an over-the-counter roll-on ointment to rub on her joints that hurt. So she is happy and back to her puttering and we are happy that she is happy. Now, where's my raspberry Margarita? (It's too late for the straightjacket.)