A Visit from the Nurse

One of the visiting nurses was here this afternoon, and we discussed my mother's condition and her current drug regimen. I took her off her blood pressure medicine and her hormone replacement therapy last year. Her blood pressure's great. It was never very high anyway. After her stroke, one side of her face drooped for several months so she couldn't smoke, and she didn't enjoy her nightly bourbon and coke¹ without her cigarettes, so dropping the alcohol and nicotine cleared the bp issue right up.

I don't recommend stroke as a stop-smoking aid², though, because it's only effective if it paralyzes just the right set of muscles, and it's hard to guarantee that. My husband, for instance, continued to smoke after his entire right side was paralyzed by stroke. As a matter of fact, after a second, milder stroke a few years later temporarily paralyzed his left hand, he was still able to smoke after I bought a device that held his cigarette for him. Yes, yes, I did, you self-righteous judgmental nonsmoking bastards. And do you know why?

BECAUSE I SALUTE THE NOBLE AMERICAN GRIT AND DETERMINATION IT TAKES TO KEEP UP A SMOKING HABIT DESPITE PARALYSIS AND NICOTINE PATCHES AND NURSING HOME ANTISMOKING REGULATIONS.

It's a proud family tradition, and I myself powered through three months of Zyban treatment by smoking even when they stopped being satisfying. Besides, as I said just yesterday, coughing is the only activity I do that gets my heart rate up, so smoking is my one concession to physical fitness.

Anyway, the nurse agreed that Mom doesn't need to treat her blood pressure, but she wants me to start her hormone replacement therapy back up for a month or so to see if it will help with the frequent crying and anxiety. Her antidepressant has helped some, but she could be better. I'm skeptical and wonder if a woman in her mid-seventies needs the hormones, but we'll see. I'd talk it over with our family physician, Dr. Goddamn, but we don't always see eye to eye about drug therapies.

I love my doctor -- he's very warm and caring and knows all the local gossip and is hilariously profane³. He makes house calls and gives me samples and has treated me and my family for over thirty years now and is just a good man in general.

However, he uses my medical history against me in completely unfair ways:

*He won't prescribe me diet pills even though my fat has progressed from merely unsightly to actively repellent and despite the fact that a few timely amphetamines would totally make the housework less of a drag, just because of a little hypertension.

*He won't give me anything for my anxiety or my super industrial strength insomnia for the lame reason that addiction prone alcoholics should avoid habit-forming mind-altering drugs, the fascist. He had the gall to suggest I study calming zen techniques, which of course is easy to say when you're the one with ready access to a prescription pad.

Sometimes I swear to God he thinks that his medical degree and decades of experience make him a better judge than me of how best to treat my wackitude. I should point out to him that his stubborn high-handedness may be part of why he never achieved fame as the personal physician of Michael Jackson.

Back on topic, the nurse thought Mom looked pretty good and gave me some ideas for increasing her manual dexterity so that she can start using a fork and spoon again to feed herself (she does okay with finger foods), if I can get her to do the exercises, so that was good news. Now I'd better get outside and water while she's taking her nap.

¹ Coca-Cola, for God's sake. She's seventy-five years old!

² It doesn't work for quitting drinking, either. For that, you need my patented NyQuil Detox Regimen^TM.

³ His nom de blog is from the time I went to see him shortly after gaining a million pounds when I quit smoking. He glanced at the weight on my chart and blurted out, "GODDAMN!"