Yesterday, I went with Granny and Grampa to the doctors. Grampa had fallen – and bounced – again a week or so ago, and the X-rays that he had done then showed no breaks in the neck. And I should say ‘no more breaks in the neck’ other than the one he got a couple of months ago, which is no longer a break because it is fixed by a titanium screw. But, just in case, they also wanted to do an MRI.
So on Monday Granny was taking Grampa for an MRI, and yesterday we were heading up to have Grampa’s status re-checked with the spine people and to get the results of the MRI.
No chance for comedy there, right?
Here are some of the things that happened…
Day of MRI:
It is snowing.
It is icy.
I head into the apartment and tell Granny and Grampa that I will pull the car out of the garage, get it heated up, and pull it right up to the walkway at their apartment. This way, Granny doesn’t have to go out into the snow and risk slipping, as the driveway is very icy.
Grampa says that I could do all that right then and I ask what time the appointment for the MRI is for. Grampa says, “12:30”.
It is now 9:00 a.m.
I say that maybe if Granny pokes her head in about ten minutes before they have to leave, that would be a better plan than leaving the car there to idle.
For, like, three and a half hours.
And at 12:25, I see their car driving down the driveway.
Day of doctor’s visit that I am going to:
The doctor’s appointment is at 9:45 so I head in about 8:00 to see what time they would like to be AIS (AIS means “Ass In Seat” (as in car seat)). Grampa has used that term ever since it was used in the show Everybody Loves Raymond. Grampa loves Raymond very much (everyone does), and has seen every single episode at least 5 times, and still laughs every single time at every single joke. He particularly loves Robert.
So anyway, it’s AIS at 9:15 I am told, which will give us plenty of time. So, now knowing the drill, I arrive in the apartment ready to go at 9:05 and it is a good thing I do because Granny and Grampa are walking out their door.
I fall in behind them and Granny hands me the keys to her car and I guess I’m driving.
I get in and am so smooshed up against the steering wheel, with the top of my head squished against the roof, that I ask if it is okay of I move the seat.
Grampa tells me that it is an eight way seat, so I should be careful with the controls.
Then he asks me if I am used to ‘electric steering’.
I tell him that I am.
He nods his approval and does not ask for proof so I feel trusted.
We all buckle our seatbelts and I shift into drive.
A little while later, as ice-cold air is hitting my hands (which are on the steering wheel), I ask Grampa if we can turn on the heat.
He tells me the guy at the dealership set up all the heat controls so we never have to touch them again, so I should just wait and the car will do the rest.
I know that he bought the car three years ago, in the middle of a nice hot summer.
I smile when I notice that the air conditioning light is on.
The dashboard shows me the outside temperature, which is 18 degrees farenheit.
My smile keeps me warm all the way to the doctor’s office.
At the doctor’s office:
We check Grampa in and all sit in the waiting room.
We start to talk about everything and anything.
We talk about their house in Florida. This is the first year they aren’t headed down in more than twenty years. We talk a lot about the traffic on the major route near their house. It is Route 19. Grampa explains that it is a very busy road and goes for a really long way. He says it must be at least 40 miles.
Granny says it goes longer.
Grampa says maybe it does but not much longer.
Granny says she thinks it does.
Grampa says she is always right.
Granny is quiet.
In the mean time I google it.
Route 19 is 264 miles (424.9 km) long.
I mentally give Granny a point.
Now Granny is talking about John’s sister Janet, who lives on an island off the coast of Washington. She called the other night and everything is going really well on the island but it’s cold.
She says that their dog is getting really old and is ‘piddling’ everywhere and that the vet has left what to do up to Janet and Les and isn’t that sad?
I agree. Because that is sad.
Then Granny says, to Grampa, ‘Boy, that dog. Geez. They’ve had that dog for a really long time. Gosh, wasn’t that Les’s dog? He had that dog before they were married.”
Grampa nods in agreement.
I say, “wow.”
Then I think about it for a second and this is what I thought (I am paraphrasing): “Huh. John and I were married for 23 years in October. Janet and Les were married before us. We actually visited there when we were 19 or 20 and they were married then. Hmmmmm….. if I am 48, that means…”
And so I said, “Wait, how long have Janet and Les been married? Doesn’t that make their dog, like, 31 years old now?”
And Granny says, “Wow, ya!” as if she is really wow’d by my mathematic ability, rather than the fact that we should be calling the Guiness Book of World Records right now before the dog dies.
I take away the point I gave Granny earlier for the highway thing.
After that, the nurse came out and got us.
And then more happened.
But I have to go right now because I have to finish building my snow village because kids arrive home from college tomorrow night and they will come with the expectation of halls decked and me singing fa la la (come to think of it, that may require champagne…..yay!)
Thanks for readin’!
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