Mom-a-dukes: The Doctor
Monday, October 10, 2005
Still in Orlando, come back tomorrow – no blurb.
__________________
Every mother has to occasionally play the roll of doctor. As kids we used to eat everything in our path, play with dangerous objects and spend 80% of our day running around the neighborhood, sliding across concrete every time we took a spill. A mother needs to be adept at basic first aid – rapid application of band aids, gauze, and antiseptic – the day-to-day things that were readily accessible in your medicine cabinet.
There were the actual sickness’ that needed to be treated as well. Children’s aspirin, cough medicine, chicken soup, coloring books and Superman comics – each item having its own healing effect and a mother must now when to use the proper remedy. For instance, Superman comics work well for general fever and malaise but Fraggle Rock videos worked better for nausea and headaches.
Despite the routine healthcare stuff a mother must also has to know how to handle emergencies. My mom was 50/50 with this one – her inherent hypochondria made every little thing an emergency but at the same time it’s not like she was waiting around to see if my symptoms progressed any; nothing every progressed towards “real bad”.
I had a fair amount of the real emergencies – the open wound type with plenty of blood in which a hospital visit was the obvious course of action. One of the more memorable ones was when I slipped and fell in my bedroom and part of the radiator punctured my cheek. I pretty much woke up in the hospital right before the doctor was giving me stitches. My mom got me there nice and fast.
Certain emergencies came about because I fucked up and was afraid to admit to it. When I was around ten I wanted to play with my father’s razor, for instance. The only hair on my face at the time was on my head so I decided to take down some of my sideburns. Well, I took a huge chunk of hair out the side of my head without even realizing it.
When I emerged from the bathroom my mother instantly saw it and asked me what happened. I had no idea what she was talking about so she showed me my bald spot in a mirror – it was quite large. I said I had no idea how it got there and she flipped out. Screaming about cancer and radiation and chemicals and God knows what else. She’s calling my doctor who tells her to call for an ambulance and I’m sitting there debating if I should end this now or ride it out.
Finally I decide to confess, before she calls for an ambulance. I do it all nonchalant, “Oh! I was practicing with dad’s razor! Maybe that’s how it happened!”
Nice try, buddy. Punished.
As I got older and started dealing with more complex shit my mom started to lose her position as family doctor. She was phased out. Superman comics don’t do much for psychological illnesses. A coloring book won’t help with my itchy testicles.
Certain remedies my mother didn’t understand. She suggested my first therapist but obviously regretted the decision when I first started going. She didn’t understand it, thought that Dr. Dean was blaming all of my problems on her. I understand this is a common fear with a lot of mothers; I’ve met several people who had similar experiences including Robin.
My mom was also a bit touchy with sexual stuff. She constantly lectured me about using a condom but if she ever found one she would lecture me about how I was too young for sex. It was a no-win situation; I was always getting lectured when it came to sex. I remember one time, when I was dating M, I complained how there was always someone in the apartment when I was here with M and we’re old enough to have sex and make our own decisions. My mom disagreed, obviously, to which I told her, “Wouldn’t you rather us have sex here than in some alley somewhere?” Made sense at the time.
My mom still tries to be my doctor from time to time and I find it more cute than annoying. She has all these friends that work in doctors’ offices and she collects sample medications from them all. So if I was in college and complained about a headache she’d send me a box of sample aspirin packs. If I sprained my ankle she’d send me sample pain killers. If I was feeling down she’d send me samples of Prozac. My medicine cabinet in college was filled with illegally obtained medications.
When she found out Robin had allergies, she literally sent a season supply of two types of allergy medications in case one worked better than the other for her. A big fucking box of individually wrapped allergy medication arrives at my door.
And she still tries, even now. If I tell her something with my body is acting funny she’ll tell me what it could be. I thank her and get a second opinion.
__________________
Every mother has to occasionally play the roll of doctor. As kids we used to eat everything in our path, play with dangerous objects and spend 80% of our day running around the neighborhood, sliding across concrete every time we took a spill. A mother needs to be adept at basic first aid – rapid application of band aids, gauze, and antiseptic – the day-to-day things that were readily accessible in your medicine cabinet.
There were the actual sickness’ that needed to be treated as well. Children’s aspirin, cough medicine, chicken soup, coloring books and Superman comics – each item having its own healing effect and a mother must now when to use the proper remedy. For instance, Superman comics work well for general fever and malaise but Fraggle Rock videos worked better for nausea and headaches.
Despite the routine healthcare stuff a mother must also has to know how to handle emergencies. My mom was 50/50 with this one – her inherent hypochondria made every little thing an emergency but at the same time it’s not like she was waiting around to see if my symptoms progressed any; nothing every progressed towards “real bad”.
I had a fair amount of the real emergencies – the open wound type with plenty of blood in which a hospital visit was the obvious course of action. One of the more memorable ones was when I slipped and fell in my bedroom and part of the radiator punctured my cheek. I pretty much woke up in the hospital right before the doctor was giving me stitches. My mom got me there nice and fast.
Certain emergencies came about because I fucked up and was afraid to admit to it. When I was around ten I wanted to play with my father’s razor, for instance. The only hair on my face at the time was on my head so I decided to take down some of my sideburns. Well, I took a huge chunk of hair out the side of my head without even realizing it.
When I emerged from the bathroom my mother instantly saw it and asked me what happened. I had no idea what she was talking about so she showed me my bald spot in a mirror – it was quite large. I said I had no idea how it got there and she flipped out. Screaming about cancer and radiation and chemicals and God knows what else. She’s calling my doctor who tells her to call for an ambulance and I’m sitting there debating if I should end this now or ride it out.
Finally I decide to confess, before she calls for an ambulance. I do it all nonchalant, “Oh! I was practicing with dad’s razor! Maybe that’s how it happened!”
Nice try, buddy. Punished.
As I got older and started dealing with more complex shit my mom started to lose her position as family doctor. She was phased out. Superman comics don’t do much for psychological illnesses. A coloring book won’t help with my itchy testicles.
Certain remedies my mother didn’t understand. She suggested my first therapist but obviously regretted the decision when I first started going. She didn’t understand it, thought that Dr. Dean was blaming all of my problems on her. I understand this is a common fear with a lot of mothers; I’ve met several people who had similar experiences including Robin.
My mom was also a bit touchy with sexual stuff. She constantly lectured me about using a condom but if she ever found one she would lecture me about how I was too young for sex. It was a no-win situation; I was always getting lectured when it came to sex. I remember one time, when I was dating M, I complained how there was always someone in the apartment when I was here with M and we’re old enough to have sex and make our own decisions. My mom disagreed, obviously, to which I told her, “Wouldn’t you rather us have sex here than in some alley somewhere?” Made sense at the time.
My mom still tries to be my doctor from time to time and I find it more cute than annoying. She has all these friends that work in doctors’ offices and she collects sample medications from them all. So if I was in college and complained about a headache she’d send me a box of sample aspirin packs. If I sprained my ankle she’d send me sample pain killers. If I was feeling down she’d send me samples of Prozac. My medicine cabinet in college was filled with illegally obtained medications.
When she found out Robin had allergies, she literally sent a season supply of two types of allergy medications in case one worked better than the other for her. A big fucking box of individually wrapped allergy medication arrives at my door.
And she still tries, even now. If I tell her something with my body is acting funny she’ll tell me what it could be. I thank her and get a second opinion.
Labels: mitc
posted by Jason at
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