“Wait here,” Dr. X said. “Someone will come and set up your next appointment and give you a copy of your lab results.” So I sat down on one of the plastic chairs, took my Kindle out of my purse, and waited and waited in the exam room. The staff must be busy, I thought.
My first child was born in a U.S. Naval hospital. There were no childbirth classes to attend in those days, so my sister lent me her nursing school text book on labor and delivery. I read it every night but still was not prepared for what was to come.
There Is No Easy Way to Give Birth Read More »
The tables have turned. I am now taking advice from my children.
At my daughter’s urging, I signed up with a personal trainer at the local YMCA. He is a lovely young man. And since he was raised by his grandparents in the Philippines, he has a special regard for old people.
Twice a week, he takes me through a series of exercises designed to strengthen and flex various muscle groups. My goal is both modest and huge: to be able to get up off the floor unassisted.
Joining the Silver Sneakers Brigade Read More »
I learned it takes a sense of humor to survive a hospital stay. Lined up on gurneys, flat on our backs, the three of us wait to be put through our paces on some testing machine or other. Riffing off each other, I say aloud that I feel as if I’m in a used car lot. A second person says they want our parts. The third says, “Parts, I ain’t got no parts.”
Checking Out, Going Home Read More »
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