A year ago, my mom had to have surgery. I accompanied her on many a frustrating doctors visits, pre-surgery appointments, and procedures. At the best of times, mom, doctors, medical forms, do not mesh.
The day I took her in to see the surgeon, she was filling out the paperwork. Usually I do that for her, but this day she was filling it out on her own. She gets easily aggravated when she is feeling good, and when she is feeling really bad, it's even worse. So she is griping about this "stupid" paperwork, and the question is about sexual orientation. Choices are: heterosexual, same sex, homosexual and bi-sexual. This question really set her off. She is sitting there with the pen poised over the paper, and I said, "Mom, you're heterosexual." She said, "No! Same sex...no wait." I about fell off my chair. That was so funny. She told me it wasn't funny. She was right, it wasn't funny, it was hysterical.
Then she continues the questions. Next question that stumps her. "Do you use recreational drugs?" She marks yes. Then she scratches that out and marks no. Then she turns to me and says, "Do you have an eraser." I am dying here. I find out, in the matter of minutes that mom is confused, even at 80 about her sexual preferences, and she may or may not do recreational drugs. I told her that they would not think she used recreational drugs, to just leave it scratched through and not worry about it. She is so flustered by all these personal questions that she can't think what DOB means. Does that mean Date Of Birth? I said, NO! It means dead on a bike. Just write 3/30/31. She told me to shut up.
Personally, I think when she finally had the surgery that her and I both should at least have been allowed to use marijuana. You know, for medicinal purposes, and anxiety over medical forms. We wouldn't have to inhale.
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