Older Than My Years

My mother was admitted to the hospital last night. She was transported from the skilled facility where she now resides and taken by ambulance to our local medical facility. Of course, as soon as I received the news I drove up there and completed the necessary paperwork.

As mama lay on the hospital bed in the rather spacious cubicle at the ER, nature came calling, and I stepped out of the room a moment while the nurse attended to my mother’s “needs.” As I stood just outside the doorway I heard the RN speak the most curious, and disconcerting words.

“Is he your husband?”

I looked around to see if my father had risen from the dead! (Strange, since mama was lying in the same room in which my father took his last breath). 

It occurred to me, however, that the nurse had been referring to me. Of course, my mother responded with, 

“Oh no. He (meaning yours truly) is my son.”

Of course I thought,

“Look lady, I’m a full 20 years younger than my mother. Do I look like I’m in my mid-80’s?”

(and)

“I peddle 10 miles a day, and keep myself as healthy, young and alive as possible, and this ‘barely outta grade school’ nurse has the audacity to accuse me of looking old enough to be my mother’s husband!”

(and)

“Ya really know how to hurt a guy!”

I suppose it’s time to trade in my bicycle for a tricycle and to add a cane to my repertoire.

On second thought,

… I think I’ll just stay away from mirrors.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary, Vol. 33. Copyright pending

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