Trip to Mayo

This is a photo of my Mother talking to my stepfather. We were kickin' it family style at the Super 8 Motel in Rochester Minnesota. It's Mayo Clinic's turn to find out what is wrong with my Mom.

My Mother obsesses about her health. It's her most favorite subject to talk about. I try to avoid bringing it up at all costs because I'm tired of hearing about it. That's the god's honest truth. I should have a "good son" reason why...like it makes me feel bad to hear about all of the things wrong with her...and yeah it does make me feel bad. But then, I'm used to feeling bad about Mom's health. I have no idea what the absence of that feeling would even...feel like.

So yeah, mostly I just don't want to hear about it anymore. It annoys me, because I know it can't do her any good to fixate. You know?

Other things that bug me about my mom:
B: She is compelled to tell every doctor, every nurse, every receptionist lady/person, what each of her kids' professions are. It almost always begins with, "All of my kids, except for one, " Side note: the 'except for one,' is always my sister Lacey. I used to be included in the 'except for' category, but I's all gro'de up nows. Continuing on..."All of my kids, except for one are in the 'Health Business," She continues to name the professions, "My oldest is a radiology tech, but she specializes in MRIs. They say she can set up those magnets better than any of they other girls there at the hospital. My other daughter is a respiratory tech, and my son here, he is a Phlebotomist." Notice no profession for the 'except for.' That's just the way it is.

Now, it's the 'phlebotomist' that gets me here. Just as much as my mother obsessively must make us kids sound "accomplished," well 'except for one,' I ADHDly must correct my Mother when she misrepresents my job. Especially when there is about a 5 dollar an hour difference. (The egocentrism is intentional) Now, it is true I perform phlebotomy at work. For those who do not know, AND happen to be reading this which the odds are staggering, Phlebotomy is 'sticking people with needles to draw blood.' I'm mostly a trainer at a plasma donation center. It's SO much more than Phlebotomy...(once again intentional, sort of)

And it's SO much more than just her misrepresenting my job to people. For the most part I don't give a shit. It's just she also refuses to spell Darren's name correctly even though we have been together for 6 years. I have spelled it out for her on numerous occasions. D - A - R - R- E - N. Still, it's DARIN.

Or maybe it's because she continues to refer to him as 'Jason's Friend.' She likes him, don't get me wrong...but still it's just a hug short of a full-on embrace. Which, of course makes no sense. But we mostly get along because we mostly don't talk about big stuff. We've acknowledged it. We know we're both dealing with the shit in our own way. Her dad molested me. We both carry it. Every fuckin' day. We don't need to talk about it. It will never go away.

I'm aware my Mother's body is falling apart. She's not even sixty and has a new hip, new knee, fused discs with titanium rods, and rebuilt wrists. She smokes a pack of Menthol light 100's a day. And she has mysterious 'masses' in her legs and throat. It may be Lymphoma. And it may not. I'm aware she might die. But I'm aware she might not. So that's it. Life. I get it.

One little side note story on her smoking. We walked next door to Denny's because we both love their Moons over My Hammy b'fast sandwich. After supper on the way back to the 'hotel' Mom stopped to have a cigarette. An old potato faced man and his rather aerodynamic humpback wife walked by and the man said, "You should put that out young lady or it's gonna kill ya."

Mom just giggled a rather saccharin laugh and flipped them off as their backs were to her. "I should have told him he was going to get syphilis from his whore of a wife." I said to Mom. She laughed. I love it that she laughed.