Today was a rough day to be sandwiched.
Mom called at 7:45 am to let me know that she had a urine specimen to be dropped off at the lab.
My LEAST favorite thing to do? Deliver someone else’s bodily fluids. Eeeww.
But it had to be done, especially after a failed attempt earlier this week.
Plus, I needed to give Mr. Hoagie a ride home after dropping his car at the shop.
So I made a hearty breakfast for my children, one of whom is enduring standardized testing this week. Big Sis is under strict instructions to have a good breakfast each morning of testing. And she takes it very seriously.
Scrambled eggs. Toast. Fruit.
I rushed to get a shower then while Mr. Hoagie took the girls to the bus stop. I had an invitation to join some girlfriends for breakfast. Looks like I had my morning cut out for me.
Mr. Hoagie and I left the house at 8:45 am. He drove to the shop, while I headed to Mom’s.
At Mom’s, she asked me if I had the paperwork for the lab. “Me?” I asked. I had her look through her purse, where a lot of her medical paperwork had been stashed already.
While she looked, I scrambled her three eggs. I had been there yesterday afternoon spring-cleaning her apartment for the cleaning crew (don’t even ASK) when her dietician from the kidney clinic called. The dietician reported that he protein levels were way lower than they needed to be. I listened to Mom whine that she didn’t like the $20-a-bottle protein supplement she’d been prescribed, and then cheerfully LIE LIKE A RUG that she ate 2-3 eggs for breakfast every morning.
I buy Mom’s groceries. She has had the SAME CARTON of 12 eggs since January. Two to three eggs a day MY ASS. Plus, by the time that woman gets up and gets moving, she’s lucky if he has a bagel with cream cheese or a bowl of cereal by 11:30 am.
So I handed her the eggs, washed the dishes, and took the urine specimen. Mom reported that she had last seen the lab paperwork in my car, so I left and prayed that it was still there.
It was. Off to the lab, where I waited for HALF AN HOUR to drop off Mom’s pee. Half an hour, clutching the specimen jar. Mom didn’t even want to “waste” a bag for me to carry it in.
I do NOT get paid enough for this.
Oh, wait. I don’t get paid AT ALL for this.
Then, off to the car repair shop, where I picked up Mr. Hoagie. He had been waiting for almost an hour. Luckily, he had the foresight to bring along a book of Sudoku puzzles.
He climbed in. I burst into tears. I mourned for my lost freedom, a world where I could meet my girlfriends for breakfast WITHOUT having to deliver my mom’s pee across town first. Having an aging parent really sucks sometimes.