I've never come out and admitted how truly evil-hearted I am.
I took my poor sweet 101-year-old mother to the doctor this morning, which I have related involves "into the car, out of the car, into the car, out of the car," which takes many many minutes.
It's not her fault, dammit. She's old and doing remarkably well, I tell myself.
"It's an honor to take care of her. I am so fortunate to have this time with my mother because so many people have lost their parents," I tell myself. "I have it easy compared to so many people who have their infirm parents LIVING with them."
But you would think it was her fault considering the evil perturbed thoughts floating through my mind.
I got her into the car, drove her to Yakima for her lymphedema follow-up, got her through the double doors with her walker, got her seated, and went up to the counter. I showed them the updated paperwork and said I didn't think they needed her insurance information.
"When is her birthday?"
"April 26, '09."
I love saying that, watching the wheels turn.
"Well, this lady certainly isn't one year old, so oh my gosh, she is 101. That's just wonderful."
NO. IT ISN'T.
If one more person tells me, "Gosh, how wonderful," when I tell them she's 101, I think I really might allow some of my evil-hearted thoughts to spew forth from my mouth.
"Your appointment is next week."
Yes, I said shit to the receptionist.
Then, for added measure, I said, "dammit."
I thought, I guess I should have checked my calendar when mom called me and said, "What time is my appointment tomorrow?"
I went through two rounds of "into the car and out of the car" for no reason.
I drove her home. She said she was sorry and I said, "No, mom, it was my fault, I should have checked the time more carefully."
When I got her out of the car at Orchard Park I told her I'd park and come in to measure a curtain onto which she wants blackout material stitched. She doesn't like the sun coming in through the cloth curtain. I'd just as soon paste a piece of newspaper to the window, but I doubt mom would like that.
She went to the bathroom and I sat down to read the paper for a few minutes before looking for the measuring tape she had already mentioned to me. There was a story about a local school teacher accused of having sex with a 15-year-old and 16-year-old, one in the back of her husband's pickup truck in the K-mart parking lot in the middle of the night while her husband slept at home with their triplets.
She was acquitted.
I wanted to spend five minutes reading the story.
"Did you find the measuring tape?" mom said, sticking her head out the bathroom door.
"No, not yet, I will in a minute." Evil thoughts. Leave me alone for just a minute, okay.
I continued reading the story and then went on to read the entire paper before mom came out of the bathroom.
When she came out she began to rummage in the drawer looking for the measuring tape.
"I'll get it mom, just give me a minute. There's no hurry." Evil thoughts. I can't remember what they were, but they were there.
Finally, I decided to stop being passive aggressive and got up and got the measuring tape and measured the curtain. It took all of 60 seconds.
I cleaned the sink, checked to see if there were bills to pay, and prepared to leave.
"Did you find the measuring tape?"
"Don't be upset with me."
Guilt thoughts. I'm such a bad daughter.
"I wouldn't want to take care of me either."
More guilt thoughts.
"Mom, no, don't think that. I'm just irritable."
Which is why I think I'm evil-hearted. Who would get annoyed at a sweet 101-year-old woman who is simply getting on the best she can.
I called Ben.
"It's just the longevity of it," he said.
Which reminds me of more evil thoughts.