Face BonesPosted: November 12, 2012
After Mom got home from rehab, a visiting nurse deduced that she might have a touch of pneumonia so we scheduled a visit with the nurse practitioner at the medical center.
We’d just settled into chairs in the waiting room when Mom spied a magazine on the table to my right.
“What’s that big thing over there?” she asked, squinting in the general direction of the end table.
“It’s a magazine,” I said as I held it up for her to see.
She stared at it for a moment and then gave it a disinterested “harumph.”
“Do you want to look at it?” I asked.
“No, I’m too old,” she replied.
“What do you mean too old?” I asked, looking at the large headline and picture on the cover. “You know about this. You take a pill for it every Saturday,”
“For my face?” she asked, obviously more confused that I was.
“No, for your bones,” I said.
“Oh, well, I guess my face has bones too,” she responded, looking thoughtful.
“So, do you want to look at the magazine?”
“No, my face is fine,” she answered with finality.
“Okay,” I replied, putting the “Faces of Osteoporosis” magazine back on the end table.