First of the month, I call the local medical store to read out a list of meds for my mother. (Actually, this is the first time I'll be doing it so don't look at me like the I'm the world's most organised daughter.)
So I'm making a list, a master list of whatever she's likely to need at any point, so that I can just look at my phone instead of hunt for a name through the popped out pills on the ruins of a pad. Or, indeed, her medical file.
"Is this thing for your cholestrol or your BP?"
"The yellow thing is for the BP. I think. The other one is in the bubble-shaped thing."
I say a sharp thing or two about a wilful return to illiteracy that I am not proud of. I take the meds to her and ask her to clarify. She does, and I make my list.
As I continue making the list, I ask her, "What the name of that probiotic thing you have?"
I am losing words just as she is, and I know there's a word for it that I can't remember.
No, it's not illiteracy.
So I'm making a list, a master list of whatever she's likely to need at any point, so that I can just look at my phone instead of hunt for a name through the popped out pills on the ruins of a pad. Or, indeed, her medical file.
"Is this thing for your cholestrol or your BP?"
"The yellow thing is for the BP. I think. The other one is in the bubble-shaped thing."
I say a sharp thing or two about a wilful return to illiteracy that I am not proud of. I take the meds to her and ask her to clarify. She does, and I make my list.
As I continue making the list, I ask her, "What the name of that probiotic thing you have?"
I am losing words just as she is, and I know there's a word for it that I can't remember.
No, it's not illiteracy.
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