My introvert/melodramatic mother (refer back to Squid Supremacy for further information) went into hospital today to have Arthroscopic Surgery on her knee. Nothing too serious, just a niggling (or dickie) knee that had been causing a lot of pain and discomfort to my middle ear. It’s amazing how my mother aligns herself to martyrdom when you offer to help during these so-called near death experiences. Imagine any ethnic mother [any ethnicity, cos they all sound the same] saying “I was cutting a sandwich and I hit my hand on the side of the toaster!” And when you look back at her with the traditional ‘so what’ glance, “I could have electrocuted myself!” Now of course, if your mother is young, ohh let’s say under the age of 45-50 then you probably won’t get it. But give it time.
Ok I think I’ve digressed enough. Back to the story. So, I’m at the hospital waiting to take her home, when a nurse says I have to be instructed on how to help mum. I figured there’d be problems with bandages, physio and of course the general – anaesthetic, not Patton. But before I could even ask the woman how mum was going she chose to ask “How’s your English?” That’s right. Once again the medical community has been put into disrepute by the words of one doctor/nurse/dumb wench. To her disbelief and my Dad’s amusement I responded with “About as good as your inability to look past my skin tone”. Couldn’t believe it! So she apologised, but the full conversation of how I should be helping mum out was immediately expedited. I’ve never had the man-bits to stand up to anyone like that before and not flinch or apologise. So I’m pretty bloody proud of myself for that.
