Yesterday was spent with my daughter, Ellen, at the Stony Brook Gastroenterology and Hepatology offices for a consultation. It seems; she has a tremendous weight loss, and no one doctor knows why. In a period of less than six months, she has lost 50 pounds! They found this spot on her lungs, but they say it is not cancer. They have checked her twice, and still the same results. I don’t trust the diagnosis.
In the waiting room, Ellen, two aids and me enter and convince Ellen to sit. She is so happy to see me; she gets very vocal and starts saying Momma as loud as possible. This can be unsettling for people who don’t know Ellen. The aids take it all in stride, but I feel sorry that the patients have their peace invaded by my daughter’s calling out. Ellen can’t say: daddy, or dada or dad, everyone is Momma. She will say it as a question mark, or exclamatory statement.
We finally get in the examining room, and the doctor introduces himself to everyone. He begins to talk to Ellen.
Doc: “Hello, Ellen. I am doctor Rasheeds. Can I check you stomach, I understand it is bloated.”
Ellen: “Momma, mom mom mom momma?”
Doc: “I just want to see if it is hard.”
Ellen: “Mom mommom! Hee hee! (Claps her hands).
The doctor leans in and Ellen recoils. The doctor apologizes and leans in again; Ellen pushes his hand away. The doctor reaches over one more time, and…
SMACK!
The doctor is way over six feet four inches, and is almost smacked back into his childhood by Ellen. He says he’s sorry, and Ellen refuses to look at him. We discuss his plan of action and he flees the room, and about five minutes later brings in a woman doctor. She is just like Dr. Rasheeds, kind, gentle and accommodating. She has a calming effect on Ellen and gets to check Ellen’s stomach. A plan is put in place and we are about to leave. I try to put Ellen’s arm through her coat, as the doctors open the door. Ellen sees her chance and makes a mad dash toward the opened door. Holding on to one arm of the coat, I follow Ellen as she runs down the long hallway, her left arm is in the coat, leading me! The nurses, doctors and staff are all in hysterics at this amusing sight!
Finally reaching the outer waiting room, she stops, and I put on her coat for her. She then pushes me out the door and to her van. Once in the van, she smiles at me, claps her hands and tells me: “Momma?”
Of course, what does she think I am?
Please remember DD and my brother-in-law John, and all those that need our prayers.
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