I have attempted in this column, over the past five years or so, to lean toward the humorous, or lighter occurrences in life. At least that’s the way I saw them. I understand that sometimes people don’t get what I’m talking about; but that’s OK, as long as too many aren’t offended. I guess when you write two columns a week with some 1,400 words, there will be some sentences that might come out a bit nasty, so someone is bound to, from time to time, get their feathers ruffled.
As Fred once told me, “Jay, a little of you goes a long way.” And as Publisher Boss has said to me in the past, “A little criticism about your work isn’t all bad. It at least means someone is reading.”
If you write long enough, there will come those days and weeks when the stuff in your life just ain’t that funny. This is one of those times. It’s about my mom and a doctor.
It looks like, after 44 years, mom will have to move out of her little house in North Little Rock to a place where she will get more attention and daily care. You know the place I’m talking about.
Her health, due to some issues with that fist-sized vital organ we all carry around in our chests, has become such a concern that even she agrees it is time for a change.
So to those of you out there who have traveled this road before, and I think you are many, I tip my hat and say “Bless your heart,” to coin a favorite phrase of moms throughout the South.
We began the process a few weeks back by visiting some places known as ALFs, or assisted-living facilities. The first thing you notice after being in one of these is that, not surprisingly, they’re made up of mostly female residents. I checked to see what the ratio is nationally and found that the Assisted Living Facility of America reports that women outnumber men by almost three to one. The average age of ALF residents is 86.9 years (female average, 87.3; male average, 85.7).
Also worth noting, the majority (76.6 percent) of assisted living residents are widowed, and just over 12 percent are still married or have a significant other, (I guess the other 11.4 percent are divorced or never were married.) The average length of stay for assisted living residents is 28.3 months (the median is 21 months).
So after some visits at lunchtime (food is an important factor), mom made her choice. Then, just two days before the movers were scheduled, she had to make an unscheduled visit to her cardiologist.
Whenever she visits her cardio doc, whether scheduled or unscheduled, she often makes the appointment through her doctor’s assistant, a doctor from India who I will call Dr. Zac.
When Kathy and I took mom in for her appointment at UAMS, I got to meet Dr. Zac in person. We had spoken on the phone before, and he was as friendly face-to-face as by long distance. When we arrived, Dr. Zac came over and visited with me. I appreciated him taking the time.
The decision was made to schedule an echocardiogram, to see just what was going on in there, and the next morning, mom called Dr. Zac to schedule a time. He gave her options and she told him she would talk to me and we would call back. When we did, we got his voice mail. But he never called back, which wasn’t like him. Hours went by and we kept calling his number, and the main number, but only got voice mail, and eventually even that was full. It was frustrating.
We had decided we would try again the next morning when her phone rang. It was her cardiologist. He apologized for the delay but he had a good reason. There was bad news about Dr. Zac. He had suffered a heart attack that morning in the Cardiovascular Wing at UAMS. He didn’t survive.
We were all stunned. Kathy said how strange it seemed to have seen him in the last day of his life. And I remembered the courtesy Dr. Zac had shown to me by spending a few extra caring moments with me during a stressful time, and his smile as he said goodbye, with the common western farewell of, “Have a nice day.”
It was a brief encounter with Dr. Zac, yet one I shall long remember, both because of the circumstances in which we met and also his untimely passing. The following says it better
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To those who shall sit here rejoicing, and to those who shall sit here lamenting – greeting and sympathy. So have we done in our time. – Bench inscription, Cornell University.