Going To The Deaf & Dumb Doctor

I'm one of those people who will laugh at you and with you.  If you slip on the ice and bust your ass, rip the crotch out of your pants when you bend over, or accidentally fart when you sneeze, I will be busting a gut. I'll help you up, loan you my jacket to tie around your waist, and probably pee my pants laughing, because I'm not above getting my jollies at your expense. 
     I also sometimes laugh at inappropriate times. Like at funerals or yoga. I remember once when two friends (who shall remain nameless to protect their classy reputations) and I tried NOT to lose it when the prim doctor next to us farted in yoga class while doing the child's pose. The fact that she was a pediatrician was not lost on me. It was all quiet and we were in our zone or our zen or whatever we were supposed to be in, and Dr. _______ rips one. My friends and I each opened one eye and looked at one another and then tried our best not to look like complete assholes as we were snorting and our bodies were shaking and tears were running from our pinched shut eyes. We didn't dare look at each again or we would have completely lost it and would probably spontaneously combusted. 
     This story is kind of like that in the sense that it's at someone else's expense...The Big Guy's, but it was funny and I was trying not to laugh as he struggled with the words. He's such a good sport! And I can be such an ass.
   I wrote the following on The Big Guy's Caring Bridge page, but since this is different audience, and since I'm still chuckling about it, I thought I'd share it here.

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JULY 2, 2013      
The Big Guy’s hearing is pretty good, said no one ever. Honestly, forty plus years of playing trucks and working with heavy equipment has taken its toll on Larry’s ability to hear a bomb drop.
     Since his cardiac arrest and the twelve minutes of CPR that followed, I have noticed a significant decline in his hearing. When a couple of the nurses mentioned that they too had noticed it, we thought it was time to get it checked out.  

When I mentioned to Sierra that we were going to an audiologist, she hit the nail on the head when she said, “if Dad gets hearing aides then he’ll be able to hear us when we are making fun of him.”

     I’ll be the first to admit that the girls and I have had a few giggles at his expense. It’s true that we have all moved our lips with no sound coming out of our mouths just to make him think that he has gone totally deaf. He’s a quick learner with not much of a sense of humor, and after a few minutes we can hear him mumbling, assholes, under his breath, which always brings an outburst of laughter from us, followed by a Poor Dad, which is then followed by several minutes of silence. (Side note: assholery must run in the family.)

Yesterday was the appointment and following is the condensed version of how it pretty much went.

Me:  “Well, that was a great waste of time.” 
Larry:  “I think so, it’s just balsamic vinegar that I can’t.”
Me: Huh?"
Larry: “Did you just ask if I could tolerate the taste of lime?” 
Me:  “The prosecution rests its case.”
   
Although we were the only people in the waiting room, we were ignored while the three women working at the front desk tried to decide on wording for a banner that they were making. One People magazine later, we were finally taken into another room where we waited even longer until a really old guy in a white lab coat with longish white hair came into the room. He told us that Larry was the last patient of his life because he was retiring as soon as he was finished seeing him. First red flag…so much for follow-up, I was thinking.

Then one of the banner makers, aka “the audiologist” took us into another room where she stuffed Larry into this small cube, like she was Houdini putting her assistant into a box to make him disappear. She instructed him to put on some gigantic headphones and then she stared at him through a glass wall while speaking into an archaic looking microphone as she spun some big dials around. (Note to self:  Man is living in space, iPhones can start your car, dim your living room lights and monitor your heart rate, but audiology is still in the dark ages and Thomas Edison is alive and well and about to retire in Denver, CO)

She said:  “Say reason, say house, say date.”
He said:  “season? mouse? late?”
She said: “Say boy, say doubt, say berry.”
He said:  “toy? shout? fairy?
She said:  “Say bike, say chair, say duck.”
He said:  “Mike? stair?  ummmm, Huh?” 

Me? I was looking around the room for some scissors to run with.

     Houdini unfolded Larry out of the box and made him reappear, then handed us a piece of paper that she had hand drawn a graph on. She took my scissors away from me and then herded us into the third room where we waited for Dr. Edison. He informed us that yes indeed; Larry did have significant hearing loss (Thank you Captain Obvious!) and then he reminded us that he was retiring in about five minutes, as he escorted us back out to the waiting room. (Say hi to Orville and Wilbur, I’m thinking.) The banner makers bid us farewell without even looking up.

Me: “Wait a sec, what do we do now? Don’t you need to let him try on some hearing aids? Or fit him or give us some pricing?”

Houdini:  “Oh I don’t do that here, you’ll have to come to my office in Englewood for that. Here’s my card, you can call and make an appointment.”

Larry and I look at each other, like two deer caught in the headlights and try not to crack up.

Me: “Well, #&*@”

Larry: “What duck?”             
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Later that afternoon we went in for labs. Hemoglobin is up, which means that he is making blood again!  His weight was down to 209, meaning that all women now hate him because he has lost ten pounds in a week by eating mostly ice cream. It also means that I will be adding some butter and cream to that IV bag if he doesn’t start eating.  

     The rash is getting better ~ in the sense that it is a lot less painful; however I have noticed that it has now moved to his lower back, his butt and the backs of his legs. I told him I thought he should start putting that cream on his legs. He said he’d rather have oatmeal than eggs.

     Well you know what they say…if it’s not thing, it’s your mother.