I donned my chauffeur (what are the odds I’ll spell that right the first time? ((I did!))) hat this morning and trotted on out to pick up Pop (T’s grandfather) and take him to a doctor’s appointment.
He’s losing weight. Like 35 lbs since his last appointment in April.
Granted, some of it had to go–it was fluid build up associated with congestive heart failure. But definitely not all of it.
Now, had it been me, I would have just chalked it up to him eating all his meals by himself. I know from personal experience (supper) that one is just not as hungry when one fixes one’s own meals, let alone when one eats those own-fixed-meals by one’s self (lunch). I would have written a prescription for a daily can of Boost and some good, grand-daughter-in-law cooking t i d (that means thrice a day). No big deal. (I told Pop this ((minus the ‘no big deal’ part)) and he said he’d believe it when he saw it, but since Tim is still as skinny as ever, he doesn’t think my cooking will do the trick. humph. I almost told him it was because I keep Tim so well exercised, but then he probably would have wanted hard muscle evidence. So much for my cooking theory.)
Dr. Laura, though, took it a lot more seriously.
I guess she’s learned from experience not to brush things off. After all, she deals in people’s lives.
What if it’s a gall bladder problem and not a missing meals issue at all? What if it’s a side effect of a wrong dosage of one of his medications? What if it’s any one of the bajillion scenarios that probably went through her mind as she examined him, very few of which are actually ‘no big deal’?
I hope I learn from her wisdom before I have kids of my own.