Robo-Mom and Roam-o-Pop

In which our Hero’s mother has 20 minutes (less 5 seconds) to comply

It’s fundamentally wrong to giggle at your mom as she’s undergoing what is technically a medical procedure, so I’m just going to start with an apology. I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. It’s just that she makes this face when… hang on, let me explain.

As part of a general “What the heck happened to you” exercise, my mom is having a bunch of tests done, including an “ambulatory blood pressure test.” What this means is that they outfit my mother with a sensor and take readings over the course of 24 hours. My mother has had a sphygmomanometer for years (because what home is not complete without a blood pressure cuff) and then when she had some blood pressure issues, she got one of the one-touch machines. But the principle is all the same. Constrict the upper arm with an inflatable wrap-around bladder, and then reduce the pressure and listen for the signals that tell you about the two pressure numbers of interest, systole and diastole.

So we were both very curious about this 24-hour data collector. Maybe it would be some kind of electromagnetic device, or it would be one of those pads-and-leads thingers (though I couldn’t see how that would work).

But no, a very pleasant woman called me and said, “Hi, it’s Cora.”

I’ve always been fascinated by these types of people. What kind of person is so confident in themselves that they can just introduce themselves and provide no other context at all. Is Cora one of those single-name rock stars that I never manage to have heard of? Is her business so consuming that nobody could possibly be thinking of anything else?

Uh, hi Cora

“Hello.”

(pause)

Can I help you?

“Yes, I’m calling for [Mom]”

Oh, I responded, a lot less annoyed about this particular pet peeve than I have been in years past. People seem to call the emergency contact number just as a secondary. No. No, you jerks. Emergency contact. Grrr.

I’m sorry, but generally you can’t get her at this number.

“Well, I tried the number she gave me, but it just went to voicemail.”

And now the light bulb goes on and I just 5 minutes into the conversation, when the other person *still* has not indicated their reason for calling, I finally realize this is about the the appointment my mother has the next day.

Anyway, Cora is one of those perfect people to have as your medical technician. She was gentle but kept things moving. She was friendly and conversational but managed to coral my mom to keep her on topic. And she was kind, explaining how the equipment worked, what to expect. The combination of professionalism and performance without being rushed or overrunning the patient is a wonderful thing. I’m happy to say that I haven’t had a lot of complaints in this department, but this was done well, and caring well for my people earns you points with me.

And Cora, far from having some magic technology, instead wrapped my mother’s bicep with a pressure cuff, and strapped an admittedly smaller but not otherwise much different battery-powered controller/air-pump. It was underwhelming.

Until we got home and my mother beeped. Twice. And then she whirred. And then she clicked for a minute. And then she beeped again. Two beeps as a 5 second warning to relax because a reading is coming. Whirring as the bladder inflated, and clicks of a valve as it depressurized. And then a beep to say she was done.

Till 20 minutes later, when my mother would beep again.

And again.

And again.

It’s making me grin now, recalling. 24 hours of my mom whirring and clicking and beeping as she moved about her day.

Meanwhile, my dad is still away away. He’s mostly resigned to not coming home early. He’s been conflicted about what to do, and my mom has been scolding him every time he asks me about rebooking his ticket. And at this point, the rebook options mean that he’s only here two or three days sooner so why not just relax, enjoy his family as he planned to, and we’ll hold down the robofort.

It’s funny though. My dad was born and raised up in that place, in that very house. He spent the first two decades of his life there. But he’s westernized now. He hates the weather and the temperatures, and the air quality and the behaviours of the culture. SO I’m kind of used to a tone in his voice, brought on by discomfort, and poor sleep, and mild grumpiness. (Not mild!)

But this trip, aside from being deeply concerned for my mother during this situation, he’s sounded pretty good. Like he’s enjoying himself.

The beeping monitor wasn’t the last of the tests my mother has had to go through. Yesterday I took her to a Nuclear Imaging test, and she came out very cheerfully telling me it went great, but the whole time I kept picturing my mom 100 feet tall and rampaging through Tokyo.