Real Confussions and Doctor Appointments

I got a new house cleaner assigned to me this month and supposedly she’ll be my regular girl from now on. As I usually do when a stranger is working in the house I try to get a feel for what kind of person she or he is. It’s surprising what character revealing things people will tell when you’re just chit-chatting. The cleaner’s name is ‘Purity’ and one of the first questions I asked her was, “Do you like your name?” Boy, did I get an ear full about the teasing and bullying she endured in high school and how she couldn’t wait to get out. “My dad gave me the name,” she ended with, “and I’m a daddy’s girl so I’m trying to like it.” Purity is young and she says she has anxiety and depression disorders and is OCD “which makes me very good at cleaning” she said, and I was her first client as a new employee of my house cleaning service. But the most interesting confession came about when I asked if she had any children. “Technically, yes,” she answered, choosing her words carefully, “but my boyfriend and I gave her up for adoption when she was born.” She was pregnant during her last year of high school thus the source of the teasing and bullying was a puzzle with the pieces falling in place.

“Are you at peace with that decision?” It’s a personal question coming from a stranger but I couldn’t help asking.

“Yes, I really am,” she replied. “We knew we could never give a child the advantages that someone else can do and I have too many mental issues to care for a baby.” It was an open adoption, the kind where the adoptive parents attended all the appointments with Purity and were there for the birth. She showed me a photo of her daughter’s first birthday party, taken a few weeks ago---a sweet baby with purple frosting all over her hands and smiling face. I told Purity it sounds like it was a win-win decision for everyone. “It really was!” she beamed. “I wish more people understood that.”  

It’s easy to be judgmental of others and stereotype based on age. When petite Purity showed up on my doorstep, struggling to carry all her supplies in one trip, my first thought was this probably isn’t going to work out. How could someone so young take any job seriously? However, she was more thorough that most, worked fastest than any I’ve had in the past and never let our conversation get in the way of the progress she was making. Best of all from my point of view, she actually follows the news and could talk current events and politics! It was a match made “maid-service” heaven.

The next day I had my Medicare Wellness Exam with my internist. It’s the one where in addition to blood work and recording routine stats like blood pressure and your heart rate they ask you a series of screening questions designed to find out if you’re: 1) depressed and losing interest in life, 2) if you need to make your house old-person safe, and 3) if you’re still able to care for yourself. Jeez, nothing makes you feel older than being asked if you can feed and dress yourself! But it’s a free medical check-up so I dutifully didn’t whine. I remembered those (obnoxious) questions from last year so I made a point of wearing my Sunday best, nice shoes and a bright scarf---all matchy-matchy like someone who still cares about life and plans on sticking around until I’m a hundred and one. I don’t want a social worker showing up at my house because I "accidentally" wore three sweaters to my wellness appointment or because I gave the doctor the finger for just filling out government required paperwork. But I did lie about one of my answers. Last year it was an honest answer when I said I didn’t have any throw-rugs in the house but Wayfair’s Oriental Rug Fever infected me and I now have three “trip hazards” in place. (If you work for Medicare, don’t turn me in! I only walk over one. The others are just adding color by doors I rarely use.) 

While at the doctor’s office I was dreading getting the Bad Girl lecture for gaining weight over the winter so I beat the doctor to the punch and gave it to myself. When he asked, “So what’s new with you?” I answered, “Six pounds.” And when he asked, “How did that happen?” I said everything he’d want to hear about over-eating and not getting enough exercise. No excuses from this lady. No denial. I was a bad girl who understands cause and effect and nothing he could have said could top my beat-him-the-punch confessions. I promised to start walking again…blah, blah, blah and he compared the readings on my Fitbit to his. I was only down by 200 steps and I’d been up two flights of stairs and he hadn’t climbed any. The doctor was impressed. I went home and took a nap. Passing my wellness test was hard work! ©