Sugar Water

”Can you dial this insurance for me? I can't understand these things!”

My father and I share an aversion to the telephone. In my case, it's simply not my preferred choice of communication. I like writing, being able to think about and compose my thoughts into coherent sentences. I don't think on my feet, and sometimes I'm self conscious about the way I sound.

My dad is far from self-conscious. He has no problem answering the phone or calling people. What he lacks is the basic etiquette. Often he'll call a friend and immediately jump to what he's calling about, without even saying his name. My mom used to be in the background trying to get his attention, mouthing things like “Hello” and “How are you?”, suggesting the polite way to begin a conversation. I think his directness is more impatience than impoliteness, and it's more expedient to lead with “Do you have a muffler?” and not waste time on small talk. Patience is an interesting thing that children lack, adults learn, and senior citizens might dispose of.

Between bad hearing and rotary phones, navigating the menu of an insurance company is an insurmountable obstacle for my dad. I was groggy when he made his request, and a bit hoarse from my own cold. He was slightly irritable not only from frustration, but fasting. With a gall bladder exam in the afternoon, he had his own problems. As I woke up some more, I asked him if he'd talked to my mom in the hospital, and was able to have him backtrack a little. He had spoken to her, and she asked him to check if the insurance company needed to know ahead of time where she was.

In her youth, my mom worked for the phone company. She's the brains of this operation, and has the phone skills her husband and son lack. We never have to deal with bills or insurance. She knows how to talk to people, and even takes notes and gets the name of the representatives she deals with. We've been spoiled by having someone with that ability to rely on.

My dad wanted me to use my cell phone, not realizing the cordless phone in my room had buttons. He handed me the insurance card and I tried my best to understand the options. Nothing matched what the card said, and when I asked him to clarify some of the terminology being thrown at me he'd get flustered, say he didn't know any more than I did, and ultimately drown out what I was trying to listen to, so I had to listen again. At one point I thought it was ringing, so I handed him the phone. “HELLO?! HELLO! I can't understand what he's saying!” I took the phone back after suggesting he try a different ear and being told it was a “concentration problem”, not hearing. As I listened to the recording he just conversed with, I realized I needed to do more than push buttons for him.

Eventually I got through to a person, only to find it was the wrong provider. He kindly told me to call back and which option to press to get the right one. I got through to a woman who, as with the first representative, needed my mom's name, address, phone number and birthday before I could speak on her behalf. That's when I did something stupid.

I was starting to get some static on the line. Thinking that having my modem plugged in was causing this, even though it was off, I unplugged my computer's surge protector. The greater static that assaulted me was a grim reminder that the base of my phone was also plugged in to the same power strip. I had lost my connection.

The phone rang while I was explaining my idiocy to my dad. He answered on the rotary while I answered with the one in my hand. “Over here! This one!” he said, waving to me as I heard the woman asking my name. “Hang up; this is the same line,” I explained. Finally, I got my answer, that no preregistration was needed and her stay was covered.

“They make everything so complicated!” grumped my dad. I decided then that I had to work on my own aversion to the telephone. Even if I find a wife who can handle the phone better than I can, I still need to be able to function on my own.

The rest of the day was less stressful. I had taken a vacation day to renew a CD at the bank and because my mom had initially planned to have a plant and yard sale before she got sick. After the bank, I got my shopping done for Mother's Day and finally headed to the hospital to meet my dad. He didn't leave a note, but one of the lollypops I brought him from the bank was missing, so I knew he'd stopped in after visiting his doctor.

My mom looked good, if tired. She still felt a little weak, and was running a temperature of 101. A nurse told us the average stay for pneumonia is three days, so it will be at least another day before she can come home. She's eager to get out of there and concerned about all the things piling up. My dad set her at ease some by bringing in her check book and some of the bills that need to be paid. I helped by sealing and mailing them after we left. At one point she sent my dad to buy groceries, and I relayed the phone adventure from the morning. She was reminded of an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond in which Ray realizes, “If dad goes first, ma will be okay. If ma goes first...God help us all.”

A nurse came in to run some tests, so I excused myself. I headed for a pantry I'd been told about, to see if I could find some water or soda. There was an ice and water dispenser, a pot of coffee, and a container full of sugar packets. Disgusting child that I am, I emptied three packets into a styrofoam cup, added ice, then water, then swirled the concoction around. My mom asked what I was drinking when I returned, and shook her head at the answer. We need her, and she knows it.

Thanks again to everyone who expressed prayers and good thoughts; we definitely appreciate it. I’m going to a banquet for my company on Saturday night, so no need to worry if Sunday’s post is a bit late. By then, I should have better news to report.