I had some breakfast, and then sat under the full-spectrum light for a while. I had called the doctors' office yesterday evening with a message about my knee. Dr. C.'s assistant called back to say that they'd want me to see them or an orthopedist and get X-rays to get an official diagnosis, rather than just go by my guess of patellar subluxation. R. said I could get an appoinment with the nurse practitioner, Ms. M., on Thursday. I said that it was supposed to snow on Thursday. R. said that we didn't know yet how much. My thought was that I didn't want to go out in the snow with a bad knee. We made an appointment with Dr. G. for Friday morning. I made an appointment to see Dr. L. in two months -- if I wasn't in Florida, I said to the office staff person. I think it was C. She does the scheduling for Dr. L.
Mom and I went out and about before and after an appointment I had today. We didn't get much done beforehand. Mom said, "Well, if you hadn't been fiddling around..." I said that I had been making doctors' appointments, and that I wouldn't call that fiddling around.
After the appointment, we went to the library. J. at the library saw me using the cane. She said, "Is that yours or your mother's?"
"I'm borrowing it from Mom," I said. "It feels like my kneecap is slipping out of place and then back into place." J. thought I should see the doctor. I said I was going to on Friday, because I didn't want to go out in the snow with a bad knee tomorrow. J. said that she could understand that. She said she hoped I felt better soon.
I had picked up something fast at the grocery store before I was almost late to my appointment. I had to drop Mom off on the way there. Mom did not want to go back to the grocery store, because all around the area people were driving like it was Death Race 2000, especially in the parking lots. After the library, we tried Walmart. I had wanted to return a piece of clothing that didn't fit, but Mom said, "Look! Look!" The line at the service desk was snaking around the front end of the store.
We headed back home. Mom drove on the way back. It continued to be Death Race 2000 on the roads on the way home. We make a left into our development, and Mom stopped on the relatively more main road, because there was a car coming the other way that had the right of way. The person in the van behind us honked, and then made the left from behind us, while we were waiting for the car on the other side of the road. We made the turn after the opposing car had gone by. Mom tried to back into the driveway, because she can't back down it. She can't see through the small high back windshield of our cars very well. The car we had was her former car, so she does best with that. Usually she'll go high on one side of the hill to avoid sliding down the other side of the hill. I put the four-way flashers on to let other cars know to wait. As soon as she'd backed up far enough, a car went zipping up our street from deeper in our development. That car probably would have had a stop sign, and hadn't been there the moment before.
Mom stopped at the bottom of the driveway. I opened the passenger side door. We were extremely close to the lower edge of the hill. "I'll get out here," I said, and walked up the driveway. When I'd gotten up, Mom backed up into my parking place. She was right on the side of the driveway where the hill slopes sharply down all the way up. All the way as she backed the car up, her tires were right on that edge of the hill, and I thought the car would slide down. I complain when she parks very close to that side of the driveway, because when the passenger opens the door, there's a mass of brush and briars on the side of the hill that encroaches well onto the driveway. She was right on that edge, where a passenger would get out onto a hill that goes down at a 75% angle, and would only be slowed down by the bittersweet vines and the briars. It's worth getting out at the bottom of the driveway and walking up, even with a knee injury.
Usually Mom overcorrects at first, and goes up onto the grass on the upper part of the hill, and then runs over my irises. At least the rhizomes survive. Then she overcorrects the other way and heads into the brush by the lower slope of the hill.
Later: I got another couple of the books I'd ordered, and a little box of Turkish Delight. The other day, Mom was asking what Turkish Delight was, but as soon as she read the ingredients she was suddenly an expert. "Sugar, sugar, citric acid, 'rose aroma,' and confectioner's sugar."
I said, "I don't think well-off Victorian British people were that concerned about nutrition when it came to their confections." It was a food I'd heard about, but not tried. It is indeed very sweet. Now my curiousity is satisfied.
I found a sesame noodle recipe that had been lost for a long time. I looked in our cabinets, and found the ingredients. I took out all of Mom's spices to find them. When Mom saw that I'd taken out most of the things on a shelf, she started screaming. Not even words, just screaming. This is how she reacts to being overwhelmed. It only takes what many would think of as a relatively trivial thing to set her off. I guess she controlled it when she was at work, but she doesn't try to control it around the family.
After dinner, I read book reviews.