RPT

RPT means "Rancho Physical Therapy". Mom had an appointment there yesterday. We used to go there last year but quit until yesterday. Everyone remembered ME and my name. Only one person remembered Mom and he had forgotten her name. I am very useful in validating my Mom's existence, don't you think??

She got some "traction", think that's what it's called. But she was so out of whack they didn't do anything else to her and her whole back hurt this morning. I napped. She gasped for air a lot and they put a thing on her finger that measures pulse and oxygen levels.

When we got back to the car she started wheezing again. Her asthma is pretty bad. The doctor came out to the parking lot to talk to her (and probably to make sure she wasn't going to pass out on his property), and they kept on yakking while ignoring ME. I can only stand that for so long, so I started talking, too. The more I got ignored, the louder and chattier I got. Finally Mom barks at me, like "HOW RUDE, Mary-Margaret. Be quiet!". The doctor jumped back a little and I sat down fast. She gets scary when she gets aggravated.

I got picked up out of my car seat and I sat on my mom's lap. At least I was face to face with the doctor so we could communicate with each other. Mom was quiet this time and me and Dr. Holman finished up our conversation. He said "See you next week, Mary-Margaret!" and I'm pretty sure he said good-bye to Mom, but not certain.

She drove us home and we had hamburgers for dinner. Tonight I get left-overs and she'll probably have a chicken pie or something. Today is our day of rest. I will nap and she'll do bank statements.

Love,

Mary-Margaret