I took my grandmother to lunch today and afterward helped her with her grocery shopping. Poor thing. At 87, her mind is as sharp as ever but she doesn’t see well, especially not close up. Anything closer than 5 feet away is a blur. Normally she just hands me her list and we go around the store together. Cream of chicken soup? Check. Centrum Silver? Check.
I’m glad I can help her with things like this. I know it helps her stay independent and out of a home. And there’s no one else willing enough, or close enough, especially since her son hasn’t been seen in a decade. So it’s the right thing to do, and I hope I have someone to do these things for me when I’m her age.
However.
There are some things that are too much for me. Back at her house I got the groceries unpacked and put away. I was sitting on the couch for a few minutes until it was time to go, when she asked:
“Will you freeze my wart off for me?”
Not, to put it mildly, the sort of thing one is asked to do every day. It was like Mother’s Day directed by the Farrelly Brothers. I’m not squeamish, but I hesitated because I started thinking my way down the slippery slope.
“Help me take this roller out of my hair.”
“Will you cut my toenails for me?”
“I can’t get these Depends fastened.”
What’s next? If I cross the personal grooming threshold, where will it stop? Can I handle this gradual immersion into elder care without turning into Norman Bates? Will I be forced to learn the ins and outs of sciatica and the dowager’s hump?
Anyway, I got ahold of myself and just did it. You use (in case you’re interested) this little can filled with liquid nitrogen or whatever, onto which you screw this thing that looks like a hollowed-out Q-tip. When you press the button, the swab fills with freezing liquid and you touch it to the wart for 30 seconds. The wart does not, by the way, immediately fall off, which would at least have provided instant gratification (and a toy). It takes days apparently. So Happy Mother’s Day, everyone, warts and all.
