Well ... at least, that's when I was old enough to realize that my mom was "different". Before that I thought that everybody's mom didn't allow food to be cooked in the oven (ours was an appliance that was meticulously cleaned daily and was only for "show"). Come to think of it ... so was our living room. No one ever was allowed to sit in there.
Anyway ... my first real neurotic encounter happened at home ... after school. Mom burst into my room grasping her chest and moaning that she was having a heart attack.
I was dumbfounded.
"Please ... take me to the hospital ... now."
"Should I call an ambulance ...?"
"No. I really want you to take me."
I rushed her into the car and sped to Touro Hospital. It was all a blur. I remember pulling up to the Emergency Entrance. I opened the door and she refused to get out. I was confused.
"On second thought, " she said, " take me to Dr. Smith's office."
"Who is Dr. Smith?"
"He's across the street."
More confusion. I didn't want to argue with her at this point as she was having trouble catching her breath and I didn't want her to be upset.
I found Dr. Smith's office .... carried her inside and demanded to see the doctor. The receptionist looked at me ... smiled .... and then picked up her phone. "Gladys, Mrs. Momberg is here again."
"Again?" I asked.
"Oh yes ... she's actually been here twice today."
"AND YOU LET HER GO HOME?"
Just before I lost it, Dr. Smith arrived and told me to calm down. He explained that he was her regular doctor and would take good care of her ... after all ... she was the most interesting neurotic he had ever treated.
It was then that I looked at Dr. Smith's nameplate and realized that he was a psychiatrist. Mom was now standing ... dramatically telling everyone in the waiting room about her earlier "horrible experience" and how she almost died.
I almost killed her on the spot.
Great stuff - I saw your post on LinkedIn, and read the entire blog . . . but the last line of the first post really resonated - I have been there soooooo many times with my mother.
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