Mark's off to camp again this summer, which means he needs another tuberculosis test (his last one expired). As this involves a needle, one of his least favorite things, he was not happy.
"Why do I even need a stupid shot?" he grumbled.
I patiently explained (for the one hundred and forty-seven thousandth time) that TB is very contagious, especially in close quarters like the bunk beds and cabins at camp.
He still wasn't convinced. He also wanted to know about the test results.
"What happens if you do have tuberculosis?" he asked next.
"Well," I started, "If you do have TB, they put--"
"--you down?" Mark said, finishing my sentence.
"No!" I immediately shrieked. "They put you on antibiotics for a few months."
We stared at each other for a moment, all big eyes and shocked expressions.
"They don't put people 'down,'" I said slowly. I thought this was an important point to make.
"Oh," he said.
"EVER," I said, just for clarification.
He nodded, and went back to fiddling with the car radio.
And I started sweating, because you know, you kinda hope your kids will take care of you when you get old. Only, at that moment, I wasn't so sure that's what I wanted any more.
I see many discussions about compassion, empathy, elder abuse and veerrrrrry specific healthcare directives in my near future...
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