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| Look a donut! |
Since I happened to have had a CT scan a few years ago in Tenerife, I told her that it wasn't a tube, it was like a big donut you pass through (see) and wasn't at all horrible or enclosed. She continued to contradict me, as ever.
When she came home today, she announced that it was nowhere near as bad as she had imagined, so I said, lightly, "See, I told you it wasn't a tube."
"Oh, I never said it was a tube. I knew it wasn't", she snapped back, curtly.
Transpires she read a leaflet, AFTER she'd spoken to me (obviously, it agreed with what I'd told her.) She wasn't about to listen to a what I told her though and she could not bring herself to admit that I had informed her correctly.
No, she just stormed off, stage whispering about how dreadful I am.
Before you go putting this down to old age, which would be exceedingly easy to do, this is a carbon copy of a situation that occurred in 1973 (when I was 16 and she was only 49), when she was going to undergo a hysterectomy.
Being of the generation that didn't talk about "those things", I was sure she had absolutely no idea what this would mean and knew I was right, because she had worked herself up into a right frenzy of panic over it, mostly in fear of all sorts of weird assumptions. Never occurred to her to ask for facts.
Clearly, nobody in the health service considered the need to explain such minute details to anyone, so I tried. Well, could you leave someone to panic?
And for my trouble, she attacked me with nasty accusations, because only a "tart" could possibly know anything about it. Oh, so they only educate "tarts" in schools, or the pages of Cosmopolitan, do they? And, I wasn't believed.
Some people just won't be helped, obviously.
