Misbehaving

Saturday was my mother-in-law's 78th birthday. Jim and I went to the assisted living place around 11:30 a.m. to pick her up and take her out to lunch. When we arrived in Bev's room, she was lounging on her bed. Her portable oxygen cannula was on her nose, but, unbeknownst to her (and me), the machine was not charged, and therefore was not running. Bev absent-mindedly picked up and lit a cigarette. I immediately had a mini panic attack and started stammering, "Hey! Hey, the oxygen! The oxygen!" (Yes, that's me. Cool under pressure.) With a quick glance, Jim noticed that the unit was not on, and once again reminded his mother to take the tubing off her face while she smoked. She then weakly tried to grab at an ashtray on the far side of her nightstand, but when she could not reach it, she simply flicked her cigarette ashes onto her bedspread. I watched in disbelief.

Jim told Bev to choose her favorite restaurant for lunch, and she picked the Ram's Horn. Bev steered her walker to her old favorite booth there, and we reminded her about the restaurant's weekend-only non-smoking policy. After she was done eating, Bev concluded that the no smoking ordinance applied to everyone except her, and she reached for her cigarettes and lighter. Jim told her that since we were done eating, we should just leave, but Bev was determined to sit and have her cigarette at the table. She obstinately lit up, once again with her nasal cannula on, and this time with the oxygen flowing. Jim quickly snapped off the O2 machine, and I was so flustered and embarrassed that I stood up and went to the rest room. I could hear Jim asking her why she was doing that, and she kept answering, "Oh, I just want to see if they will say anything to me." Well, plenty of people stared at her, both customers and employees, but no one requested that she put out the cigarette. When I reluctantly returned to the table, Jim rushed out to get the car, and left me in charge of helping Bev to the door. Since there were no ashtrays anywhere, Bev had let her ashes cascade all over the booth, and then tried to smash her spent cigarette butt into a little empty cream carton. Gallantly wanting to make sure that the butt was not going to set anything on fire, she proceeded to dump her entire 8-ounce glass of ice water into the tiny half-ounce container. The table became a soggy jumble of crumbs, ashes, napkins, and placemats, and when the dirty water began to drip onto the floor, I wished I could have darted outside and left my mother-in-law behind. Bev slowly meandered her walker through the restaurant, happily saying goodbye to all of the employees, as I silently vowed never to return to that Ram's Horn again.