The excitement never ends

My dad is eighty-five years old, and apparently driven by the idea that he doesn't want to be a bother. I came here to take care of my folks because my mom just couldn't physically manage him and the house any more. How she was managing mentally is anyones guess.

I tell the old bird regularly that I'm in great shape and have plenty of time; getting him in the car, loading up his chair, none of this is a problem. He could get out if he wants, anywhere he wants. No, he doesn't want; perfectly happy to hang out at home. Just ask him.

So today is the day for preliminary lab work prior to next week's routine check-up. Mom and I tried not to tell him, but I won't outright lie, and he asked yesterday.
"Don't I have a medical coming up?"
"Yeah Pop. Coming up."
"When?"
Oh boy. "Next week Pop." Might dodge the bullet here.
"Isn't there some preliminaries first?"
No luck dodging. "Yeah Pop. Lab work tomorrow."
"Good thing I asked. It would have snuck right by me."
Oh boy.

Obvious question. What's the problem with telling him?

So I arrive this morning and bring in mom's newspapers. Usually I just lay them within reach for when she wakes up, but today she's waiting for me. Dad's had her up for an hour; "Where's Tim?", "Does he know I have a medical?", she's about half crazy. The lab isn't even open yet. I feel sorry for anyone who has so little to look forward to that getting blood drawn is such a highlight. One more try on the way home. "Pop, how about one of these afternoons when it's warm we get you out and about somewhere?"

"Oh no, I don't want to go out. I don't want to be a bother."