Tag Archives: mother and son

Happy Birthday

Posted in August by

Miss Cathy’s birthday was on the 23rd of last month; it was a god awful, hot Saturday so I told her that I would take her out for a celebration lunch the following Monday. The week ahead was predicted to be hot, but not the African heat we were experiencing. I know that she doesn’t particularly like going out to restaurants but every now and then she’ll go and she’ll actually enjoy herself. It’s a trade off really-she doesn’t like to go out to eat and I don’t like the places that she picks when we do go.

I know that she likes the “restaurant” Ruby Tuesday (a glorified McDonald’s with table service if you ask me, but hey, she likes the joint) so that’s where I planned to take her. I asked our upstairs neighbor, Ron to join us. He’s more than a neighbor, she considers him one of her many “sons”. For many years while I lived other places he would come down and keep her company, run errands for her and was always there with a gift on Christmas, mother’s or her birthday.

So, he’s a great guy and I’m grateful for him being here for Miss Cathy and although she and I had been getting along it’s always nice to have a “buffer”.

Monday rolled around and I reminded her around 11:30 am on my way out to run a few errands that we were going to lunch soon and she said, “Oh, is that today? I thought it was tomorrow.”

“No,” I said, “it’s today, but we can make it tomorrow if you’d rather go then.”

“No, no”, she said, “today is fine.”

By the time I came back a little before 2:00 pm she was sitting in the living room dressed in a smart summer outfit; black top, black pants, white jacket with black piping and a smart, white summer hat to match. I was in cargo shorts and a tee so I showered and changed into a dress shirt, jeans and seersucker blazer to match her festive attire.

Ron drove so I sat in the back and let the two of them gab in the front seat. I tried not to listen but I couldn’t help but hear them talking, especially how she tended to cut him off and not let the poor guy finish a thought or answer one of her many questions. At one point she said, “It’s awful quiet in the back, jump in whenever you want Ty.”

“I’m just waiting for a pause in the conversation”, I said and went back to looking out the car window (what I was hoping for was a moment of silence but it wasn’t my birthday so no point wishing for that gift).

When we arrived at our destination we discovered that the Ruby Tuesday had moved from that location so we ended up at a Red Lobster nearby after Miss Cathy said that she liked seafood. The Red Lobster, to me, is to seafood what The Olive Garden is to Italian food-a place for people that “don’t know no betta’”.

They’re both places that say they’re “of/for/and about” a particular cuisine (and I use the term “cuisine” broadly) and they have the pictures on the menu to proof it, but anyplace that has to show me the food needs to spend less time in the photo studio and more time in the kitchen.

When we were settled into the booth of the restaurant with our oversized, picture book menus I asked Miss Cathy what looked good to her and she said she wasn’t very hungry, that she’d eaten two hot dogs at home waiting for me to come back from my errands.

I asked her why she ate if she knew she was going out to lunch and she just shrugged. Thankfully it didn’t stop her from ordering or enjoying the time we spent together which was the point after all.

What came to the table was an orgy of food; shrimp, scallops and various other former creatures of the sea, laid out on platters dripping in butter, cream sauce and/or batter dipped. It looked less like seafood and more like a heart attack with biscuits on the side but Ron and I ate with gusto and I asked for a doggy bag for Miss Cathy.

She seemed to have a good time, never at a loss for something to talk about. Back at home she opened birthday cards from family and friends and proudly displayed them in the living room.

She’s seventy-three now, which isn’t old these days (I keep reminding her that “seventy is the new sixty” but she didn’t get that memo, for all intents and purposes she acts more like someone ten years her senior-that’s just who she is, it’s as if one day she decided that she was “old” and that was that).

But, she doesn’t want for much, just to be home and not to have to go anywhere. So, I have to remember that the best gift I can give her is the security of knowing that she’s safe at home where she wants to be and she doesn’t have to worry about going anywhere much or doing anything other than what she wants to do.

Happy Birthday Miss Cathy.

Paper Chase Part ll

Posted in July by

A few weeks after my phone call with the lawyer, Cheryl Henderson, I attended her estate-planning workshop with about a dozen other people, all of us eager to find out how best to take care of our loved ones. While there was some valuable information shared and I learned a few new things, it mostly validated the work that my brother and I had already done on Miss Cathy’s behalf. Back when Miss Cathy was fist diagnosed with dementia in January of 2010 it was Tony’s idea that we draw up a POA (Power of Attorney) and a Medical Advance Directive, turns out these were the two documents at the workshop that were stressed as the “foundation of any good estate planning” because without them one has very little power or control in matters concerning their loved one in times of need. Knowing that we’d done something right (and were on the right track without even knowing it) made me feel pretty good about the choices we were making for our mother.

I mean lets face it, we were doing our best and what we were doing was out of love for our parent but “love” isn’t going to going to convince a doctor to follow your orders in a medical emergency, you gotta have the right paperwork-and you’re going to need it before you have to decide whether to pull a plug or switch somebody off.

Anyway, I was impressed enough with the seminar (and the lawyer) to suggest to my brother that we meet with her. After comparing everyone’s schedules and going back and forth a few times I was able to make an appointment for early June (remember I started this process in late April). That gave me plenty of time to fine-tune my list of questions for the meeting (after gaining a better idea of what to expect from the seminar and a clearer understanding of the process we were about to undertake).

I was most intrigued by the “Veteran’s Aid and Attendance Benefit” so my first order of business after the seminar was to call the Veteran’s Administration. I was on hold for about fifteen minutes (whattayougonnado) but ultimately it was worth it because the representative was very helpful when he finally came on the line. I found out that our situation isn’t as straight forward as some others because my step-father served during World War ll and record keeping was spotty back then so Eddie, the representative didn’t immediately find him in the system but he assured me that just because my Pop wasn’t showing up on his computer that he could be found somewhere, somehow.

I think that anyone that’s going to call the VA to inquire about a deceased Veteran should have the Vet’s social security number and (more importantly) their discharge papers when you call (the more information you have when you call a government agency the better!) and always, always document your call by asking for the representative’s name, a case number and be sure to note the day/time of your call (that’s a little “Ty tip”;).

Having this information at the ready is helpful as you follow up with questions at another time because chances are that whomever you speak to is going to ask who you spoke to previously.

Eddie was able to give me some basic information as to how my mother could possibly qualify for the little known monthly stipend paid to widows of war vets. As expected, the paperwork is extensive and to qualify you have to be practically destitute but “nothing ventured (except time) by applying and there could be as much as a thousand dollars a month for Miss Cathy to gain based on need. The representative promised to mail the necessary forms and information to me (info is also available on the Veteran’s Administration website at http://www.va.org).

If you find the website as complicated as I did, it may be well worth the wait to call the VA at: 800-827-1000 (just make sure you have your knitting or a crack pipe to suck on while you’re on hold waiting to speak to someone-another “Ty tip”;)

Later that week Tony and I had a phone meeting to go over what I’d learned and to talk about what we (each) wanted to accomplish at the meeting with the lawyer. My brother and I work very well together and it definitely helps to talk things over before speaking on our mother’s behalf so that we’re on the same page. Even though we’re family and we have the same goals our approach may sometimes be different as to how to get there so I always think it’s best to compare notes ahead of time so that we show a united front. The system; doctors, hospitals, lawyers and the like can sometimes be less than welcoming to loves ones of a person in need so the last thing they want to encounter is bickering siblings with divergent agendas.

We decided to bring as much documentation that we thought might be necessary (Miss Cathy’s social security card, deed, will, bank account, as well as some of our deceased step-father’s information). I think there’s nothing worse than being asked for something in a meeting that you “thought you might need” but don’t have with you so why not bring it along-just in case, after all, it’s just paper.

The laywer’s office was quiet and serene on the day we had our meeting, it was not crowded and buzzing with activity the way it was on the day I came for the estate-planning seminar. The receptionist led us into the conference room where I sat weeks earlier but this time there we only three of us in the room.

After introductions we settled into our seats and began. Cheryl told us about herself and her practice (more for my brother’s benefit because I’d already heard her spiel). When she asked why we were there we took that as our cue to dive right in. Tony told her what we wanted to do and I read to her our list of questions. We finished by asking her if she could help us.

She listened to what we had to say and took notes about our questions, then Cheryl told us that there were a few ways to accomplish what we wanted then she gave us the pros and cons of each scenario. At one point she said, “If I had “this or that” document then I would be able to tell you “such and such”, and wouldn’t you know it-we had most of what she was asking for so we were able to get specific information from her about our situation and quickly more away from generalities.

We discussed Irrevocable Trusts, Revocable Trusts, Life Estate (Ladybird) Deeds, Personal Care Agreement, Medicaid and the VA Aid and Attendance benefit and tax implications among other things.

One of the things we realized after talking with the her is that a will is not a great option for us; probate can be expensive and the estate (what little there is) could be tied up in the courts for up to a year (something to think about when you’re planning for those left behind after your loved one has passed away). It sounds as though one of the Trusts is better suited for our needs to accomplish what Miss Cathy wants to happened with her things and the Personal Care Agreement will help take care of planning for her inevitable stay in a nursing home.

As for Medicaid, it’s a great government program that pays for long term nursing home care, but the individual is responsible for a portion (if not all of the expenses associated with the nursing home) if the individual goes into a nursing home before the five-year period after they have applied. The “five year look-back” determines the individual’s financial situation and there ability to pay for their own care, so the clock starts ticking only “after” you apply so, the sooner the better. If your loved one goes into a nursing home five years after you apply then the gov’t pays for everything. If they have to go in before, then they (or you) will be responsible for the nursing home costs until the five-year time “window” is closed.

It’s important to know that Medicaid will never take someone’s house while they are alive, but monies owed for care will be recuperated after the sale of the home upon the person’s death unless other arrangements have been made to dispose of the property and/or have the home exempt as an asset that Medicaid can put a lien on.

As you can imagine, the meeting lasted well over an hour and by the time we left my head was swimming with all the info that was floating around in it. Thank God Tony was there because I needed him to help me figure out what the hell was said in the meeting and what works best for us.

After much discussion we’ve decided to move forward with the Personal Care agreement (which includes help applying for the Veteran’s Aid and Attendance Benefit) as well as an Irrevocable Trust.

So, now we’re gearing up up to meet with the lawyer one more time in early August to get the ball rolling and so that Cheryl can meet Miss Cathy. In the interim I’ve been gathering the following documents and paperwork for our next meeting; Marriage and divorce decrees and certificates, Death certificates, Birth certificates, Deeds, Bank accounts, Military discharge papers, Monthly household expenses, Names of doctors and hospital visits, Social security award letter, Physician’s statement and Proof of income-Oye Vey! That’s a lot of paper!

I know that we’re among the lucky ones because Miss Cathy is still able to be part of the planning and the process. She can express to us what she wants to happen to her (and her things) after she’s gone so we can all work together to make that happen. A lot of people don’t have the luxury of their parent’s cooperation and input; one in particular comes to mind. I have a friend who’s parent is much farther along in the disease than my mother so he doesn’t have his parent’s input or cooperation, he’s acting alone to plan for long term care and doing the best he can to decide what happens “after”. Unfortunately (and this is an oft told tale) he and his loved one are at odds because his parent’s dementia makes him not able to fully understand what is happening so he’s combative and his behavior is often detrimental to the process (of their adult child making preparations for the parent’s long term care and passing).

I think it’s important to be able to honor your loved one’s wishes and provide for their needs as best as possible and at the same time take in consideration those left behind and the burden they may have to bear. Death and dying and long-term care can be uncomfortable conversations to have but they’re important and you’ve got to have them, especially if your loved one is capable talking about those things.

Alzheimer’s is a baffling and cunning disease so if your parent or loved one is in the early stages, start the conversation now-if there disease has progressed past the point of their involvement then do your best to honor them as you see fit-after all, you’re among (or you are) the closest person to them and I always feel that if you’re acting from a place of love then whatever action you take can’t be wrong.

So, I know we’re lucky and I know that even with all the paper I have to chase it’s worth it so that Miss Cathy’s wishes are honored and she’s taken care of properly. The more I can do now the better chance that no one (i.e.-me) is buried under a mountain of red-tape and paperwork down the road.

Shake and deflate

Posted in July by

Thursdays seem to be “doctor day” lately, last week we were at the family doctor for a check up and last Thursday, I was waiting with Miss Cathy to see another doctor-only this time it was in an emergency room.

Let me back up a moment and tell you how we got there. Tony called me on Wednesday to tell me that Nile, my niece was in the hospital with a collapsed lung. It was just one of those rare, freaky things that “just happen sometimes” and unfortunately it happened to her. Thank God she was at home taking summer classes and not back at school alone when it happened. I was in shock listening to him tell me about tubes, fluids, punctures, thoracic this ‘n that, trying to make sense of it all. The only thing I could focus on was that he said she was out of danger.

We did the dance of “You don’t have to come, it’s too far” and “Of course I want to be there” two-step that loved ones do with each other when one feels they’ve imposed enough with the news let alone adding to the burden by expecting the other to drop whatever they’re doing to be there and the recipient of the news feels impotent to help but wants to take some kind of action to show they care, even though they know they can’t affect any real change in the situation-so, showing up is usually as good as it gets. The only thing holding me back from leaving right then was the question of what (if anything) to tell Miss Cathy. I told Tony I was going to leave it was up to him and that he should take some time to decide if he wanted to tell her; running the risk of getting her upset by telling her or running the risk of getting her upset later on after the fact-it was pretty much a lose, lose situation.

He decided to call and tell her.

I was in the kitchen making myself some lunch after running errands all morning and taking a yoga class when she came into the kitchen in her nightgown to talk about the news. Her timing couldn’t have been worse because I was already running on fumes so I just couldn’t handle listening to her (not that she didn’t have every right to be upset). I just needed a moment to sit down and digest some food and the news about Nile before I could be any use to her. I felt as if I was being cold or that I was putting her off but I’m learning to take care of myself first (so that I can best be there for her later). It’s kind of like when you’re on an airplane and they instruct you (in case of emergency) to put your oxygen mask on first and then the child’s because you’re no good to them if you’re deprived of air-well, I felt like I needed to put my mask on first.

I could see some disappointment on her face as I told her that I needed just a little time to sit down and eat, then I would come and talk to her about Nile. She acquiesced and went back to her room. Through my open door I could hear her making calls, reaching out to share her pain but no one seemed to be there when she called.

Tony called back to tell me that she seemed to take the news okay and that she didn’t give him any indication to him that she wanted to come to the hospital so I took that as a sign that she might not want to go anywhere. I looked in on her a few times while I was supposedly “taking care of me first” but I couldn’t help it, I just wanted to make sure she was okay. What I saw was that she was restless and she just couldn’t sit still; first she was on the phone (in her nightgown), then when I looked in on her again she was fully clothed, with lipstick and her hat on sitting on the edge of her bed ready to go somewhere, so I asked, ”What’s going on?”

She didn’t answer, she just looked at me. A few minutes later, realizing I wasn’t going to be able to “put my mask on first” I went back into her room but she wasn’t there. I found her sitting on the sofa in the living room (back in her nightgown) looking sad and lost, her hands shaking just a little. Knowing that she’s a very nervous person and upsets easily (even before her diagnosis) I wasn’t surprised but I checked to make sure that she was “just upset” over her granddaughter and not about to have a seizure or a repeat of her disorientation and near collapse of a few weeks ago. I brought in the bowl of soup and toast on a tray that she’d left in the kitchen and sat with her to make sure she didn’t spill anything on herself while she ate, raising the spoon to her mouth with a trembling hand.

After she finished eating I suggested that she lie back down so we walked back into her room and we talked about Nile when she was comfortably under the covers. At the end of our talk she asked, “When do you think we can go to the hospital?” I told her we could go right then, but it would have to be in the next fifteen minutes to beat the impending rush hour traffic on the Beltway. Knowing that she couldn’t get packed and ready in that time frame she agreed that we wait until rush hour was over before making the drive to the Virginia hospital across the Woodrow Wilson Bridge on interstate 95, which is notorious for accidents, delays, construction and traffic congestion (and that’s on a good day). I told her that we should take advantage of the wait by napping because it was probably going to be a long night, so she and I both lay down but neither of us got much of a rest.

Even though she didn’t sleep and was “up” she was very slow getting out of bed. Bt the time she was packed and ready to go it was 8:00pm. As luck would have it, traffic had died down so we were at Mary Washington Hospital in a little over an hour hugging Nile and Tony, Suemi and Zachary, Nile’s brother. They had all been at the hospital since early morning and I could see the concern on their faces, all except Nile, she looked great-considering (and I’m sure the Percoset drip didn’t hurt). With Miss Cathy and me there out little family was complete, Nile being the last addition to the family nineteen years ago. She was remarkably composed and alert, not at all what I expected from someone with a tube sticking out of their side and only one functioning lung. She was sitting up in bed chatting with us, seemingly more concerned for everybody else than herself.

Miss Cathy sat in the chair by the bed holding Nile’s hand as Tony filled us in on her condition, saying that it was still a matter of “wait and see” whether or not surgery was going to be necessary. It was after nine when we got there and we stayed for a few hours, Mary Washington being one of a few hospitals I’d ever been in that had such a liberal policy for visiting patients. But, it was getting late so we ended our visit and drove to Tony’s house, everyone exhausted from the day and anxious to get a little sleep before being back at the hospital in the morning.

By eight am Suemi, Miss Cathy and I were in the kitchen having breakfast; Zachary had to go to work and Tony had decided to take another day off from his job and was already at the hospital. I was sitting in the family room that opened onto the kitchen, Suemi was at the kitchen counter preparing snacks for everyone and Miss Cathy was at the kitchen table with her back to me, talking to her daughter in law. Knowing that she could sit there and talk forever I suggested that she might want to think about getting ready since it would take her awhile and I knew she was anxious to see her granddaughter.

She said, “I think I’ll just sit here and relax for a little while” which I thought was an odd response since all she’d been talking about was getting to the hospital but I shrugged, and decided to fire up my laptop to distract me from overhearing the conversation between the women that I’ve heard many time before. A few moments later I caught something out of the corner of my eye and it was Miss Cathy’s hands that were shaking. I got up to go to her just as the shaking started to take over her body, Suemi saw this happening at the same time and reached her first, cradling mom’s head against her side talking to her soothingly as the shaking became uncontrollably.

No sooner had I reached the sink to get her a glass of water when her eyes started to roll back in her head and she vomited the oatmeal she’d had for breakfast. Suemi said, “Call 911” and I fumbled with their landline, surprised by how quickly the situation had gone from familiar to chaotic, panicking a little myself, before calling the paramedics on my iPhone and regaining my footing. Suemi was brilliant, she was in control and calm and I followed her lead, grateful for once, not be alone to cope with the situation. By the time I’d given the 911 dispatcher the address and told her the situation Miss Cathy had stopped shaking and I could see that she had “come back to herself” (her eyes were newly focused and she was coherent). She seemed out of any immediate danger and said that she didn’t want to go to the hospital but she still wanted the EMS to come. She was understandable upset and started to cry a little, Suemi by her side to comfort her. I knew she was out of danger when she started barking orders that Duke, the dog needed to be put away before the emergency service workers arrived- even with vomit on her nightgown she was still trying to be in control.

We’d cleaned her up as best we could and she was trying to change out of her nightgown into a pair of pants by the time the paramedics arrived (which was under ten minutes). Two paramedics worked on her while a third asked her questions to ascertain her condition and to determine how alert she was. I jumped in when necessary (to correct some misinformation she had given) and I took a mental note that I should always carry my “Mom” notebook (which has all her medical history, prescriptions and all relevant information in it) with me at all times so that I’m better prepared in a situation like this.

When the medic asked her if she wanted to go to the hospital she said “yes” and burst into tears. I went to her this time (Suemi was out in the garage with the dog) and held her close as she sat in the chair crying, saying that she was afraid and embarrassed, her ego de-flated. I told her that I was there, that Suemi was there and nothing was going to harm her. I told her that all the people in the room were there to help her. By this time another team had arrived from an ambulance service and they put her on a gurney and drove her to the local hospital emergency room. I grabbed as much of her stuff as I could and followed in my car, Suemi waving from the open garage door saying she’d be there soon.

We stayed in room 10 of the emergency room for about four hours while they took an EKG and chest x-ray. She’d calmed down considerably and slowly became her usual “Chatty Cathy” self with the nurses. The doctor examined her early on and came back a few hours later with the test results, which confirmed that her episode was anxiety related. Her blood sugar and pressure were understandably elevated so they wanted her to stay for awhile and relax until her levels could stabilize then I could take her home. This would be the third time she was in the emergency room due to a nervous response to a situation; it was obvious that she couldn’t handle stress anymore.

Once we were home I got her comfortably into bed where she napped for the rest of the day. I’d already talked to Suemi in the emergency room about what we needed to do moving forward and later I called Tony at the hospital where he was still waiting to hear from the doctor about Nile’s condition to tell him that Miss Cathy was okay. We all agreed that what happened to mom confirmed what we’d suspected all along. We decided that it was best that we no longer tell her anything that could upset her. She just can’t handle bad news or stressful situations anymore; it’s not good for her health.

While she was resting I washed her soiled clothes, refilled her meds and got back to some our day-to-day routine. Then I lay down for a nap myself and slept like a dead man for four hours, waking up at 7 pm to check in on Miss Cathy and she was sitting up in bed watching television.

Post script: On Saturday afternoon Nile was released from the hospital after her lung had “re-flated” without the need for surgery. Her prognosis is good and she should be able to return to her hectic, active lifestyle as a co-ed in a few weeks, but since this happened to she has a recurrence rate of 30% in her lifetime.

As for Miss Cathy, she woke up on Friday feeling like her old self, “pumped up” as good as new. Her cousin, Mary came to the apartment with her daughter Juanita for a visit and that lifted her spirits but nothing made her happier than finding out on Saturday that Nile was home. I could hear her on the phone talking to Tony offering to come over to “take care” of Nile while she was convalescing-completely oblivious that “she’s” the one in need of care.

Romancing the stone (granite)

Posted in July by

Last Thursday was Miss Cathy’s quarterly visit to her primary care physician, Dr Granite; just a tune-up to kick the tires. As usual she’d been “mentioning” the appointment daily for the last week so when the day finally arrived she was all ready with her list of questions and sitting on the couch ready to go before I’d finished my first cup of coffee. She always gets a little “wound up” (anxious, hyper and nervous) whenever we go to see one of her doctors so I was having second thoughts about something I needed her to do.

My brother, Tony and I have met with a lawyer about setting up her estate and putting things in place so when the times comes and she needs to go to a nursing home that Medicaid will cover the entire cost. We’ve got a lot things going on and part of the process requires a form to filled out by her doctor. I knew I could ask the doctor about it but it might come off as predatory, like I was setting her up to rip her off (and I gotta say-it’s not like she’s Crystal Carrington and this is Dynasty or anything, but still…. ) so I thought it best if she asked for the form since he was her doctor and they have a good rapport.

The form that we need filled out is very subjective and completely voluntary so a lot of doctors don’t want to get involved, so it might require some finesse and tact to get it (and while Miss Cathy has still has many wonderful attributes “finesse” and “tact” are not two of them). But, it’s a pivotal part of what we’re trying to accomplish so it’s important. I took my time and patiently, in as simple a manner as possible told her that we still haven’t gotten anything finalized with the lawyer but it would be great to know if the doctor was even “willing” to help out. All that we needed from him right now was to know that we could count on him at some point in the future.

I stressed that all I needed was for her to ask Dr Granite was for his help at some point in the future with a form that would state her condition and that her son (me) is her primary caretaker-sounds easy enough but the simplest things can be complicated in her present condition. I took great pains to be as specific as possible and prep her on exactly what to ask. To be fair, I was springing all of this on her just an hour before the appointment but I thought better last minute than days earlier when she might forget or get confused.

As expected, she had a ton of questions, and they just kept coming-from the obvious to the inane, I felt like I was being ravaged by a swarm of bees. Patiently (without scratching myself) I tried my best to answer all of them knowing that the more she asked and the more she knew, the more likely it was that she’d get confused. But, all I could do was hope for the best and remember what I’d learned in AA, “take the action and let go of the result”.

As I stood getting ready to leave she looked up at me from the sofa, looking like a little girl lost and said, “I don’t know why but I’m nervous all of sudden.”

I suddenly wondered if I’d put too much pressure on her by asking her to talk to the doctor, or if she felt nervous that she’s say too much or get it wrong. I told her that she didn’t have to worry about talking to the doctor about the form, she could just stick to her list of questions and I would take care of it if that made her feel more comfortable. I started for the door but couldn’t shake the vulnerable look on her face from my mind so I went back to her, gave her a hug and said that I hoped that would help ease her nerves. She smiled back at me and then we were off.

We waited for the doctor in the tiny exam room after the nurse went over Miss Cathy’s vital signs. Dr Granite came in soon after and they fell into their years old pattern of small talk; catching up on each other’s lives with a few laughs and jokes before settling into the business at hand.

When the doctor asked her if she had any questions she made a big production of bringing her crinkled piece of notebook paper out of her handbag and all kibitzing aside she became very business-like and serious as she went down her list asking about her arthritis, the nausea she had a few weeks ago and a “popping’ she felt in her knee. Satisfied with the answers (and most of all his reassurance that everything was fine) I could see her fidgeting a little, winding herself up for the “big” question.

After “hemming” and “haw-ing” a little she said, “Doctor, I want to ask you one more thing..” She started to stammer about “putting her affairs in order” and “a piece of paper the lawyer says she needs” and “wanting her children to be able to do as she instructed” (jeez, it was painful to listen to her but I let her finish because I was the one that asked her to speak to the doctor. And, as wrong as she got it and as exasperated as I was, I couldn’t help but be proud of her for trying).

I could see the doctor trying his best to understand her, his eyes trying to follow her train of thought, like watching a drunk trying to walk a straight line during a sobriety test and all you saw was them weave from point A to point B, still you hoped they’d get to the end somehow. He listened (patient man that he is) and then, seeing an opportunity when she paused (just for a second) he jumped in to venture a guess and said, “You’re talking about a form that states your wishes?” and she said, “Yes, that’s it!”

“You’re talking about a ‘living will”.(No, actually that’s not what she was talking about)

They smiled at each other, very satisfied with themselves that they’d figured out the riddle. He assured her that she didn’t need him to fill out that “form” and any lawyer could supply that document for her. She seemed a little confused but determined because knew she hadn’t succeeded in getting what I’d asked so she tried again to ask for his help but this time I jumped in before she lost him completely (and I had to listen to her struggle to get it right).

I told Dr Granite that we already had an Advanced Medical Directive in place and that’s not what we needed. I said that we (she) were working with a lawyer and putting together her Personal Care Plan and we might need his help filling out a form so that she can get a “Child caregiver exception” to help expedite the rules that Medicaid have set up to be accepted for long term care. He took a moment to digest the information then said, “sure, just bring me the form and I’d be happy to help.”

There was sign on the wall of his office (one that I’d never noticed before) that Miss Cathy had seen when we first walked in that stated that forms and other documents were to be filled out at the doctors discretion and will be billed separately from the patient’s insurance. I told her not to mention the sign but of course she did, she couldn’t help herself.

He shrugged and seemed to dismiss it saying that it’d been there for years (so I took this as a “sign” not to worry about it). Not satisfied (after the doctor had just agreed to help us and had all but told us to not worry about the sign) Miss Cathy just would stop talking about the sign and let the subject drop. Once again, as soon as I found an opening to cut her off (not in a mean or rude way-I just waited for her to take a breath, regardless of whether she had finished her thought or ended her sentence) I reminded her that it was the doctors’ office, hence his rules and to let him finish talking. She acquiesced and he continued, he told us that lately a lot of his patients had been turned down for long term care for one reason or another and that concerned him, but not to worry, he was willing to help in any way that he could.

Miss Cathy thanked him and before she got up go to another room to have some blood drawn as she has had done hundreds of times before she said, “I don’t know why but I’m nervous all of sudden.” And like Blanche Dubois in “A Streetcar named Desire” she innocently took the doctors hand as helped her up out of her seat to prepare for the short walk down a familiar hall.

Reaching out

Posted in June by

I was talking to my good friend Stefano the other day, telling him that I’d been reaching out to people on Facebook more and that I had “friend-ed” someone I knew through him. He told me that he had just told this same friend about my blog because his friend was going through a similar situation with his mother and suggested that we talk to one another.

I had no idea of his situation when I “friend-ed” him, only remembering that he’s an interesting person that I met in New York but was living in Europe that I hadn’t been in touch with for awhile. Well, I don’t believe in coincidences and wasn’t surprised when Lester, the friend and I were on the phone soon after talking about Alzheimer’s.

He told me that a little over a week ago he had flown to New York to visit his mom in Queens after being in Los Angeles for work. He said that he was surprised by how different his mom was, that he knew something was wrong with her and that something had to be done immediately to get her help. I listened to his story, verbally nodding in agreement and acknowledgement that I knew exactly what he was talking about as he related stories of her erratic behavior.

His situation is different from mine (of course, no two experiences with dementia are exactly alike). For one his father is still alive, but elderly himself so isn’t able to cope (mine is dead) and Lester’s brother lives on the West coast (and mine is only an hour away in Virginia) so he’s more or less doing all of this by himself but the end result is the same-he’s the adult child of a parent that now needs his help to guide her through the end of life as she guided him at the beginning.

I listened as he told about her conspiracy theories, paranoia, forgetfulness, confusion and his very real fear that she was going to get in a car accident because she was still driving herself to school where she still teaches. He said that she was very clever about how she covered up her shortcomings and had developed shrewd methods to compensate for her mental deterioration.

I could hear in his voice how tired and sad he was and there was a moment as we talked when I could hear the realization hit that his mother as he knew her may be gone forever.
I told him to think of her in a different light, to (take some time and) mourn the loss of the mother he knew but to remembered to hold onto the love (which is still there and always will be) and to focus on developing a new relationship and new bonds with her, as she will be ever changing because of the disease.

From all that he told me and all that he’d learned (and learned to do) in just a week’s time I told him that he’d done a remarkable job considering. I shared bits of my experience where it made sense but tried to be sensitive and remind myself that this wasn’t about me and my experience-this was about listening and hopefully helping someone who was just joining the “brotherhood”.

As we talked I made a few suggestions; I learned in AA years ago never to “tell” someone what to do, the normal reaction from most adults (and kids, too) is to put up a wall and become defensive when being “told” what to do so whatever you’re saying never gets a chance to be absorbed, processed or possibly acted upon.

So I “suggested” that he not argue with his mom and that right now “being 100% honest with her” (which was the basis of the relationship that he had with her before all this happened) wasn’t as important as getting her to the lab for an MRI and an appointment with a neurologist for a complete evaluation to determine what her condition is and at what stage. I told him that I’m very much of the “ends justifies the means” school and to lie to her if he had to achieve his goal which is to help her.

I told him about Alzheimers.org (an organization he said he didn’t know existed) and how helpful they’d been for me with everything from resources to support groups. I told him about the legal ramifications of what he was about to undertake and what he might need; power of attorney, medical directives, estate planning, etc as well as thinking about long term care facilities and how to plan for that. I could imagine that his head was about to explode form so much information coming at him all at once. He said that it was more than he had anticipated but that he was grateful.

The best piece of advice I gave him was one that was given to me early on by several people-that as a “caregiver” to make sure that he takes to take care of himself.

I didn’t really know what that meant in the beginning, so focused was I on my mom and her welfare that I wasn’t really doing the best job of taking care of myself, so I don’t think I was best prepared for the “marathon” that this process of care is instead of the ‘sprint” that I was my initial approach.

Truth be told, l think that I’m “just’ beginning to take care of myself (a year into this process) which definitely impacts how I can care for my mom. But, it takes what it takes and as Maya Angelou says, “When you know better, you do better”.

I told Lester that he wasn’t alone and that he could add me to list of people to call for support or if he ever just wanted to vent and have someone to listen (and not give advice, judgment or an opinion) I was here for him.

I got off the phone realizing that in talking to someone who was new to all this that I knew more than I thought I did. I was sorry for his situation but happy (for lack of a better word) that I could reach out and give what so many have given to me by way of support, empathy and information.

Happy Father’s Day

Posted in June by

“You know, you repeat yourself a lot.” I said, in a matter of fact voice (at least I hope it sounded non-judgmental or bitchy). Miss Cathy had just finished telling me something that she’d told me several times already; in fact I’d already heard the “exact” same story twice that day. I just thought she should know-thinking maybe it was something she didn’t realize she was doing.

“Oh really?” she said, seemingly unfazed. “Did I tell you that I called Adele to wish her a Happy Birthday?”

“No, you didn’t tell me that.” I answered.

“Well good, I’ll try not to repeat that one.” She said and we both laughed.

Cute, right…well, I thought so, and that was pretty much the way it’s been between us since I got back from my little “holiday” last weekend visiting my brother, Tony and his family. I was just gone one night but it gave both of us some time apart to re-charge. While I was away I checked in on Miss Cathy everyday and she was seemed to be having a great time.

I was feeling so “great” about everything that I spontaneously asked Miss Cathy if she wanted to go to the arts and crafts store yesterday to buy some artificial flowers for a vase that Ron (one of her many other “sons”) had given her for Mother’s Day. She’d been talking (a lot) about wanting me to select flowers for the vase because she liked the way I decorated the apartment and “put things together”. Since it was Father’s Day I thought there was a bit of symmetry to the outing and was happy that she accepted the invitation.

She seemed happy enough to be going out, we hadn’t been out together for anything other than doctor‘s appointments so it was nice to be doing something purely social. Since the arts and crafts store has a reputation for discounting things I was hoping to combine two of my favorite hobbies-shopping and bargain hunting.

No sooner had we left the complex and I turned the car in a direction she wasn’t expecting when she said, “Why are you going this way?”

“I’m going to the Beltway” I said.

“The Beltway?!” she exclaimed as if I’d suggested we walk. “Why are you going on the Beltway? All you have to do is get on 193 and take it all the way down. You’re going the long way there but it’s your gas.”

“Well, the Beltway is the way that I know so that’s what I’m going to do.” I said, not quite regretting my suggestion of the outing but getting a feeling I might. The last time she had me deviate from my mapquest printout we were leaving the “Grand opening” of a supermarket (at 7 am on a Wednesday no less), forty minutes into the turn she insisted I make she confessed that she didn’t know where we were going so a fifteen minute drive home took us an hour and a half because I listened to her. I made a vow to myself not to do that again and I was going to keep it.

The drive was quiet, more from the classical station being on and the windows rolled down so that we could take advantage of the cool late morning breeze than anything else (or so I thought).

I did miss one turn but it only added a few blocks to our final destination. For some reason, having Miss Cathy in the car makes me nervous, it might have something to do with the fact that she sits in the car with a death grip on the door handle and her head is constantly whipping looking for an oncoming collision. We’d already had it out about her ‘back seat driving’ so she sat silently (for the most part) but her body language was screaming directions, corrections and suggestions all the way from point A to point B.

Parked and ready to have at the clearance table I spied sitting in the front of the store I was hurriedly putting the handicapped tag over the rearview mirror when I heard, “when we go back just turn right at the light and go all the way down, I’m not going back on the Beltway.” “Makes no sense driving so fast, with all those cars.”

“Where’s that coming from?” I thought to myself but I said, “Well, I’m not going back that way, sorry.”

“See, that’s your problem, you don’t listen.” She said after she finally managed to lift herself out of the car and was toddling toward the entrance. “You just don’t listen,” she repeated,” you have to do everything your way.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I said to her back,” Jeez, I though I was doing something nice by bringing you out here.”

“I know you’re sick of me, “she shouted, startlingly me by this response, “I know you think I’m a nuisance and you don’t want to be bothered with me, I’ve known that for awhile now.” ‘Well, I’ll get my own damn car and you won’t have to worry about taking me anywhere, I’ll take my own damn self.”

“Well, I wasn’t sick of you till you started all of this,” I said retrieving the vase from the backseat” this day sure went to sh*t in a heartbeat”, suddenly tired of it all. Now that I was getting closer to the sale tables I saw that silk tulips were on sale for 60% off (usually an aphrodisiac for me) but they could have been free and I’d still want no part of them-that’s’ how turned off I was at that moment.

I wanted to be anywhere but there so I started to hand the vase to Miss Cathy and said, “Here you go, knock yourself out, I’m going to be in the car.”

She looked at the vase without taking it and said, “take me back home.”

Since things had been going so well and we’d been getting along so well I was surprised (to say the least) by her outburst. I’m sure it was a combination of her condition, what she perceived as my “speeding” and her inability to control the situation (which makes her anxious and irritable). Still, knowing all of that and remembering not to take her rants personally, I gotta say, it still hurt my feelings.

“Fine by me.” I thought, throwing the vase and what was left of my good mood back into the car.

Happy Father’s Day!

Folding chairs

Posted in June by

Last Friday morning I walked into the kitchen for my usual coffee before my brother and I were headed out for an appointment with a lawyer to go over Miss Cathy’s estate. Tony had come over the night before after work to surprise mom with the visit. I knew she was very happy to have “her boys” all to herself and would be in the kitchen whipping up a fattening, artery clogging breakfast as only a mother could.

So, I wasn’t surprised when I saw Miss Cathy standing over the sink but something wasn’t quite right. It only took me a second to know by her less than usual “peppy” response to my salutation and the way she was slumped over that something was wrong. I went over to her, looked at her face and saw that she looked confused and disoriented.

Perspiring heavily, it looked like she was gripping the counter for dear life so I told her I was going to put the folding chair behind her so that she could sit down. I didn’t know what was going on with her but I knew that it was imperative to sit her down before she fell down. She wasn’t very communicative and her movements were very slow, as if she were trying to show me that she understood what I was saying but her body just wasn’t responding the way she wanted.

She didn’t seem able to move much at all; she just seemed to hang on. Seeing that she wasn’t making much progress on her own I held under her armpits and helped guide her down to the chair as gently as possible, talking to her the entire time, telling her what I was doing and how far she had to go before she was seated, reminding her not to “plop” down in the chair which is her habit.

Once she was seated I was able to look at her more closely and ask her a few questions to determine whether she might have been having a heart attack or stroke. It didn’t appear that she was so I got her a glass of water and wiped her brow and neck. Once I got her to sit down she couldn’t seem to calm down, she squirmed with what little strength she had until finally I was able to quiet her. She then told me that she thought she as going to throw up.

I reached for the nearest thing I could (which was an empty planter) and gave that to her while I went to her bedroom where she told me she had a supply of bags for vomiting. When I got back she had not thrown up yet but she’d dropped the planter, unable to control her fingers. She retched more than she threw up but there was some fluid and it seemed to help her to expel it.

I was able to keep her calm enough to sit for a few more minutes before walking her to her bedroom so that she could lie down. In her bedroom I got her to sit quietly as I debated with myself whether or not to call her doctor but in the space of those moments I took deciding she seemed to get better, I could actually see that the confusion was leaving her face and her movements became more fluid.

We took her blood count and it elevated (222 and her blood sugar is usually in the 140 –to 150 range). By the time we made the first “stick” she was talking in her normal voice and insisting that she wanted to go back in the kitchen to make breakfast. We got her cleaned up and I made the decision not to call the doctor but to tell him abut this episode when we see him next (which will be soon). I watched her as she walked (she insisted that she could walk un-aided) back in the kitchen and I sat with her as she prepared breakfast for my brother and me.

I reminded her that if she had been alone this was one of those occasions when she should have pressed her “medical alert” button and she agreed. But watching her “in the moment” it concerns me now that I don’t know that she would have had the presence of mind to do that. I know for a fact that if I hadn’t come into the kitchen she wouldn’t have had the wherewithal to pull over the chair that was less that a foot away for her to sit herself down.

She may have been able to hold onto the counter until whatever it was, low blood sugar, excitement about my brother being here or just a wave of nausea passed, and then do whatever was necessary to keep herself safe but I don’t think that would have been the case. She very well could have fallen and we would (potentially) have a repeat of the episode that started this entire journey in January of last year when she fell on the bathroom floor and wasn’t discovered for three days.

I know that the slightest interruption (good or bad) in her routine can cause a change in how she acts or responds, from something as very subtle as her demeanor changing to something like what happened on Friday. I don’t know if that was the case or not, that’s something I’ll talk to the doctor about.

After all the bickering, boredom and cost to my personal life its moments like last Friday that remind me why I’m here and I’m grateful that I can be. Like my friend William says, who takes care of (not only) his mother but his father as well, “It’s an honor to be able to spend the time with them and to do whatever I can to make there lives more comfortable after all they’ve done for me.”

Give me my flowers as I live so I can smell them

Posted in June by

I took Miss Cathy to another funeral this morning. They seem to be one of the few things she gets dressed and leaves the apartment for these days. Hey, I’m just glad she’s getting out and “getting some air on her” as she used to say to my brother and me when we were little and she wanted us out of the house (and out of her hair).

It’s a fact of life that as you get old-old people around you start to die. Years ago, I remember asking my Pop about death and dying after so many of his friends crossed over. There was a period of time when it seemed that almost every time I called home he (or they) were going to a funeral. At the time this phenomenon was specific to Pop because he was considerably older than mom so they had friends almost a generation apart.

As a former New Yorker, where going to a shrink is as common as getting your bagel with a “smear”, I was prone to “navel gazing “ and introspection after my time on the couch so I asked him how he “felt” about his peer group passing on. He looked at me as if I wasn’t as smart as he’d given me credit for and said, “Well, how do you think I feel?” “ After your last friend dies all you’re doing is waiting for your turn.”

Now I’m wondering if Miss Cathy is thinking the same thing because the mood has been a little funereal around here. It doesn’t help that the sermon she was listening to yesterday on Sunday morning television was all about “Love, peace and passing on”.

She doesn’t get maudlin and she’s not a very sentimental person but every now and then, she gets reflective-especially around occasions like the one today.

So, yesterday, I was surprised when she stopped me as I walked through the living room, past the reverend and his sermon, on my way out to the balcony to enjoy the cool morning air. She said she wanted to tell me that she never forgot a trip I made in my car from Kansas City a few years ago when I drove nonstop and slept in my car for a few hours before getting here as soon as I could.

She said that it touched her heart that I would show my love for family by dropping everything and doing what I did. I told her it meant alot to me to hear her say that. I started to well up watching her get misty-eyed.

“I believe in letting people know what they mean to me while they’re around to hear it”, she said, “some people wait till it’s time to go to a funereal to let what they feel be known.” “I don’t believe in all that, that’s just a “show”.

Then she looked me in the eyes and said, “Give me my flowers as I live so I can smell them.”

Good night moon ( Good morning Miss Cathy)

Posted in May by

I was in my room writing when I heard Miss Cathy moving around in her room and then I heard the sounds of her shower coming on. I looked at the clock and thought it was odd but went on about my business for a while longer. I got up from my desk to go get something to drink and as I passed by her doorway I could see her making up her bed.

“Good morning!” she said full of her usual morning cheer.

”Good evening”, I corrected her thinking she was making a joke. I started to continue on down the hall until I heard her say, “what?” “What time is it?”

“It’s 8 o’clock”, I answered. “ 8 o’clock in the morning right?” she asked looking puzzled.

“No, it’s 8 o’clock at night.” I said chuckling.

“Well, damn Sam, I thought it was time to get up, Oh well” “It’s Sunday-right?”

“No, it’s still Saturday, you’ve been asleep for about five hours, you took a nap.”

“Oh, okay, well, I woke up and I thought it was getting light outside so I just got up and took a shower thinking it was morning.” “ I guess I really f*cked up, didn’t I?”

We both laughed and I said that it was an easy mistake to make. Since it twilight it could have appeared to somebody just waking up that the sun was coming “up” instead of going “down”.

I really didn’t know she’d been in that deep of a sleep (or that she’d slept so long). I had been walking past her room for hours making all sorts of noise so she must have been out like a light (how she got so tired from a day of eating breakfast and lunch and watching TV in the living room is the real mystery to me-but I digress).

For someone who is constantly saying, “I rarely take naps in the afternoon” –guess where you can find Miss Cathy most days by 2 pm-in bed taking a nap. Hey, whatever makes her happy and she does seem happy, so, I say, “nap away”.

And contrary to what she also says about having a problem sleeping during the day (or at night after a hard day napping) she doesn’t ever seem to have any trouble “going under”.

I’m just happy I don’t have to read, “Good night moon”.

Dr NO (show)

Posted in May by

I’m usually loath to speak ill of doctors or Miss Cathy (lately) but recently the two-separately and together have made for a prescription too toxic not to tell.

I’ve gone on and on about Miss Cathy’s visit to the neurologist where (in her mind) he set her free, like Lincoln with the slaves. No, this isn’t about “that” but it did (start) during that infamous visit.

One of the things she had scribbled down on her neatly folded piece paper of “things she wanted to discuss” with the doctor was having help getting her Aricept through mail order. She said that Blue Cross/Blue Shield had quoted her a price of $30.00 for a 90-day supply in lieu of the $86.00 she just started paying (for the same quantity) of the generic because until recently Aricept was not available in a cheaper generic form because of it’s exclusivity on the marketplace (making it was more than $280.00 for a 90 day supply).

Ah yes, the real “pill” here is the Pharmaceutical companies in my book. HIV/Aids and the elderly are there cash cows these days. I have friends with HIV /Aids and their medications can start at $6,000.00 a year (even if one has insurance) and most people have to take more than one pill so you can imagine the astronomical yearly costs!

The same is true with the elderly, patients with Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s can spend hundreds of dollars a years for their degenerative disease medications alone, not to mention the other medications that accompany old age; high blood pressure, diabetes, high cholesterol, insomnia, depression…..the list goes on.

Anyway, her neurologist happily agreed to “take care” of changing the prescription to come through the cheaper mail order form-that was on March 27th. By early April she hadn’t received anything through the mail so I started calling the doctor’s office to see what was going on. I was told it would be “taken care of” (and at that time I had no reason to doubt the veracity of that statement) so we waited patiently.

We waited and waited until her daily supply of Donepezil HCL (generic Aricept) was dangerously low so I called the office (again) to check on the status of the medication and I also asked to be given some samples of Aricept to “tide” Miss Cathy over until the meds arrived in the mail.

Later that day while I was at the office picking up the samples the doctor was “in” so I got a chance to talk to him and remind him of how long this has been going on. I made a point of telling him that the delay was making Miss Cathy very agitated (and he’s the one who said that wasn’t good for her).

He listened patiently and told me that he would take care of “mom” (which I guess may be a custom from his country as a way of addressing the elderly or it’s just a “catch all” way of talking to and about elderly black ladies who’s names he can’t be bothered to remember). I didn’t like his dismissive approach-I didn’t see him write anything down or ask me for any pertinent information but, I left with a fist full of samples and his assurance not to worry.

Which I didn’t, I didn’t worry a week later when I’d check the mail and “no pills”, or the week after that. I didn’t worry-I got pissed off, I was pissed off that I had to start calling his office “again”. On May 13th I called to see what the hold up was and left message after message with Lydia, the receptionist (and gatekeeper) who said she would ask the doctor what was going on and call me back-she never did.

So, I called “her back” on the May 17th and was told that the doctor “phoned in” the prescription to CVS Pharmacy on April 15th and it’s been sitting there waiting for me to pick it up. I told her that was not what the doctor had agreed to do and that I wanted to speak to him, she said, “he’s busy now with patients and will have to call you back when he has some time.”

Again, I left a message for him to call me back that day-he never did.

A couple days later after I got home from a cater/waiter job I did see two missed calls from the doctor’s office so I called the next day. Lydia proudly and accusingly told me that, “the doctor tried to call you” to which I replied, “Yes, I see that, but when he called “I” wasn’t available, he’s not the only one who’s busy.”

I asked Lydia to call CVS to verify that a prescription exists for Miss Cathy because I told her that I never got a call to pick up the meds (which is there standard method of operation). “Why do I have to do that? I’m not going to do that”, she said.

“Well”, I said as calmly as I could, “because it’s your job, and not mine, and quite frankly I have spent more than enough time with you on the telephone trying to get what my mother should have had months ago.” (What I wanted to say was “B*tch, I’m not here to do your job!”).

She put me on hold, after a moment I was talking to Danielle (not the doctor) another receptionist. At least Danielle was co-operative (even if she did talk to me like I was a mental patient-apparently “Danielle” must be the re-enforcements they bring in when Lydia’s had enough)-whatever!

At least Danielle called CVS then me to say that the prescription was $86.00 for the generic and it was not at our local pharmacy but at a CVS that was 10 miles away which was probably the reason I was never called but who knows).

I asked her to have the prescription moved to our local pharmacy and left another message for the doctor to call me. So, almost two months after the initial request to have the medication sent through mail order, it hadn’t happened and I had no explanation from the doctor as to why.

I picked up the meds from CVS and explained all of this to Miss Cathy a few days ago. At first she was a little aggravated (a lot actually) so we talked about it and we agreed that the doctor had messed up and never did what she asked. She even offered to call Blue Cross/Blue Shield again to verify that the medication is available through mail order (and I thought this was a great idea, she was more than capable of handling this matter and it would give her a “project” to do).

I know that I should have been the one to follow up with the insurance company and doctor (after all, that is what I’m here for) but frankly I was burned out and couldn’t handle another conversation about Aricept-generic, mail order, or pharmacy pick up. Later that night Miss Cathy and I talked about it again (by this time she was pretty worked up about the confusion and the cost).

I couldn’t blame her really, but I didn’t want her to be as upset as she was about the situation (especially at bedtime) so my focus was to calm her down (which then gets me worked up). I told her it was okay to be upset and to wait until the morning when she could make phone calls, that way she could channel her energy where it would some good.

By the time I “put her down” she’d calmed her down enough for sleep. The next morning she called me in to talk and I thought she was going to tell me her paln of ‘action” ask me for the doctor’s phone number again so she could call his office (the night before she said she wanted to call to give them “a piece of her mind”) instead she told me that she’d been thinking and although she appreciated all that I’d done for her she’d come to the conclusion that the doctor did “what she asked him to do” and she would wait until her current supply of Donepezil HCL was gone to call the insurance company herself to get the meds through mail order-“WTF”!

I started to say that the doctor didn’t do what she asked him to do as evidenced by the fact that she didn’t have the $30.00-90 day supply but the $86.00 bottle of generic pills that she already had in place “before” she ever talked to the doctor.

I almost said that but I didn’t, what I did say was, “I just can’t talk about this anymore, if you’re happy with the way things turned out then that’s all that matters to me.”

The doctor is still a “no-show” by phone but at this point it doesn’t matter, Miss Cathy “seems” to be at peace and I just have to make my “peace” with the fact that I’ll never get back all that time that I spent on the telephone.