Freezer Burn

During my recent visit, my father bragged about the kitchen appliances holding up after 26 years – “perfectly good shape, even though not very efficient” – and would not need replacing until after his death. Judging by the amount of meat carefully wrapped, hermetically sealed and labeled in their freezer (see picture), there is no need to shop for a decade. Well guess what. The refrigerator/freezer died last week. And he didn’t. In a burst of energy, Dad went door to door dividing up his stash with the neighbors for safekeeping. Then he convinced someone to take him to the nearest store to buy a new one – no comparison shopping, no coupons, no discussion with my mother. He found the dinged, dented, lowest cost model, had it delivered the next day and the old one hauled off.

My mother only realized something was amiss when she noticed how clean the refrigerator was and that it seemed organized. She also noticed it was white – the old one was beige – since my Dad is color blind, it never occurred to him that color would matter. Well, hey, it does match the tiled counter, which in theory is white but no one knows for sure because of all the debris piled on top.

I wonder if all those crusty packets of ketchup and mustard made it to the new vegetable bin. I’m guessing that they survived and will be there at my next visit. I’ll be sure to check.

Shopping for Necessities

My saintly errands today included taking my mother for a hair (and eyebrow) trim. I hauled my father to the DMV where he turned in his drivers license to get a senior ID instead (the final act of the automobile saga and my guilty but necessary role to remove him from the roads). I kept his license as a memento. He told the clerk that I was a good driver and he taught me how to be careful – OMG, probably not the time to mention I recently smashed up my front bumper, eh? Hey, I hear you all laughing, stop that. Then we went to the tool discount warehouse in the ghetto of El Cajon -- I understood that he needed to wander the aisles of manhood.

Dad found cheap amplifiers to wear in his decaying ears since he refuses to spend money on a hearing aid. My mother couldn’t navigate the steps so she went next door to the military surplus store, where she inspected the ammo and tried on hats to replace the ones I threw out on my last visit. I took her back to the car before she tried to bargain for used uniforms, and she proudly showed me her turquoise socks that had the initials of KV on the cuffs. I recognized those socks – they were mine, from 8th grade.

Tomorrow I will be transporting them to their doctor, who will tell me that they are obstinate, and I will meet their home health nurse, who will tell me that they are challenging. Then I will somehow find my way to a large margarita before escaping. I will fly back to my beautiful home, where I just learned that my cats peed and pooped all over my guest bed – and possibly mine. Feline acting out behavior for their own parental issues.

Buffet Bonanza

Sooner or later I had to come back to Santee to visit my parents, so I wrapped it into a work trip and came here to observe their latest status. I finally got smart and stayed in a hotel rather than their house. The hotel is the only one in town, next to Honey Donuts and the crack district -- the room is $59/night and worth every penny. It’s blissfully quiet with a fast Internet connection.

We had dinner at Hometown Buffet, a suburban mecca of overcooked and bland food, to belatedly celebrate their 89th birthdays. For the last 15 years my father told people he was about to turn 90. Now it’s true – and he’s changed his line to “I’m about to turn 100.” God forbid. My dietician friend Julie thinks the preservatives my parents are ingesting are keeping them alive beyond their natural expiration dates. Based on the spread I saw tonight, it’s a valid theory.

They had respective birthday 2-for-1 coupons, senior discount coupons, and promo coupons. Some were valid, some expired. My father tried to combine all the coupons for free food along with a dozen takeout cartons. My mother insisted that 3 other people could have been there with us to justify the discounts, but they didn’t show up. And with horror, I realized there is a strong genetic component to my love of a good deal and my negotiation skills.

After the feast (which I barely ate), my father assembled the walker for my mother and carefully pulled it behind him, huffing and puffing. The only problem was that Mom wasn’t attached to it – she was still at the dessert table, stuffing cookies into her purse.

When Blogs Collide (cross-posted)

My 89-year old father figured out how to use LinkedIn – he clicked on a hyperlink and read my profile. He was surprised that I had done so much since college (okay Dad, I’m almost 55 years old, I should have pursued a few things related to work . . .) seriously it was really sweet when he told me he was proud of my career achievements. Some people never get to hear that from their parents. He doesn’t quite get the nuances of how I made a living for the last few decades, nor why I have no pension plan. He is however, very happy that I finally got a job, and that it is with a company he has actually heard of – because they have screwed up his insurance claims. The dots connect.

Of Mice and Men

This afternoon I took my neighbor Laura’s mouse to get euthanized – old, blind, hairless, with a tumor on her butt (the mouse, not Laura). This poor animal refused to die naturally, and was becoming quite pathetic. Since I was bringing in my cats in for their annual exams, I asked my veterinarian if he could serve as Dr. Kevorkian. My vet is a caring, sensitive healthcare professional who has been there for me in good times and bad for the past 15 years. He understood the situation and took care of it at no fee (but charged me $311 for feline vaccinations, stool checks, blood titer and physicals.) The technician gave the mouse something to help her sleep and it was all very humane. Earlier today Laura’s 10-year old daughter Bella bid goodbye in a secret ceremony.

You know where I’m going with this topic. There is something really wrong when sick rodents get better care than elderly parents, and have more choices. I am not suggesting sending off Mom and Dad to an animal clinic – on the other hand, I am wondering if there’s a vet in their town who will step up . . .

I may not be the best daughter, but I am a really wonderful neighbor.

Transcript from Mom’s Call

Phone message, 8 pm

“Hi Karen, this is your mother. Your father showed me the article you sent him about Karin Vogel. I never saw the spelling of your name like that before. Who sent you this article? When I talk to you next time, if I forget, remind me I wanted to ask you what a smart phone is, and I see all these people get online with – I forgot what it’s called again - what do they call those crazy connections on the internet – I know you know you have to use a smart phone. But what is a smart phone? We’re kind of backwards.”

“Today I got a manager from one of the home care agencies. I found that one by dialing a wrong number; I thought I was dialing a retirement home. She said “I don’t have anything to with a retirement home, but I have a home care agency.” She sounded very nice, very informative. Your father didn’t want to see anybody so I never did see her. But I called her and asked her if she would come down and talk to us today. And she did, we gave her no decision, have to play around with it a little bit and see what we can come up with.”

“She would like somebody to come in and help organize the house, and maybe I can get some of those boxes away. I keep tripping over them, I hate looking at all those boxes. He keeps coming in and depositing everything he shops for and leaving it all over the place. Hard to move the walker around, so I wind up not using it, and that’s not a good idea. She thinks we need at least 4 hours several times a week, we don’t think so. I don’t have the time anyhow, between running to the doctor and having a nurse come here every week; they’re still doing that. They changed the nurse because I told the case manager I couldn’t understand the one I had and she was making a lot of mistakes handling the pills. Sidney keeps saying he can do it, but he is not up to doing it yet. His shoulder still bothers him and he’s still taking pain killer, he may need another shot . . .” (message cut off, time limit reached).

Should I laugh? Should I cry? Both? Can someone please call her back so I don’t have to?

Re-entry to Reality

My cell phone just rang with a mystery San Diego area code, and I answered it to find my parents’ neighbor informing me that fire trucks are all over their house and it looks chaotic. My brain goes into “okay, this is the inevitable crisis, I knew this was coming, at least it didn’t happen while I was out of the country.” I profusely thank her, then call my mother to find out that their smoke alarm doesn’t work properly and they’re getting an inspection. She’s fine, he’s fine, and they are still hiding out in suburban hell, refusing care and relocation.
Update: the back story. There was a coupon for a free alarm installation -- but Mom apparently called the wrong number and got emergency response instead. And hey, it was a slow day so the firemen spent a few hours fixing things. They noted their address for future visits -- sensing that in all likelihood they would be returning soon.

Calling in the Troops

My folks have a new doctor and a new insurance company and a new case manager – and in one of life’s strange ironies, I know her. Vivian was part of the client team I worked with as part of my (former) healthcare management job. I managed their account.

I feel like I’ve been screaming “fire” in a crowded theatre and someone finally heard me. She spent 90 minutes talking to my mother. She spent an hour talking with me. She read everything I sent her, and she follows up within minutes. She is badgering the doctor’s office to get referrals processed, she is recommending a home health nurse twice a week, she is sending a social worker once a month, and she is assigning the same driver to transport them to medical appointments for consistency. She is strongly advocating that they reconsider the move to the retirement community. She thinks my mother is smart rather than annoying. My tears are dripping with relief - not that I expect miracles, but at least someone else is monitoring the mess.

I would like to think that this kind of focused attention would have happened anyway, because it’s a good health plan (and I know a lot about health plans). However, I suspect my mother was put on VIP status because of my involvement. As long as she gets intervention, in the end it doesn’t matter.

Kindred Spirit

My neighbor Helen, a crusty genuine character (retired math teacher), recently died and we were all sad. Not too sad, though, to skip the estate sale across the steet with special previews for the locals. Most of us had never been inside her house – and did not realize that she collected just about anything purple -- along with OWLS – thousands of owls. Ceramic, fabric, metal, garden art, wooden, fancy and plain. Her house was truly scary, mostly because of the owls, but also because she had a giant macramé plant hanger JUST LIKE MY PARENTS HAVE. I saw my future – the cataloguing of the junk, the dealers clawing through the occasional good stuff, the haggling over pricing, the vaguely pleasant memories that pop up from finding artifacts from 1967. Helen had the good sense never to have children. The proceeds will go to a noble charity.

When the time comes, I will try to hire a stranger to sell my parents’ treasures, assuming I ever get them to move out of the house. And yes, they have owls too.

Double Coupons

My father asked me to help set up an alias email account for my mother. Purpose: to receive even more online coupons for services they can’t access (they refuse to use credit cards via the internet, and they have no car.) Huh? It’s all about the idea of getting free meals, and maintaining control of their destiny. It took me about 3 hours to figure it out as his account was strangled in layers of electronic senility, plus he couldn’t remember his password. This is not about efficiency. The value of my time is priceless . . . and it will make him very happy. My side theory is that my mother actually wants her own account in case my father loses his marbles, and she made up the whole coupon thing.

Health Care Reform - Not So Much

It's the New Year and my parents have switched to yet another health plan and yet another doctor. This requires transferring all their medical records - a BIG pile of paper. Can it be done electronically? Of course not. Everything has to be mailed or couriered around town. They started the process in early January for their Jan 21 appointment. Many calls were made. And of course, nothing ever showed up; their new doctor was clueless about what mud pile he was about to step into . . . and the letter that I mailed (and faxed) to him never appeared either. My attempts at email communication were met with a response from the office clerk of "doctor does not have email."
I helped my folks pick a doctor with a nice simple Jewish name so my they would feel comfortable -- nothing too ethnic! However, it turns out he was Russian with a thick accent. And per my mother - "way too young." Oy vey.