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.

My Future

Billie Jean Dancing Senior Citizens:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIsLsDXXJUE&feature=related

Random tidbits . . .

My father, now traveling in cars as a passenger, vehemently argues with the GPS voice when it gives directions. He thinks it's my mother trying to tell him when to turn, and "dammit, that's not the best way to get there!"

My mother has to get unpleasant catheters inserted due to chronic infections, and the nurses don't always aim so well. She is using a Sharpie marker on her privates to draw an arrow with the suggested path.

No more talk of moving out of the house. At least in Mom's case, she is probably no longer eligible for an independent living situation and would have to go straight to assisted living. The wait continues for the inevitable crisis and I jump when the phone rings late at night.