Strange Car Karma

After driving 20 hours, I reached Seattle, briefly collapsed, did the laundry, flew back to Oakland for a memorial service, returned home and wanted to crawl under a rock. Instead I took care of my car, which needed new tires, an alignment and a headlamp bulb. $800 later, I had a perfect vehicle – for 5 minutes. Something looked odd. I realized with horror that the front end was dented, the hood didn’t close and the bumper was askew. How and where did this happen, was my state of mind so fuzzy that I hit my car on the Interstate and didn’t remember it? I narrowed it down to the most recent repair, stormed into Les Schwab Tires and tried not to appear insane.

Much to my amazement, the store had security camera footage showing my pristine car, until it went into the parking lot while I was paying my bill. And there, captured in crystal clear video, was a white pickup truck backing into my car, then taking off with a macho squeal. The managers whooped in delight. It was like a CSI scene, we should have had popcorn. The asshole who did the hit and run was busted: I had his name, license plate, and service records (no HIPAA privacy concerns in the auto repair world). He was driving a company truck, rushed in for a flat tire fix, and then ruined my day. His employer contacted me immediately, took all responsibility and is paying the $3800 bill. Yes, that’s what it costs to mess up a Subaru.

Tony’s Auto Body shop down the street is now doing “teardown,” a terrible yet descriptive term. They’re also fixing a big dent that has nothing to do with this episode - as long as the car is being ripped up, why not (I’m paying for the extra labor). I’m driving a rental SUV; Enterprise made sure my kayak and bike would fit inside. I spent yesterday and today sitting through an AARP-sponsored defensive driving course to lower my insurance premium. It was very ironic. I perked up during the part about deteriorating reflexes as we age and parking technique.

I’m going to take the SUV to a remote beach for my birthday this weekend, sleep in a tent, and enjoy my solitude.

Day of the Duck

It’s been a fun week as Julie, who I’ve known since kindergarten, came to visit me and Sid. She stayed on the certified wildlife farm, sleeping in a pink bunk bed normally used by a 9 year old girl. We had lots of sleepovers when we were that age, so it seemed perfectly natural. As soon as she arrived, we got locked out of the house and she had to crawl through the kitchen window after I used a crowbar to remove the screen. She pointed out that my mother was probably saying hello from the great beyond, messing with my keys again. I mentioned this possibility to my father - he smiled with recognition and agreed it was indeed Mom having some fun with us, just like the old days. Julie was quite helpful; we worked as a team to wrestle the stressed out duck into submission. (Chickens are stupid. I can bribe them with bagels to return to their coop. That duck is a whole other creature – way smarter than me, very humbling.)

Based on things that can’t be rationally explained, Julie suggested that we both get psychic readings at the local County Fair. I went along with the idea mostly to discount it. Ladies in flowing robes with credit card machines on their laps read the energy from our palms. Julie enjoyed her analysis. Here’s the Cliff Notes version of mine: I’m on a journey (duh, I’m always in transit – literally). Helping others is important to me (good guess). I will have 2 income streams in the future to support myself (sounds good, will one be this blog when published?) Someone hurt my heart (isn’t that why there are so many country ballads?) and a man I loved recently deserted me (true, he died). I’ve mostly recovered from bad romance, but I’m protecting myself from disappointment by avoiding dating (based on my match.com and ok cupid experiences, I should run screaming). However, in 5 years I will have a companion, not one I would have expected, and I may have to relocate to find him (now I’m getting interested, is he in Australia waiting for me?) I am on the right track to happiness; I’m by myself but not alone.

Meanwhile, the only men flirting with me are over the age of 80, that’s okay. Dad is my favorite boyfriend right now. He’s not happy that I’m leaving town after a month of spoiling him. In the last 5 weeks he’s gone through a bad fall, a hospital stay, skilled nursing, rehab, a cancer scare and an upset tummy due to eating too many pickles. He’s one resilient guy. Imagine what the psychic reader would say about his future!

The Menagerie

In my quest for affordable lodging near Dad’s retirement village, I have an arrangement with a lovely couple who run a pesticide-free farm (they also teach surfing). They went to Mexico to chase the perfect wave and I’m now on rent-free duty for 8 days, watching the house and pet-sitting the following: 7 chickens, 2 chihuahuas, 2 rabbits, 2 guinea pigs, 1 cockatiel, 1 chinchilla and a duck. Kind of like an organic Noah’s Ark. My tutorial had extensive instructions:

• Let the chickens out daily to wander the yard, eat bugs, and then corral them into their coop by sunset. If they resist, yell at them in German – “achtung!” (attention!), “runta!” (come down from the tree!) Do not disturb the mother hens who are sitting on their newborns, give them extra protein snacks. Toss all fruit and uneaten food into the coop along with organic chicken pellets.
• Guide the duck with a broom and refresh all the water he ruins when tracking in mud (very messy duck).
• Wash the dogs in the bathroom sink with Dr. Bronner’s peppermint soap to kill fleas. They enjoy it.
• Make sure the boy rabbit and girl rabbit don’t mix (for obvious reasons). Give them fresh bale straw if they look bored.
• Feed grass to the guinea pigs for extra Vitamin C, and filtered water to the bird.
• I can eat and drink whatever I like, but if I leave it out on the table, it will disappear within seconds.

Taking care of my father suddenly seems really easy.

Big Daughter is Watching You

My father is back in his apartment and making progress, there’s a few humbling changes to his routine. No more late night showers when no one can hear him scream. He brags about how he’s gone high tech with a computer glued to his wrist. Dad will comply with just about every suggestion as long as pizza is supplied. He’s enjoying the attention of pretty girls who are helping him regain his independence. He became disillusioned when I explained that Medicare doesn’t cover aides to scrub his back or put lotion on his feet. “You told me that insurance pays for everything,” he lamented. Well, almost.

This morning we drove through a rainstorm (rare in this beach town) for various appointments. Due to lack of sunshine, I decided to hang out in the facility’s courtyard to catch up on local gossip. To my surprise, ladies came over to say "oh good you're here, if you're not I get worried." It was like having a dozen Jewish mothers in absentia. Meanwhile 99-year old Ida volleys with "you? You're still here? Don't you have a home?"

Tonight’s meal in the main dining room was delayed due to the Board of Trustees meeting in the lobby next door. Food delivery was ignored while the Board members feasted on wine, stuffed mushrooms and chopped liver. Things got ugly. Seniors started yelling and clanking their empty plates just like prison inmates. I joined the Board meeting, chatted with the CEO, and brought back appetizers to Dad’s table, plus 2 glasses of wine for me. This violated many rules, including kosher safeguards, and gained me a round of applause from everyone. The bartender gave me a nice bottle of Chardonnay to sneak into Dad’s walker basket.

I'm not a saint, I have periods of resentment. However being here is time well spent and an amazing learning experience. Interactions with my father eerily parallel my patient advocacy schoolwork and provide lots of material; it's easy to get As on essays.

The best incident of the day: Dad happily commenting to his buddies “I have so much to write about in the next chapter of my autobiography!” I had the same idea.

Life in Rehab

"Tried to make me go to rehab but I said, 'No, no, no . . .” My father has been recovering in the skilled nursing unit at his retirement village for 2 weeks, with 1 more week to go before being released back to his apartment. He is dealing with everything gracefully, and I’m spoiling him to soften the blow. I spend many hours distracting him. I smuggle in food every day to bribe the nursing staff and to keep Dad’s spirits up: donuts, bagels, a meatball sub. I’m holding back on the sugary treats because his doctor lectured us to focus on protein. Dad uses my laptop to watch Mel Brooks and Monty Python movies. I took it back to write this post and noticed the keyboard was full of greasy crumbs.

I’m getting lots of feedback, mostly that I’m an amazing daughter when so many other kids never show up, which makes me sad. Sometimes the comments catch me off guard. Norm, my father’s neighbor, who is dying from COPD and dementia, told me “you look sexy, can I grab a feel?” I declined his kind offer. I saw him later that day and he said: “You look tired.” I explained that I excelled at being both sexy and tired. He said he could relate. I held his hand.

Yesterday was Staff Safari Day – the dress theme was jungle shirts and helmets. One hard-of-hearing lady misunderstood and thought it was Sephardic Day. That actually makes a lot more sense for a Jewish facility.

I’m consulting with the management team to upgrade the safety pendant system. I showed some of the residents Dad’s new watch to prevent falls, and asked them “would you wear it?” They argued about its merits. The director of the independent unit told me afterwards: “When I fall, I won’t press any button. I don’t want to be old and broken. I would just let myself go.” I understand.

Sid is progressing; he gets constant physical and occupational therapy. Using a walker, he travels to his apartment each day to visit his comfortable recliner. We’ve rearranged the bathroom to be safer, incorporating his suggestions. Adjusting the height of the shower bench was no easy task; Mom used it for a decade and the legs were rusted into place. I realized that Dad’s toolbox, brought over from his old house and stashed away in the ancient file cabinet, would finally come in handy. I found the WD-40 oil and a ball peen hammer, and whacked away at the bench. Dad was impressed that I was so handy. The supervising therapist was slightly scared, asking me “what exactly do you do?” I smiled and responded “whatever is necessary.”

A Horrible Week

This post is one of my intense ones. You can skip ahead for the cute anecdotes if you like.

Dad slipped in the bathroom 5 days ago and lay bleeding and injured on the floor for 14 hours. He couldn’t reach the call button and he had removed his safety pendant to take a shower. He wasn’t able to answer his phone or door; eventually the housekeeper heard him yelling and he was rescued. He is physically damaged but mentally alert, and will hopefully respond to intense therapy. The rehab unit is located next door to his regular building - there was one bed available which was held for him.

Moments that will stick with me for a long time:

• The treating physician at Scripps Hospital ER calling to ask if he could text me photos of Dad’s battered face to consult to make sure the swelling was related to skin cancer treatment and not the fall – versus Dad’s regular specialist laughing when I tried to send him a picture, saying “I don’t do tele-dermatology, honey.”

• Dad’s friend Shirley taking me into a hallway to press ziplock baggies and rubber bands into my hands, her caring effort to keep my father safe in the shower.

• Rushing into Dad’s room with a box full of Costco hot dogs and sauerkraut to find 3 nutritionists discussing his dietary preferences and their recommendations for a healthier lifestyle – oops.

• Dad somehow broke the audio on 2 TVs – one in his hospital room, one in rehab. I believe it was Mom showing up to get a word in.

• The occupational therapist asking Dad to take off his shirt and he responded “what for? I barely know you!”

• Dad introducing himself at the dining room table to 4 semi-functional ladies with “Hi I’m Sidney and I’ve been a damn fool” (they ignored him).

• 99-year old Ida’s withering look when I asked if she was able to hike over to the rehab unit with me to visit Sid (she walks faster than me).

• Ida telling me how she was mad at Sid for being a sloppy eater, he embarrasses her at special events because he doesn’t tuck in his shirt. I informed her that since one of my best friends just died from an exploding heart, and my brilliant, kind and somewhat messy father almost died a week later, I really didn’t give a crap about etiquette. She then shut up and apologized.

• The physical therapist on his medical team who recognized me and said “hey aren’t you the one who taught us how to dance Thriller?” (karma paying forward).

• The nurse who stopped me in the parking lot to tell me that the list of medications I provided was incredibly helpful because it not only listed Dad’s drugs, but WHEN he took them throughout the day. It allows the staff to better calibrate his meds. Dad prepared the list on his computer 2 years ago; I found and updated it. We both get bonus points for good planning.

Please prepare the following, if not for yourself, then for the people who will be taking care of you:

• Living Will and Advance Directive. Google the free templates and just do it, look at http://www.agingwithdignity.org/
• Healthcare Proxy. Who will make medical decisions if you can’t talk?
• Have your current insurance card on file. Bills going to the wrong place are a nightmare to fix.

Emergency responders had to access all of these documents within 5 minutes for my father’s treatment. Some of the documents kept by his facility were out of date. I had everything ready in a binder that I carefully prepared – and the binder was in Seattle, with me. Luckily I showed up on the scene pretty fast. Fortunately the EMTs and doctors made smart assumptions and everything went smoothly.

Dad is getting excellent health care, I am impressed and grateful. I’m now in Seattle and will be driving back to San Diego in a few days; I’ll be there for a month. This trip was already planned; however it now takes on enhanced importance. Sid has a new state-of-the-art waterproof watch that will function as an emergency alert system linked to activity sensors, tell the time, track medication and even track his steps (no, it’s not a groovy Apple watch, it’s a Lively Smartwatch: http://www.mylively.com/). And he has promised to actually wear it.

Finance Lesson

We all know that pets are family members. However when their health histories are identical to our own, it gives pause – or paws – for thought. Randy, my geriatric orange tabby, has the following issues: allergies, heart murmur, gulping of food, decaying teeth, urinary blockages, weak ankles, arthritis, and resistance to change. These happen to be the same maladies that my father have, with the addition of diabetes and the subtraction of vomiting grass and peeing on the bed when anxious (I hope, I don’t really know). Now let’s do the comparative math for their medical care* over the last month:

* Randy: routine exam, lab work, drugs = $255 total, paid with my AmEx card.
* Dad: routine exam ($250), lab work ($720), drugs ($350) = $1320, mostly paid by Medicare.

Who do you think gets better overall quality of care? Do you think my father would mind if I took him to the local vet at our next visit?

In the meantime, I’m starting to show my own signs of mid-life deterioration and I mostly ignore it. My health insurance has a whopping deductible, and I prefer to be in active denial. Just like a cat.