12 Reasons I am Stressing Out This Week

How much do I stress thee? Let me count the ways….

One: I moved in with my mother last summer to help out. My sister, who lives with mom, was having major health issues herself and needed help. When mom was healthy I would never have moved home. Mom forgets I am 52 years old and have lived on my own for over 30 of those years. Most days she assumes I do not know how to do anything domestic, so she will tell me how to make oatmeal, or do laundry. If I sneeze or cough I am “educated” in what I need to do so I don’t get sick. I have had this “education” every week now since August.

My mother  is terminally ill (emphysema) and has Hospice Home Care. My sis and I have a 24/7 phone# to call if mom needs a doctor or nurse, or we have concerns. An RN visits once or twice a week to check mom’s vital signs and talk with her about pain, depression, whatever is going on with mom.

Two: When a terminally ill patient is put on Home Hospice Care, they remain there until death.  Hospice patients do not “get better”.  That’s what terminally ill means. Am I right?

Nope.

Last month my mother (the terminally ill patient put on Hospice Care), was served a notice stating that her health care provider was terminating her Hospice coverage because Medicare would no longer pay for it.  WHAT???? There had to be some kind of mistake here.

Three: I diligently went through the appeal process on my moms behalf. Several woman hours were (and still are) being spent trying to fix this nightmare. After the first appeal was denied, I was told how to file a second level appeal. So I did this. It also was denied, based on notes taken by the visiting nurses that indicated mom was “stabilized” and did not need any nursing visits.  When I read the notes for myself,  it was painfully obvious – mom had sugar-coated her condition and was not telling the nurse/doctor the whole truth (a.k.a. she lied)  Sigh.

Not one doctor examined my mother just prior to this termination of coverage. No doctor (or any representative) visited her or called the house during the appeal reviews. Obviously nobody takes these appeals seriously enough to actually investigate them. Which explains why you are notified of their final decision within 24 hours.

~~~ By now you must be sorry you wondered about the 12 reasons for my stress. I applaud you for getting this far! ~~~

Four: Now my sis and I are the only nurses mom has. It’s a good thing that mom knows everything there is about medicine and she can tell us what to do. Sorry. Sometimes sarcasm is all a girl has.

Five: So, now what? Well the nurse at mom’s Health Care Providers  tells me that if mom needs to be seen by a doctor she must now go to the clinic. I actually laughed out loud. My mother has not been able to leave the house since 2006, unless by an ambulance. Somehow I don’t think Medicare will cover an ambulance ride for a patient, who, by their way of thinking, should have died six months ago.

Six: Speaking of drugs… Mom is on some heavy-duty stuff that is slowing down her brain function. She hollers for me, then does not remember what she wanted when I get there. I must wait, standing by her bed, until she thinks of it again. Most of the time she thinks of something else to tell me, or for me to do. The original thing has floated off into the void.

Seven: I understand the forgetting. But the false memories really blow my mind. For example mom will insist that she always kept her little black notebook in the drawer under the microwave and we must have moved it, lost it, or thrown it away if it is not there now. My sister has lived in this house with mom for over 3 years now and has never seen a little black notebook in any drawer, cupboard, or on a shelf.  Ever.  I of course believe my sister, who is not ill or taking morphine. Mom will argue belligerently (OK, scream at us) that she knows this is true and why the Hell are we arguing with her? We do a lot of head nodding and “Yes, mom” around here.

Eight: My employer had graciously approved my request to telecommute part-time and use up my sick leave & vacation in order to care for my mom. Now I had to request an extension for another 3 months so I could straighten out mom’s medical care mess. I feel bad about being away for 4.5 months as it is. And all my vacation/sick leave is gone.

Nine: Not only have my co-workers put up with my being missing in action, but they are donating some of their own personal leave to my account. This will keep me getting a full paycheck. Tears well up in my eyes when I think about their generosity.

I want to just curl up somewhere and cry because payroll can’t use these donated hours of leave for me. Not until a renewed Physician Certification of my mother’s condition is submitted.

My mom’s hospice doctor can’t help us. Mom is no longer on his “roster”. Her physician at the clinic has not seen her since 2008, so he does not want to sign any paperwork regarding her condition.  I suppose we are lucky he refilled her prescriptions last week.

Ten: I am so homesick! I miss my man. I miss my daughter & granddaughters. I miss my Sleep Number Bed. I have been sleeping on “old lumpy” for 4.5 months. My “room” is the couch. All my clothes, and personal stuff is shoved behind the couch. When my man comes to visit me, he gets old lumpy and I get the love seat across from it.

I miss sex. I miss romance even more.

I miss my little office at work. I hope ants and spiders have not overtaken it. Working from my laptop at the kitchen table is a bit tough – no privacy, distractions up the whazoo. Good thing I usually can work between 6:00am and 10:00am. When mom and sis sleep in.

Eleven: My sister is jumping through DMV hoops to get her driver’s license un-suspended. I have been her chauffeur since I got here. It has been interesting because I don’t like to drive. I also have a severe directional disability. Melanie laughs when I don’t know which direction to turn onto a street that we just came from 15 minutes ago.  So fire me. Please!

and last but not least…

Twelve: I only have 1 hour to get this blog posted for my Jan 5th post.

My War on Tags

I have very sensitive skin and I hate the way garment tags are always scratching & making me itch. In the old days if a tag bugged you, you simply borrowed your mom’s seam ripper out of her sewing box and removed a few stitches. Wa-Lah! Problem solved.

Things have changed. Not only do you have an annoying tag that is double sewed into your garment, but you may have 3 or 4 of them. Apparently one tag is not enough to convey all the manufacturer wants you to know. This information is so critical that they sew it not once, but twice into the garment.

Last week I bought some new “skinny” jeans. Even though I knew the size they claimed to be was a lie (I have never, nor will I ever be a size 4), I felt so svelte & sexy.  I changed into them as soon as I got home from the store, called 2 friends and made them guess what size jeans I was wearing, curled up on the couch with a good book and some snacks – hey I was skinny, I can eat! An hour later the jeans had to come off. I could not take the tags anymore. They were terrorizing my skin and I just wanted to scream. I think I did scream.

For a half-hour I painstakingly removed the little tiny stitches, and the ones under those, to free my fabulous new jeans of their gnarly parasites. After all that toil, the tag was still attached to my pants. They must be sewing them in 3 times these days. I sigh deeply and loudly cursed, then proceeded with my task. I spend another 15 minutes removing the little secret stitches, which by the way held a seam together, so now I have an hole in my brand new jeans. Oh- and yes, the tag remains.

Maybe you know this already, but I was naive and believed that I was only dealing with thread here. But no. The BASTARDS are now using GLUE. Tags are sealed to the garment by gluing them after they are sewn in. I still fume when I think about it.

OK, we get the fact you want the tag to remain with the garment. But why can’t you make a tag that is not scratchy? The garment is not scratchy, so obviously you have the technology. And what is the deal with tags so large you can write the Constitution on them? Or the five, count them five, tags sewn into one small (size 4 don’t ya know) pair of jeans? Three in the back, one in the front, and one on the outside seam below the hip.

The only person who sees these damn tags is me, and I am not happy with whoever the designer or manufacturer happens to be.

I know who you are. You made sure of that, didn’t you?

Leave me alone. ALL of you!!

Hallelujah!!!

It’s almost 8:00pm here on the west coast and the polls will be closed.

I wish I had kept a tally of all the political recordings I received since June. The count must have been at least in the thousands . Every day I would get at least one and most days 2 or 3. Every candidate running for office called me.  That would have been OK if they called me ONCE.

Then it got worse. Recordings from people supporting the candidates called telling me to vote for their good buddy, what’s his/her name. Now the count was 3 to 5 calls per day.

I got a call one day from Daniel Boone. He wanted me to vote pro-NRA. Great. Now dead people are calling and telling me what to do.

Jerry Lewis, Betty White, and one of the Sheen’s called me. I did not feel honored, perhaps I would have been, if they had actually been on the phone with me.

Arnold Schwarzenegger called a few times. Don’t tell him I did not do what he told me to do, OK?

Now the frequency of calls escalated to 8 to 10 – two weeks before election day. Since I already voted by absentee ballot, the constant calling was driving me bat-shit. “I already voted! Stop calling me!”,  I shouted into the phone. Pretty silly, I know, but it made me feel better.

10 days before the election I had suffered enough. I refused to answer the phone. Period. Some recordings would disconnect when the machine answered. How rude! Most of the calls left messages on the machine.  R  e  a  l  l  y – l  o  n  g –  o   n  e   s.  Going on and on and on ……  If I was home in the evening I had to listen to these because one does not turn off their phone when they have a mother in hospice care.

Speaking of evening – some calls would come in after 9:00pm. That is outrageous to me. Maybe because my bedtime is 8:00pm (I get up between 3:00-4:00am).

So tonight I am celebrating by going to bed early and getting some sleep.

Hey, you people out there laughing, celebrate your own way (you aren’t sleeping with me!) . Continue reading “Leave me alone. ALL of you!!”