O.K. I'm about to go on a rampage rant about the state of health care in the U.S. Nobody wants to hear it. Everybody knows it. And yet, every time you are subjected to it, you just want to do bad things to those who have created the mess. All of them. You know, the ones who don't need to suffer like the hoi-poloi.
I called the orthopedist's office yesterday. The one the ER said to call. Each time I called, I got a recording. Leave your name and number. So, the office is understaffed and cannot answer the phone? Sure. Why? Because doctors have been forced to give up and give in. They are all paid employees of the big medical corporation. They can't be both a doctor and a business manager any longer. Too many forms. Too many regulations. Who caused this? The Industrial/Government cabal. Oh, yes. . . insurance companies determine who gets elected and who they appoint.
Nobody calls back. I keep calling. Finally, in the early afternoon, I get a person. Not the right person, of course. She takes my information and says somebody will call me back. And sure enough, hours later, somebody does. I get an appointment set up. For Friday. One week after my mother has broken her shoulder. She worries, of course. Her arm is black and blue and green and three times the size of the other one.
But the lady on the phone can only make the appointment. Somebody else will have to deal with the prescription meds. Government regulations say that ER docs can only give 3 days worth of meds. Why? Oh, you know. They have been in the practice before people with better education curbed their activities of providing a lifetime supply of heroin to the broken population.
I still haven't been able to talk to anyone about the meds.
It turns out my mother is seeing the same doctor who put the metal plates and screws into her other shoulder three years ago. Back then, the practice had a serious name. But the corporation has rebranded it now.
"The Fracture Doctors."
Really? WTF? It is like going to a surgeon and finding out he works at "The Cutting Room." No. I can't stand it.
That and fixing meals and cleaning up and trying to keep my mother happy. . . . Oy!
Poor me. Is that what I am saying? I don't have to go to work, and I'm not the one injured, and I'm saying what? Poor me?
Don't judge me!
I did take a little break yesterday. I met with my replacement at the factory at my house. I had gone to feed the feral cat. Her bowl already had food of a different color. My neighbor is helping out.
My replacement has chickens, and he brought over a dozen farm fresh eggs and some delicious oatmeal cookies with all sorts of yummy fruit inside. And an expensive bottle of scotch. And we hurt that shit, talked things over. By the time I got back to my mother's house to make dinner, she had already eaten something. A neighbor had come over to see her. I had chatted too long. I was a bad caretaker.
Tonight, a neighbor is making us dinner. Fried chicken and cornbread and what all. My mother has great neighbors. By and large, anyway.
I made myself a sandwich for dinner and had more scotch. Mom finally finished watching her chosen shows which are all old and on what might be called the Medicare Chanel (they have about seventeen minutes of commercials targeting the aged in a half hour show), and so we turned on commercial free t.v.
I stayed up until midnight. I hate that I did that. I am an early to bed guy. I feel like poop this morning.
But care doesn't take a vacation. Busy opening pill bottles and making food, etc.
Did I say poor me? I don't mean it. I am fine. I just can't stay up with my mother any more. Like most old people, she is a night owl. I like my beauty rest.
O.K. I'll try to talk about something else tomorrow. But I'm glad we got to have this chat.
It's a Delicious Candy Coated LolliTree Piccy tho. :) I could lick it.
I'll be back for my nighttime commenting but I needed a wee break from Working Girl Status. Ugh. I fear my own aspirations are less than what would be deemed acceptable in todays Girl Go Get Em World.
I just wanna have Fun. :)
Oh there's CandyLand again. I like it. It's - slightly maybe there's a better word I haven't come up with yet - eerie cheery.ReplyDelete
Do you remember how unbelievable the atmosphere was in Virgin Suicides. It's a little like that - for me. Not tilted into the dark as much as that scene - you know the one - where the parents are wearing gas masks. I've been to a suburb of Chicago just like that. Super ridiculously wealthy. I had a friend, Martha, early in high school. She moved to Flossmoor. I flew out to visit her two summers - got to experience that - it was just like a "Pretty in Pink, " or "The Breakfast Club" feel. Virgin Suicides took it dark. I can't understand how I love that movie so much. But she did it. Sofia.
I'm stoned. I'll have to parse out and ponder the story to tell.
I was thinking, while rocking under the arbor smoking a fatty - Cement Shoes - rocking and thinking - looking around - lightning bugs and french white hydrangeas - the grape vines hanging down like a half curtain - I was thinking about Life.
I thought maybe I'd tell a story tonight - but 1000 came rushing in all at once -- everything from being a kid at the Jersey Shore - to my parents crazy story - so many things - concerts and people.
Cement Shoes. Hope it knocks me out.
Oh there's so much to report. But it is 9:24 - I started watching "The Artist is Present" for the second or third time last night. Simply for lack of looking. And deciding.
Honestly, I can't remember if I've seen it all the way through - I'm pretty sure I have.
This morning, when I went to say good morning and good bye to my Ma - I opened the door and she was crying. Oy. She's having some depressions. When I checked in at lunch - she was a little cranky so that's better than crying - when I got home (at 7PM OY) - she told me some of the troubles that had wound her up - I did some unwinding - had a teeny glass of wine and when I was leaving she said "I knew you could come over and help me - I wish I was different but I a nut and 90 and can't change."
Watered the plants. Played with the dogs. Put my humongous skirt collection back on hangers and into the closet as opposed to being draped places. Etc. to the important skin care & stretching. Breathing. Oh yay - huge joint!!!
This might be a crazy post - it most likely is.
I totally understand. ^^^^^^. Accept every single meal - offer to sit -- etc. and so on. The folks mean it and you'll need it.
Hydration. Breathing. :(. You got this.
Poor U. ( and of course Poor Ma. don't pilfer her percs or sell em on the mean streets).
Nighty nights. x
And of course, enjoy all the attention the "Wonderful Son," will garner with the Ladies in the 'hood. :).
A Daughter don't get dat treatment. Just the "Wonderful Sons." My mother has three "wonderful sons."
Okies. I'm done talking.