Stupid stuff keeps happening
Regardless or maybe because of whatever you’re dealing with.
During my late husband’s illness, there was a whole lot going on. One morning, I realized his glucose monitor had gone kaflooey. He had a cousin and her husband, two grown nieces and a grown nephew in the same town. All of them were mysteriously absent during his illness. He had a 32 yr old daughter 23 minutes away, but she and her husband were also hard to reach except when they wanted me to babysit their toddler.
My husband had signed power of attorney over to his cousin 25 years earlier and I tried to talk to her about either signing it over or at least writing checks, primarily for caregivers while I was still trying to hang onto my job. She refused. He’ll have to tell me in person. At the time, my husband was severely over-medicated and currently catatonic. I finally went to HIS lawyer (his attorney for thirty years and a retired judge who sometimes took on cases) and asked what I could do. After an explanation of the circumstances, he said, “I’ll represent you.” I replied I didn’t want him to represent me. I wanted him to represent Tim. He said, “I’ll do that too.” One fine day I walked into Tim’s hospital room, and Tim was back, for a while. A friend from his ham radio club was visiting and Tim was sketching, in architectural detail, a taller radio tower the club wanted to build. I greeted his friend, kissed my husband, and called his cousin from the room phone. While waiting for her to pick up (11 rings), I printed “Tell her to sign over the power of attorney.” On a notepad. When she answered, Tim was holding the phone. He said hello and then said “I want you to sign over the power of attorney.” She made him say it three times but because our lawyer had already contacted her, she grudgingly agreed. Three days later, Tim came home. Again.
On my way home, I remembered his glucometer and also that he loved the chicken crepes at a just-opened chain restaurant in town. I stopped and ordered the crepes, then went to the medical supply in the same mall, bought the meter and drove back to pick up the crepes. The restaurant had not yet completed the landscaping and the sidewalk gave way to loose mulch. My normal operating speed was about 70 mph during that time and my ankle turned and I fell. Hard. On my knee. It hurt. The restaurant host and several passers-by helped me limp into the restaurant for the crepes and then back out to my car. At the house I slowly made it up the porch steps before the knee reported it was quitting. On the spot. I literally crawled to the door, dragging the bags with the meter and the crepes, crawled into the house. Tim rolled up in his wheelchair, looked me over and asked, “How was your day, honey?” That was my Tim. I laughed.
For the next few days it wasn’t Tim’s wheelchair. It was mine. Then it got better and only hurts now when the weather’s changing.
During my late husband’s illness, there was a whole lot going on. One morning, I realized his glucose monitor had gone kaflooey. He had a cousin and her husband, two grown nieces and a grown nephew in the same town. All of them were mysteriously absent during his illness. He had a 32 yr old daughter 23 minutes away, but she and her husband were also hard to reach except when they wanted me to babysit their toddler.
My husband had signed power of attorney over to his cousin 25 years earlier and I tried to talk to her about either signing it over or at least writing checks, primarily for caregivers while I was still trying to hang onto my job. She refused. He’ll have to tell me in person. At the time, my husband was severely over-medicated and currently catatonic. I finally went to HIS lawyer (his attorney for thirty years and a retired judge who sometimes took on cases) and asked what I could do. After an explanation of the circumstances, he said, “I’ll represent you.” I replied I didn’t want him to represent me. I wanted him to represent Tim. He said, “I’ll do that too.” One fine day I walked into Tim’s hospital room, and Tim was back, for a while. A friend from his ham radio club was visiting and Tim was sketching, in architectural detail, a taller radio tower the club wanted to build. I greeted his friend, kissed my husband, and called his cousin from the room phone. While waiting for her to pick up (11 rings), I printed “Tell her to sign over the power of attorney.” On a notepad. When she answered, Tim was holding the phone. He said hello and then said “I want you to sign over the power of attorney.” She made him say it three times but because our lawyer had already contacted her, she grudgingly agreed. Three days later, Tim came home. Again.
On my way home, I remembered his glucometer and also that he loved the chicken crepes at a just-opened chain restaurant in town. I stopped and ordered the crepes, then went to the medical supply in the same mall, bought the meter and drove back to pick up the crepes. The restaurant had not yet completed the landscaping and the sidewalk gave way to loose mulch. My normal operating speed was about 70 mph during that time and my ankle turned and I fell. Hard. On my knee. It hurt. The restaurant host and several passers-by helped me limp into the restaurant for the crepes and then back out to my car. At the house I slowly made it up the porch steps before the knee reported it was quitting. On the spot. I literally crawled to the door, dragging the bags with the meter and the crepes, crawled into the house. Tim rolled up in his wheelchair, looked me over and asked, “How was your day, honey?” That was my Tim. I laughed.
For the next few days it wasn’t Tim’s wheelchair. It was mine. Then it got better and only hurts now when the weather’s changing.
