Oh my, the mornings start pretty much the same round here like they did when I would come to visit 30 years ago. Miss Cathy: bright eyed, chatty, loud and me: contemplating coffee, and trying to “come into the room” peacefully and quietly as I’m gathering my thoughts for my time journal-ling. My tranquility is usually shattered by a piercing, “GOOD MORNING!” coming from somewhere in the apartment followed by any number of questions that inevitably end with the topic of breakfast.
This particular morn she hesitated before she spoke but she asked, “Do you want sausage for breakfast?” I’ve told her since I was early in my twenties that I don’t just pop out of bed thinking about food-if anything in those days I was thinking of a reasonable passage of time before my first glass of wine-but that’s for another blog.
“No”, I said, “thank you, though,” Then, as if on cue she says,” Oh that’s right, you’re not a morning person.”
No shit! What I am is someone keeping track of her bills and managing her accounts along with my brother, Tony who’s taken the lion’s share of that duty. He’s got almost all of her bills set up for automatic payment online and I forward him the few miscellaneous ones that trickle in that I can’t handle on this end.
Everyday I go through the mail and sort out what needs to be filed, paid or looked over: this includes her many statements from Blue Cross/Blue Shield about medical expenses and then there are the ones from Medicaid. This involves close scrutiny of the date, time, service rendered, what portion was paid and if it’s been double billed or a mistake. The trick with these statements is that they can come months after the office visit or procedure so I have to constantly refer back to my “Mom” journal where I track her appointments, notes of conversations from doctor’s visits, stats and observations about her activities and behavior.
As much as I have decried her life as a civil servant she gets the last laugh because of the great insurance coverage she’s amassed. Don’t get me wrong; I have great respect for her work ethic, knowing that she made the best possible choice for herself career-wise given the times that she grew up in. I also know that her choices made it possible for me to make mine. I’ve had a fabulous life and career; free of the constraints of a 40-hour week, doing work that I hate, confined behind four walls. Yes, I‘ve had freedom but now times are hard and I‘ve no health insurance-hey, life is a trade off.
The medical statements are almost a daily occurrence. Miss Cathy’s been in the hospital three times (once for a knee replacement surgery), rehab twice, and twice monthly doctor visits since January BUT jeez Louise-the statements/bills just keep ‘a coming! And some are still dated back to services rendered in the spring. Ninety percent of then are paid-thank God but there’s always that moment when the statement comes, right before you open the envelope that you’re not sure, what if you’ve finally reached the maximum payout and it’s our turn to start emptying our piggy banks.
But, today is not that day-today all I have to do is file and wonder if it’s not too late to get some of that artery clogging sausage.
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