Category Archives: Uncategorized

10 Doubts and Desires for 2015……

Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , ,

HAPPY NEW YEAR  to all my kind and faithful readers!  In the spirit of the New Year, I am taking a Nostradamus point of view and a Pollyanna perspective.

Five things that will not change in 2015:

1. Medical Insurance Companies will not make our lives easier:

I know this is true, because I have already received confusing literature about co-pays, prescription drugs, and durable medical equipment. This from three different places for my brother-in-law, myself, and my friend with the traumatic brain injury. Wading through complicated, confounding medical gobbeldy gook will continue as before.

2. Hospital stays will still make everyone crazy.

Now, granted, no one likes to be in the hospital. But as my brother-in-law just returned home from a bout with the flu (yes, we all had flu shots, to no avail) it still rankles that your own doctor doesn’t come to the hospital any more. You get a ‘hospitalist’ who doesn’t know you, does tests you probably don’t need (because he doesn’t know you) and get a crappy diet because they think you’re a diabetic when you’re not.

3. The skirmish about Obamacare

I am all for everyone having health insurance…..as frustrating as it can be, because I’ve seen first hand what happens when you don’t have it. However, when the new and improved arrives, there will always be problems, glitches and the need to massage it into a better place. And when it is a hot button political issue to boot, well, the conversation will continue to exasperate us all like those year end car sale commercials……endlessly.

4. Dieting

Yep. Here we all are again. Like my Nana used to say, “fat, ragged and sassy.” Will we never cease this battle? Nope.

5.  Facebook.

That’s it. Just Facebook. Persistently annoying and enthralling as it was in 2014 and will continue in 2015.

Five things that will change in 2015:

1. Hotels will give you free WIFI.

Yep. I discovered that in today’s newspaper. Yes, I still have delivered and read an actual newspaper (perhaps that too will end in 2015, but not because I want it to).

2. Airline fares will abate.

C’mon. They just have to. Fuel prices are dropping like flies every day.  The excuses are running cold. Airlines need customers like a fish needs water. Obviously metaphors and similes will dictate cheaper airfares.

3. Customer Service will improve

See #1 and #2. Pundits claim that true business success will return to the customer service model. We can only hope, as customers, that is.

4. People will be kinder and gentler.

I think we are all getting tired of boisterous debate. I declare 2015 the year of the kinder, gentler human being. We saw the film, “Unbroken” on New Year’s Eve. The humiliation of one human being to another is probably the most palpable part of that movie. Perhaps people will stop that, and just be nice, goddamnit.

5. People will stop dieting and laugh more.

We all know that by February 1st most diets will end. And thank God, people don’t seem to laugh so much when they are eating celery and carrots, and nothing else. I predict beer sales and comedy clubs will begin to prosper right around Ballentine’s Day. (yes, I said Ballentine, but for those of you who didn’t grow up on the East Coast, Valentine’s Day is just as good).

I wish you all a happy, hilarious 2015……because……..

You just have to Laugh……..

©Cathy Sikorski 2015

The best things happen while you’re dancing…..and then……..

Uncategorized, , , , , , , ,

Recovery from a crazy weekend symbolized too much drinking, eating, carousing and not enough sleep. Good times. Recovery in the baby boom lexicon foreshadows peculiar changes.

Last weekend my husband and I went to two dinner dances. We love to dance. In fact, we took three different ballroom dancing classes this year.  Since ballroom dancing is one of the top five things you can do to stave off dementia, we figured a thrown hip or knee was a better choice than Alzheimer’s. You wouldn’t recognize ballroom dancing if you watched us, but we just love to dance and that was a legit way to get off the couch, do something fun together, and laugh at our mutual lack of skill.  Then we go back to our lounge lizard moves.

Now at our age, two late nights of dancing, in a row, is pretty risque. The problem is not the actual dancing. It’s the recovery. Saturday night’s gala lasted until midnight. Traditionally, at this affair, we are the last couple on the dance floor with our best friends. This is a country club affair, and if my husband is the recipient of an award  (which is often, because I married a winner in every sense of the word) then we dance more, he drinks more, we talk more and we recover more slowly.

Yes, he won.

Recovery now means we were up too late (past midnight!), too much physical activity

What dancing really looks like
What dancing really looks like

(dancing?) plenty of sleep (because we pass out in our bed as soon as we fall into it) and at least one person who was the designated driver and is only recovering from too much water. And yet, the morning after….the bones creak, the legs move slowly, napping is scheduled as a high priority the minute one wakes up, and the thought of grooming to a high level all over again is daunting.

The next day we both tried to lay low knowing full well our other set of best friends would expect dancing mania, especially since they just completed a course of ballroom dancing with us. We did not disappoint. Although, with 30 minutes of rock and roll left, I could see my intrepid husband slowing down.

“My legs are giving out,” he whispered, as he twirled me in towards him.

“My feet are killing me,” I said quietly, as I did the cha-cha around him.

Now I know what Ginger Rogers meant when she said something like: You try doing this in high heels and backwards….and Fred gets all the credit.

As we limped to the car, the second night in a row, I said to my dancing partner and life partner, “I don’t think we can do this again.”

He mumbled something back which was either, “sure we can, we love to dance,” or “I think we can refinance.”

Drinking coffee at the breakfast table the next morning, I hear my husband coming down the stairs mumbling, “Ow, Ow, Ow.”

I would have gone to the bottom of the staircase to help him, but I had just crawled over to the coffee pot and wasn’t about to do that again.

“You just have to Laugh…”

©Cathy Sikorski 2014

 

 

I always tell the truth. Even when I lie……Al Pacino

Uncategorized, , , , , , , , ,

There is a Medicare rule that requires your Part D (which is prescriptions only) provider to now call you before they send out your medications.

Many of these Part D providers also require, or at least push for you, the patient, to purchase your medications through the mail. The insurance provider wants you to have your doctor order these medications directly from them and then the magical pharmacy in the sky sends the medications to your home.

This process has its ups and downs. On the up side, your medications are delivered directly to your door. For many a senior, ill person, or caregiver, this is a blessing. Nothing is more delightful than not having to go to the pharmacy a million times a month for meds that run out at random intervals.

However, often our elder parents, aunts, and friends are frustrated by their inability to have that paper prescription in their hot little hands, take it to Phil, the Pharmacist, and go home knowing they have the correct meds as confirmed by Phil, and they don’t have to wait days or weeks to see the meds they need.

Now that Medicare has added this ‘protective’ provision that your insurance company must call you on the phone and confirm that you or your doctor ordered this medication, that you actually want the medication and that you wish it to be sent to you in a 90 day supply, another fun-filled element has been added to the mix.

So for me, it goes like this.

My brother-in-law struggles a bit with the phone, pays no attention to his meds anyway, and has for 5 years, relinquished any responsibility for anything. So, I leave a message at my brother-in-law’s doctor’s office requesting they order the medication.

I get 2 or 3 emails from the Part D insurance company confirming that a mysterious prescription has been ordered. They can’t put the name of the drug in the email, so I have to go to the Part D website to see if the correct drug has been ordered. My brother-in-law takes 40 pills a day. So I have to wade through the list to make sure all is correct.

Then Part D Insurance Company calls you on the phone. I never know when this call is coming. If I  miss the call, I put the process behind until I can respond. Now, for all of you who may need acting lessons in the future, I was a theater major in college for a bit, and I will be giving lessons. Now.

When the caller asks you if you are your brother-in-law, drop your voice three octaves and mumble a reply that sounds something like, “Yus.” You’re only talking to a machine, never a real person. Every other question, as his Power of Attorney, I have answered a million times, so I have the answers. But remember mumbling and voice alteration are your friends.

You will be pleased with the results when they conclude the call telling you your drugs are on the way! Just in case you don’t remember this conversation, they send you yet another 2 or 3 emails to confirm that the mysterious drugs, whose names shall not be mentioned in an email, will be delivered shortly.

You’re welcome, and remember all my caregiving thespians….

“You just have to Laugh…..” but don’t do it while mumbling and dropping your voice a few octaves.

©2014 Cathy Sikorski

2014 Reasons to be grateful….okay only 10…..

Uncategorized, , , , , , , , ,

Everyone has something to be grateful for…just look around you:

1. Grateful that my cleaning lady is downstairs and I’m up here typing.

2. Grateful that my company left, not because I didn’t LOVE having them here, but now I can forget to put on a bra, or clothes and run to answer the phone or quick send that email.

3. Grateful for my sister who basically cooks the entire Thanksgiving dinner, except the turkey and stuffing and brings it to my house. You should all be so lucky, especially when it’s snowing.

4. Grateful that my brother-in-law is home and snuggled in his independent living and not in a nursing home anymore……even if the visiting nurses still try and get me to look at the miraculously healing wound on his derrière.

5. Grateful for my darling, amazing, commenting, fun, funny, interesting readers of this blog.

6. Grateful for Depends, mail order drugs, external catheters, bed pans and spit cups. Yes, those inventions make my life better.

Wine...just wine
Wine…just wine

7. Grateful for the Hallmark Channel, bad Christmas movies and wine, really grateful for wine.

8. Grateful for all the people, Facebook posts, somee cards, and Pinterest posts that make me laugh.

9. Grateful for heat, electricity, water and wine, not necessarily in that order.

10. Grateful that I am able to sit here and write this blog because I have an amazing husband, daughters, mom, brothers, sisters, friends, a cleaning lady and wine.

Thank you all for being my readers, my friends, my supporters and my partners in laughter…Laughing alone isn’t nearly as much fun and…..

“You just have to Laugh………”

©2014 Cathy Sikorski

 


	

	
	

		
			



							


	

				

					

		
				

			Book Review: Are You Kidding Me? by Stacey Gustafson
		

		
		

			Uncategorized					

	


		

		
I have been given the great honor to provide my most excellent readers with a book review on a humorous tome called : ARE YOU KDDING ME? MY LIFE WITH AN EXTREMELY LOUD FAMILY, BATHROOM CALAMITIES AND CRAZY RELATIVES.


For those of you who know me intimately, no this is not about you and I didn’t write this book. (That does not mean you shouldn’t panic about the future).


Stacey 2This rollicking review of life comes form Stacey Gustafson and gives us funny, charming, naughty and brutally honest snapshots of 20 years of ups and downs in her family. The fact that they still love her and talk to her is downright incredible.


Some of my personal favorites include driving lessons with her eldest called : Stressed Out in the Passenger Seat, even my daughters will tell you to this day that I am the worst passenger while they are driving.


Also loved, Toilet Phobia, not because I grew up with one, like Stacey, but because I am always on the lookout for one and can see how I might get confused once I’m in there.


I wished I had been living with her during her “Burnin’ Love” period.  There can never be enough homemade pizza…..or so I thought.


And her mother’s antics are actually more like me than my mother. I saw a peek into my daughters’ future, and it was scary.


Stacey captures the craziness of family life and gave me all the smiles I miss from reading Erma Bombeck.


I’m sure you can find ARE YOU KDDING ME? MY LIFE WITH AN EXTREMELY LOUD FAMILY, BATHROOM CALAMITIES AND CRAZY RELATIVES  at Amazon or a book store you love…if not ask for it and make them get it for you!


Best of luck, Stacey. You are definitely in my corner where


“You just have to Laugh…..”


Below is Stacey’s blog and how to link to Amazon to get her book!


Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Kidding-Extremely-Bathroom-Calamities-Relatives/dp/1937303314/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1416585271&sr=8-1&keywords=stacey+gustafson




Blog:  http://staceygustafson.com


 


©2014 Cathy Sikorski

	

	
	

		
			



							


	

				

					

		
				

			Nailed it……………
		

		
		

			Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , 					

	


		

		
I am getting a mani-pedi tomorrow.  First, ballroom dancing and now mani-pedis. Who is this so-called caregiver? But I have to because I’m going to a Masquerade Ball where I can use my new and improved dancing skills.


This brought me to the conclusion that my brother-in-law could use a mani-pedi himself. I just can’t get him to the salon. No one will transport him in his humungous wheelchair if it is not a medical necessity. Now actually, it is a medical necessity. Because he is diabetic, he must have his nails taken care of as a function of keeping infection and fungus away. The podiatrist will come to his apartment and take care of feet, but not fingernails.


Conveniently, there is a salon in the building where he lives. After 6 months in a rehab nursing home, wanting to feel clean, and groomed and just as much  a regular guy as possible, we made an appointment for my brother-in-law to get a haircut and a manicure at the salon in his building.


Sorry.


The manicurist won’t cut his fingernails. They are too hard to handle and she’s afraid of hurting him or cutting him. Albeit, she is supposed to be a professional manicurist. She suggests I get the visiting nurse to do it.


I text the visiting nurse. This is our text conversation:


“Hi cathy…We r not allowed to cut nails due the (sic) the risk of infection with diabetes..Sorry :(”


“Thank you for telling me. Do you know what other people do?”


“A podiatrist for the toes and I guess they do the fingernails themselves.”


I know. Already you are saying…………but Cathy, if he could do it himself you probably wouldn’t be asking this question…..to a nurse.


I can only come up with two possible solutions:


1. Pretend he is a bride and make arrangements for a personal manicure on his “wedding day.” I know some manicurists will do that. They may require an entire bridal party, but I’m sure I could get my mom and sisters, maybe some nieces and girlfriends to show up.


Or


2. See if I can get him a mail order bride that is a manicurist.


Either way the word bride seems to be the answer to my problems.


“You just have to Laugh…..”


©2014Cathy Sikorski


 

	

	
	

		
			



							


	

				

					

		
				

			Or we’re gonna’ go round and round……..
		

		
		

			Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , 					

	


		

		
Sometimes a girl has just gotta’ dance. Whilst deep in the Rumba, the dance of love, according to our ballroom dance instructor, I actually turned off my cell phone. I take this ballroom dancing seriously, since I read it is the number one hobby that can stave off dementia. Plus, my husband can’t believe I have found an activity we can do together where children, siblings, parents, caregivees, nurses, insurance companies and doctors can’t get in touch with me.


After 90 minutes of “slow……..quick, quick” and wine and cookies (okay, there are other perks to ballroom dancing), my husband and I are happily re-connected, refreshed and ready to go home.


As we leave the dance floor and enter the parking lot, it’s snowing like a blizzard out there on November 13th. This should have been my first clue of disaster.


Fine. I’m refreshed, I can deal with the first frostbite of the year. Then I checked my phone.


Two calls from my brother-in-law. Two messages and a few other missed calls and texts from his caregivers. Uh oh.


The good news is my brother-in-law called. At least I know he can dial his new phone. He insisted I bought a completely useless phone that he couldn’t operate. So there’s that.


I cringed for the bad news as I listened to the messages:


Message 1:


“Cathy, this is ‘L’, nobody got me out of bed for dinner, and no one delivered my meal either.”


Message 2:


“Cathy, it’s an hour later. Don’t know if you got my first message. I didn’t get dinner. Wish someone would have warned me that  I wasn’t getting dinner tonight. I guess I’ll be ok.”


It’s now 90 minutes after the second message…the exact amount of time it takes to learn the dance of love with 6 variations. I call him back. No answer. Either he has passed out from hunger, someone came to his rescue, or he gave up and went to sleep.


I text the last caregiver who I know was with him to give him his night meds. No response. I make an executive decision to let it go until morning. Based on his overall weight and eating habits, I’m pretty certain missing one meal won’t end his time here on earth.


The next morning on my way to his facility, I called his caregivers. I wasn’t planning on taking this side trip to see him, but I wanted to reassure him that I received his phone messages and was taking care of business. They assured me that someone had set up his meal for dinner. I’m not so sure. My brother-in-law doesn’t have dementia. He just generally only thinks about things he cares about and leaves the rest to me.


When I get to his room, after breakfast, (I wanted him to be fed and in a good mood………I learned a thing or two from having toddlers), I asked him if he ever got dinner last night.


“You called me twice last night to say no one brought you dinner, remember? Did you have dinner or not?”


He looks at me like I have the head of Medusa, or am speaking in Italian.


“I don’t remember calling you or if I got dinner, but I just had breakfast, so what’s the big deal?


I just Rumba my way out of the room………….slow….quick, quick…..slow….quick, quick.


“You just have to Laugh…………….”


©Cathy Sikorski 2014

	

	
	

		
			



							


	

				

					

		
				

			Brussels Sprouts or Sidney Poitier?
		

		
		

			Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , 					

	


		

		
In honor of Aunt Jean who passed away a year ago today:


Aunt Jean and two other great beauties.
Aunt Jean and two other great beauties.


Aunt Jean was an Australian blonde beauty who married my husband’s uncle in 1945. During World War II, Uncle Mike was stationed in Australia. He met Jeannie at a dance contest,  won the contest and her heart. At 18 years old, she moved to New Jersey without knowing a soul, moved in with my husband’s family and stayed here mostly, for the rest of her life.


Jeannie worked in New York City.  She had copious stories about all the famous and infamous people she met, more by accident than on purpose, which may be one of the greatest gifts most of us are missing by not listening to the tales of the elderly.


Her friend Mae was a live-in housekeeper in a high-fallootin’ building on the Upper East Side. When Mae’s employer went out of town, she was allowed to have her own guests over for dinner. So Jeannie and her friend Ellie got all dressed up just to go in the fancy building and up the elevator to Mae’s apartment.


Now the point of this story from Aunt Jean’s perspective was, as I was making dinner, she wanted to tell me how great her Irish buddy, Mae, concocted Brussels sprouts, so I could do the same. Something to do with sautéing them in onions and butter and bacon. But this is how she got to the Brussels sprouts recipe.


“So we were in the elevator going up to the penthouse and in walks a very handsome black man. My friend, Ellie is pulling at my sleeve and gesturing to me that this is someone I’m supposed to recognize. She’s rolling her eyes and trying to be cool, while the gentlemen is politely staring straight ahead. Finally, it hits me and I say:


“Excuse me Mr. Poitier, it’s so nice to meet you. Do you live in this building?”


“Why yes, I do. Do you?”


“No,” I say, “we are just visiting friends.” I said it like we weren’t visiting the housekeeper, of course.


“Well, that’s nice. And what is your name?”


“My name is Jean and this is my friend, Ellie.”


With that the elevator door opens for Mr. Poitier’s floor and as he gets off he says, “So very nice to meet you, Jean and Ellie. Have a lovely evening.”


“AUNT JEAN!” I said, “you met , Sidney Poitier????? You never told me that.”


“Oh, yes lovey that was fun, but let me tell you about the Brussels Sprouts, I’ve never had any so delicious.”


We miss you Aunt Jean, because whenever you were around….


“We just had to Laugh……”


©2014Cathy Sikorski


 

	

	
	

		
			



							


	

				

					

		
				

			Weighing In……………
		

		
		

			Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , 					

	


		

		
I noticed a weird bruise on my arm last week on Thursday. By Friday it had morphed into something that looked like a bear climbing a tree. It didn’t hurt. I had no recollection of bumping into things, or drinking too much wine on Wednesday (although now that I’ve written that “Wine Wednesday” sounds pretty tempting). So I went to the doctor.


Bruise Comparison Photo
Bruise Comparison Photo


The first thing they do when they take you into the super secret area where patients are seen is tell you to “get on the scale.” I have been trying to decline this for years. If it’s my annual check up or I think I have diabetes or perhaps I have miraculously lost those last damn 10 pounds by eating chocolate cake and the new Yeungling Black and Tan Ice Cream, then and only then will I get on the scale.


I’m sorry, I may be naïve to think that all American women have a psychological battle with weight, but I know all my friends do. That stupid number can send me into a tailspin of self-loathing and regret for days. I will not have it.


This time I may have been a bit intense in my questioning and refusal to be weighed for a bruise. The nurse ratted me out to the doctor.


“We have to weigh you for insurance purposes,” said the doctor.


“I’m sorry, but the insurance company doesn’t get to play mind games with me. Do you have any idea how crazy that scale makes me?”


“I’m starting to….”


“Women the world over hate getting weighed, even on a good day. It is a sign of our possible failure to literally measure up. It makes us feel bad about our next bagel. And it makes no sense when I’m coming in for a bruise. And on top of all that, not one doctor ever comments on my weight and how that may affect my health, so I have to conclude that unless it’s critical to my visit, it’s not important to the medical community on that day either.”


The doctor looked at me like I needed Xanax at that juncture and said, “we just have to check a box on the form that says we weighed you.”


“So what happens if I refuse to be weighed?”


“We check the box marked ‘declined’.”


So there you have it ladies and gents. If you have an irrational aversion to that doctor’s scale, you can just say “no,” or better yet, “declined.”


By the way, perhaps someone should have asked why I was so stressed by something so trivial. And that’s where the caregiver craziness shows up. In the final analysis, when attempting self care……


“You just have to Laugh….”


©2014 Cathy Sikorski


 

	

	
	

		
			



							


	

				

					

		
				

			Stroke of genius?
		

		
		

			Uncategorized, , , , , , , , 					

	


		

		
I called my 86 year old Mom for help.


“Hey, Mom, I need a picture of your cabin in Canada.”


“Okay,” she said, “come over and get it.”


“No,” I told her, “I want you to get it off your computer, and email it to me.”


“Oh, ummm….where is that?”


“Where is your computer?”


“No, don’t be ridiculous. Where is the picture on my computer?”


“I don’t know. Don’t you?”


Maybe I did have to go over there and get it.


“Okay, let’s start at the computer. Are you on your iPad or your desktop?”


“Let me go to the big computer, the picture has to be on there because your


In folder marked "Canada"
In folder marked “Canada”


brother-in-law made it my screensaver.”


I hear her sneakers tweak around the kitchen floor, her bedroom door makes a little squeak as she opens it, and the whirr of her desktop hums through the phone line as she boots up.


“Okay, now what do I do?” she asks matter-of-factly. She calmly clicks on all the buttons I direct her to. We get all the way to the photos stored on her desk top and we are at an impasse.


“Mom, do you know where the photo is stored? Like, what folder is it in?”


“Well, I guess it’s in the one marked ‘Canada’, does that sound right?”


“Just try it. See if it’s in there.”


For some reason, I don’t hear any computer buttons clicking on the other end of the line. Silence, with a little breathing is the only sound coming through.


“Mom?”


“Yes?”


“What are you doing? I thought you were looking in the file marked ‘Canada’. Did you find it?”


Now she’s exasperated. Technology has won again. She is frustrated and annoyed, and I have no idea why.


“Ugh….I have been waiting and waiting for the keyboard to come up so I can look for the picture.”


“Wait…what? I don’t know what…..Wait….are you on your iPad or your computer”


“I’m on the computer. I told you that’s where the picture probably is.”


I realize that this octogenarian is trying her best to be in the 21st century. She has willingly taken on a desktop and an iPad. She puts up with her children trying to train her like an organ monkey over the phone, and sometimes it’s just too many things to remember. Plus naming every button as a “square thingy that looks like a tv,” or a “the blue e thingy,” usually ends up with a trip to Mom’s house anyway.


” Um….Mom, look down at your fingers, there’s your keyboard. It doesn’t come up on the screen like the iPad. You’re using the actual keyboard.”


“Oh.”


We both burst out laughing. She does indeed send the picture.


Caregivers need to give credit where credit is due and…..


“You just have to Laugh….”


©2014 Cathy Sikorski