TBI or TMI…..Huh!

Brain Injury, Caregivers, Humor, Uncategorized, , , , , , ,

When my friend, Lisa fell down a flight of stairs and suffered a traumatic brain injury almost six years ago, those of us in her inner circle, including Lisa, were completely unfamiliar with the rabbit hole we were entering.

Eventually, as we learned to navigate the medical system, the caregiver system, and the devastating financial consequences of just such a trauma, many in the inner circle, including Lisa became less and less cognizant of the fact that she continued to suffer from a TBI and that the long term ramifications were unknown and ongoing.

Because Lisa is an extremely lucky gal and has brilliantly navigated these shark-infested waters of unknown medical complications, many people, even in the medical field, and including Lisa, would take for granted that months and years into this recovery she was just fine.

So we would go to her neurologist, or neurosurgeon and they would tell her that this recovery takes time. And she would say, “but i feel fine!” Then we would go to the grocery store and the price of oranges would be higher, or they would be out of her favorite toilet paper and she would tear up. And I would tell her, “it’s okay, it’s the brain injury.”

And so I told her, ” it’s okay to tell people you have a brain injury. In fact, when you are interviewed by Social Security, or your family doctor, you need to tell them that things like that just happened  in the grocery store, and it takes you unaware. That’s the brain injury.”

We would be out with our friends, and Lisa would either just stop engaging or step out of the restaurant. The over stimulation was too much for her. At first, we all thought she was being rude, only interested in conversations that were about her, (because she always jokes that oh, this isn’t about me?), but then we realized, then SHE realized that she just had to go rest, her day was overwhelming her quickly and dangerously. She has to continuously protect herself from possible seizures. So again, we told her…just say you have a brain injury and it makes you take some actions that seem weird to others.

“Huh,” she said.

So for some time, we would be at a medical appointment for say, her wrist, or her toes which would not seem to be the stuff of a TBI.  And Lisa would wax poetical with the nurse, who was just trying to get her vitals, about how she has a brain injury and this is how it happened and these symptoms she is here for may seem odd to you, but not to me, since I have a brain injury.

Or we would be in the drug store buying shampoo and vitamins and nothing of any medical significance and she would tell the clerk that it was so nice to be out on such a beautiful day, and you really appreciate those things once you’ve had a brain injury. To which the 16 year old clerk would respond with a look of panic.

Or in a coffee shop, she would tell the waitress that she probably should not have any more coffee, because she has a brain injury and she’s thinking that since certain things can cause seizures and over stimulation is one of them for her, that perhaps too much coffee isn’t a good thing. But it really hasn’t proven to be the case, so what the heck, fill up the cup. To which the waitress looks at me with the coffee pot poised in mid-air with a “what-the-hell-do-I-do-with-that-information?” kind of look. And I just shrug my shoulders.

Or at the hairdresser when she tells her about the 40 platinum coils in her brain that stopped the brain bleed after her TBI, not that it affects getting her haircut or anything. To which the hairdresser looks at me with scissors poised in mid-air and I just shrug my shoulders.

That day I realized perhaps my advice had been taken a bit too literally and said, “maybe you can STOP telling everyone you have a brain injury.”

To which Lisa replied, “huh.”

“You Just have to Laugh…………”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

Good Luck with that Appeal…….

Caregivers, Humor, Multiple Sclerosis, , , ,

This  is a Medicare Card. Everyone’s Medicare Number is their Social Security Number.

Conversation with Medicare Appeal Board:

“Do you have the Social Security Number of the person who is appealing?”

“Sorry, I don’t.”

“That’s okay. Do you have their Medicare Number instead?”

I rest my case.

“You Just have to Laugh…..”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

Burritos or Betelgeuse……..

Uncategorized, , , , , , , ,

John and I were rumba-ing, quite nicely I might add, when my cell phone buzzed in my bottom. I was thinking I had the sexy rumba move down pat, but then realized it was my phone and the BIL (brother-in-law) moniker was flashing.

When I answered, I could hear a conversation but no one was talking to me. Obviously, it was some kind of a butt dial from one of the caregivers. I called the central caregiver dispatcher to tell her that she needed to call her peeps on their cell to disconnect BIL’s phone.

Ten minutes later, my butt jangled again. This time with some difficulty, BIL got on the phone and told me he was losing his mind.

After a long conversation with Howie, the caregiver, we were all losing our minds. Somehow, my BIL who hasn’t walked for 4 years had gotten out of his wheelchair and into bed with no visible assistance. He was distraught, he was disoriented and he was of the opinion that he could take care of himself.

Howie went to the Manager of BIL’s facility to investigate. Ten minutes later, I’m still trying to learn slow-quick-quick and the mystery is solbed. Howie reported that management had a freak out with BIL. At dinner no one could figure out why his power wheelchair wasn’t working. Management called the police, who came and pushed the behemoth chair to his room and apparently lifted him into bed, left him there and didn’t discuss it with anyone.

I have yet to come down on those people. First things first.

Howie says BIL was still very upset, so we leave the concluding ballroom class lickety-split and high tail to the apartment. We are seconds from pulling into the parking lot when my cell jangles yet again.

“Your BIL says he didn’t have dinner, so can you bring him something to eat?”

“Ummmm…it’s almost 10 at night, so I guess we can turn around and go to McDonald’s.”

I hang up, my hubby turns the car around, we drive 2 blocks, my phone rings. Life may have been so much better when there were no cell phones. Truly.

“He doesn’t want McDonald’s. He wants Taco Bell.”

Really? How distraught is he? I get his order and off we go to Taco Bell.

To make sure I get just the right order, I go in to Taco Bell. It is now after 10. This is a very small town. No one is in Taco Bell. No one is going through the drive-thru. There are three very sweet, young teens working behind the counter.

“Can I help you?”

tacos“Sure,” I said, “I’ll take a plain bean burrito, a 7 layer burrito, and a small Coke.”

The place is so empty my order echos throughout the joint.

“Can I have your name?”

I burst out laughing….because you might confuse my order with someone else’s?

“Ummm….I’m the only one here!”

“I know but I can’t place your order without putting a name into the computer.” I so wanted to say Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, but I was afraid my night could get worse.

She hands me a cup and I go to the soda machine. Now, I haven’t been in a Taco Bell in years and years. This soda machine looked like a pinball machine. it was huge, had blinking lights of all different colors bouncing around and if I had had a brain injury, I probably would have gone into a seizure. I had no idea how to get the soda I wanted.

In that moment. I realized I, too will be handicapped in my old age. I won’t know how to get soda, I’ll have to give my ID to get anything I want, and young people and machines will wonder why I can’t navigate a world as simple as Taco Bell.

And yet….. I was still laughing at night’s end because an empty Taco Bell can put a laugh out there, bad night or not, McDonald’s wasn’t good enough, and the demand for bean burritos was to combat constipation. So even in our old demented age, we aren’t always the one’s who will be full of crap (bean burrito, anyone?)

“You just have to Laugh…”

©Cathy Sikorski 2015

 

 

 

 

Is your Plug Male or Female……..

Caregivers, Humor, Multiple Sclerosis, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Today’s tale is a bit vulgar….but I find honesty to be the best policy.

As my faithful readers know, I, with no training or inherent skills, have become a wheelchair repair expert over the last few years. I was able to get a different BIL (code for brother-in-law) to transport the humungous wheelchair to the rehab center, so disabled BIL would be able to get out of bed every day. By the way, there is no service, or transport that will take an empty wheelchair…well….anywhere….you have to find your own way to get it there.

One day, I’m walking down the hall of the rehab center and the physical therapist is manually pushing the electric behemoth with my BIL in the chair.

“What’s up?” I ask her.

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re here. No one can figure out how to get this operational.”

Because it had been a month since my BIL was even in the chair, and memory issues are a part of his disease, he was of no help either. In 2 minutes, I had everyone  operational and instructed for the forseeable future.

Then we went home.

I stayed with my BIL for about 6 hours that day. As happy as he was to be back in his apartment, he was feeling insecure and squeamish and not ready to be alone. I arrived home in time for an 8:00 PM conference call.

At 9:00 PM my phone rang.

“Hello, Cathy, this is the caregiver.”

“Hey, what’s up? Is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s fine, no problems. But we can’t plug in his wheelchair. It seems like a piece of the plug is missing that connects to the battery. So we can’t charge the chair.”

UGH. He needs that chair. He needs to be out of bed and as upright and mobile as possible to have a life where he goes to meals, talks to friends, plays SODUKU on his computer.

“Okay, I’ll come in the morning and look at it.” I must’ve been very tired. I’m still not a wheelchair repair person, what was I going to do?

Before I left the house, I called the wheelchair repair people, who told me the only thing they can do is order an entire new charger which would take 3 weeks.  When I asked what he’s supposed to do in the meantime, wheelchair repair guy thought for a minute or two (really??? no one has ever asked you THAT before?) And told me he could look around and see if they had a loaner charger, but that would take a day or two.

As I set my hair on fire in protest (only in my mind) I went over to my BIL’s apt. examined the plug and set off for the rehab center. I checked his room, as they had just cleaned it, we called down to housekeeping, I went to the nurses’ station, therapy rooms, front desk and had the social worker call the ambulance transport to look for it. No dice.

I went to my book club and my French Class. Mai oui…..I do some things for my self!

Then I returned to his apartment, there was the charger plugged in. But as my engineer BIL told me, truthfully, it was smoke and mirrors. It wasn’t charging at all. I showed the plug to him and hoped he had some brilliant insight. Nope. So I said to him:

“Well, you know what Nana would say?” She had a fine adage for problems when something would just not fit into a hole.

“Yep,” he nodded, “put a little hair around it.”  Yep, that’s what she always said.

Luckily BIL is a fiscal conservative and only used 3% of his power that day.

We then had the brilliant idea to call some local durable medical equipment providers and one dear soul sent me to Interstate Battery. As I was leaving with high hopes and the battery, my BIL said:

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but as an old man would say, I think you’re pissing up a rope!”

So with those axioms under my belt and a big huge 24 Volt battery in my arms like a newborn. I went to a big, ol’ manly grease monkey, full-of-testosterone battery warehouse.

And this is where the Good Samaritan works when he is not out on the road rescuing.

Keith worked for thirty or forty minutes to rig this battery charger so I could use it. The first thing he asked me is if it’s a male or female plug. I considered my Nana’s advice, but that didn’t lead me to any conclusion. I suppose I should have been able to deduct the answer, but I panicked and just looked as cute as I could. In that environment, I was a shoe-in.

By the way, there was never a missing part. It had been so abused over time by pulling it out by the cord that it basically pulled the charging plugs too far down into the casing.

Keith told me he has a few friends in wheelchairs and he sees this all the time, where they can’t get timely repairs and no one seems to care. He told me to just ‘Pay it Forward.’ I told him I try to do that, and he said, “well then, now it’s coming back to you!”

Sometimes…..”You just have to SMILE….and laughing never hurts, either.”

© Cathy Sikorski 2015

“

Techno and Testing………..

Caregivers, Humor, Medicare, , , , , , , , , ,

As I sit in the waiting room for my husband to have his colonoscopy, I am reminded of all the times I’ve been to various hospitals and doctors’ offices for tests of one kind or another as a caregiver.  Sometimes, I think we test like our patients are the next subjects in a high school science experiment.

When my mother-in-law was 86 years old, I took her to her cardiologist for a semi-annual check-up. By that time, she had a pacemaker and was required to have it tested in the office to make sure it was working properly. In the interim, they had sent her home with a machine that she was to use monthly to check the battery and operation of the pacemaker over the telephone. This was hilarious.

Marie had to take out this little box, put two wrist bands on herself, call a phone number, place the phone in an electronic phone cradle at just the right moment,  while holding some gizmo over the pacemaker on her chest, and wait for the buzz to tell her all was well. It sounds simple. But the set-up, the conversation with the technician and the ultimate getting the phone in the cradle at just the right time was a comedy of errors. Phone check-ups had to be by appointment only. I tried to get there on the exact date every month to help her, but some dates were just not possible for me. So after training my mother-in-law, this darling 86 year-old woman who lived alone and had not the slightest relationship with technology, did the best she could. I prayed she could do it, or in the alternative prayed that the pacemaker just worked until the next month.

At this bi-annual visit with her cardiologist, the good news was, her pacemaker was working just fine. Dr. Smarty Pants, however, had no trouble telling us that every month they weren’t getting the best reading, and we would need to do better. You know what I wanted to retort. But instead, I  said, “Okay.”

Marie took it personally and tried to explain how hard she worked to get it right, but by that time we were dismissed on that topic to discuss further things.

Dr. Smarty Pants was concerned that Marie’s chest X-ray showed a slight spot on her lungs. The X-ray had been taken as a standard procedure due to her heart condition and pacemaker. This spot, however seemed new and the doctor was concerned.

“It could be nothing, or it could be a sign of further pathology,” he said to us.

“Well,” I said, “exactly what would you like to do?”

“I think we should do some more tests,” he declared. “I would like to do a CAT scan, or perhaps even an MRI, and then based on those results, we may have to do a biopsy of the lung area to see what we are dealing with. And then, based on that information, well, actually, as soon as we have the results of the CAT Scan or MRI, I would probably send you to a lung specialist as this is not a cardiology issue in any event.”

“So let me get this straight. As her cardiologist, you want to send this 86 year-old woman for a CAT Scan, and MRI, a possible lung biopsy and then off to another specialist, as this isn’t really your bailiwick anyway? Do I understand that correctly?”

“Yes.”

Now my mother-in-law is just sitting there in her paper gown, probably freezing, as it is cold in there and I haven’t even taken my coat off, watching this banter .

“Let me ask you this doctor,” I said pretending I was just seeking information, but wanting to put my hands around his throat while he strangled out an answer if he were lucky enough to survive.

“Tell me a bit more about this spot on the X-ray. Is it big, is it new, what do you suspect it could be?”

“Well, it’s tiny, and we haven’t seen it before. Honestly. Sometimes it could just be a spot or speck of dust on the machine and not pathological at all. But we don’t know that for sure.”

“Okay,” I say incredulous but still pretending to be seeking only information and not the death penalty….for him…..”Let’s just say you find the worst case scenario after all those tests, the biopsies and whatever else you do….then what? My mother-in-law is 86 years old. She has a really nice quality of life. She has heart problems, diabetes, and high blood pressure. What exactly would you do or suggest under those circumstances?”

“Well, truthfully, I probably would just make her comfortable, she’s not really a candidate for surgery or even intensive therapies.”

“Um…hmm.. that’s what I was thinking, Doctor.” Of course, what I was really thinking was: “You’re an idiot.”

“Based on that, Doctor, I think she’s already pretty comfortable so we will pass on further testing and let nature take its course.”

My mother-in-law lived 11 more years, with nary a cough.

“You just have to Laugh…….”

©Cathy Sikorski 2015

A Vogue Valentine…

Uncategorized, , , , , , , ,

The day of love has arrived,

It couldn’t be sweeter

If you were a poster, a blogger or merely a Tweeter.

 

But you, even you, must acknowledge the One

Who has made your life

Happy and Special and Fun.

 

So buy him a card or a shirt or a bottle,

Buy her some candy or shoes or a bauble,

But buy it you must

Or your love will not show.

 

Unless you get them star-billing

On your blog on HuffPo

 

You can show them your love

When you make them a star,

When you scribe all their beauty

From near and afar.

 

Your grand gesture will take them

To Facebook and Pinterest,

Your schmoopie will be known from

Paris to Minsk.

 

So use your skill on the Internet and over the Web

It’s cheaper than chocolate

And will get you in bed.

 

Shout it from Instagram, Tumblr and Snapchat

Your special one is nothing to sneeze at,

She’s grand and he’s fine and totally the best

She’s better than Kim and Beyonce and

Screw you, Kanye West.

 

Your love is abounding

So text it and wait

Read your comments and endorsements

Of how it’s so great

To love and to cherish all over the web

Happy Valentine’s Day, you’re now a celeb.

I like coffee because it gives me the illusion that I might be awake… Lewis Black

Uncategorized, , , , , ,

My friend needed a companion to take her for eye surgery in the city.  It necessitated an overnight stay at the Sheraton because she had to return early the next day for a post-surgical check.

I slept on her very comfortable sofa the night before as we had a 4:00 AM alarm. As is the custom, no one really slept the night before, in spite of a few glasses of wine, for fear that we would miss our window of opportunity to get into the city by 6:00 AM.

The surgical waiting area was a beehive of activity. They took my friend back to ‘get ready’ 2 hours later. This was the Ford factory of eye surgery. Without coffee.

Yes. I said without coffee.

This place had at least 25 people waiting when we arrived before 6:00 AM. These numbers kept multiplying like rabbits every five minutes. Half of us were not having surgery, didn’t need to be fasting, and there wasn’t even a waft of coffee in this hospital.

Since none of the patients could eat or drink since midnight, I didn’t want to start a lack-of-food-fight, so I waited until my patient went back to the mysterious green room of surgery and politely asked,

“Um… is there some place I can get coffee?”

Which probably sounded like: “Um…s’ere smplc ickan goot COFFEE?” as I was stuffing a power bar in my mouth that I found in the bottom of my purse and waited two hours to eat so as not to offend my friend. I was done worrying about these other starving people.

“Coffee?” said the attendant.

“Oh yeah, go back down through the maze and walk about 5 miles through the next two buildings to the cafeteria. She really, truly said “5 miles.”  I don’t know if she wanted to save all the coffee for herself, but 5 miles would not daunt me.

As I turned the 13th corner and saw the Starbucks sign greeting all who entered the cafeteria, it was just like in the movies. Angels were singing, everyone around was smiling, a welcoming white light beckoned all to the green mermaid.

As it turned out, I waited another 3 hours for my friend to be finished, so that one Venti barely covered the trek.

We were both exhausted by the time we checked into the Sheraton. We decadently ordered room service of  Greek omelets and fruit salad which were only $7.95 each. We didn’t have high hopes for cheap room service but we were too pooped to venture out. My power bar had long worn off and my surgical companion was starving by now. Surprisingly, our meals were pretty magnificent. Yay, Sheraton Hotels!

And then we slept like the dead.

The ordeal was more draining than we realized. Since room service was so cheap we sprung for a movie…not cheap…and watched Birdman. Yowsa! That film had us talking for hours, so much so that we just went back to sleep early.

My friend slept well, but me, not so much. Again, I was worried that we would miss our appointment, even though we were 2 minutes away. The weather people were calling for possible snow, and I wanted to get her home safe and sound, with attendant groceries in case she would be snowed in for a few days.

I guess I was tired. I’m sure I was distracted. I am absolutely certain coffee deprivation was to blame.

I was so pleased with our ability to get packed and check out and be on our way. The weather system wasn’t going to happen at least until the afternoon and we were rocking our schedule. We hopped into my car in the parking garage. The place was almost empty of cars, which was the opposite of when we had parked the afternoon before.

I got my eye-patched friend situated in the car, threw my bags in, got out my parking pass, and promptly backed out so close to the cement column that the crushing sound of my side view mirror against my door reminded me of the trash compactors of old. I could only pull forward to stop the insanity. There dangled my mirror, limp, lifeless, devoid of plastic protection, crushed.

Wounded because of coffee
Wounded because of coffee

At the hospital, my friend asked for extra surgical tape to help her driver  fashion a splint for my crushed mirror. I devised a solution that angled the mirror into the driver’s side window so it wouldn’t bang against the door. We drove home in 28 degree weather on the expressway with our hats and gloves on, and the window open.

The high tech side view mirror flashed a big yellow blinker right in my face every time I wanted to turn left or merge. I was blinded by the flash as well as  by the fact that I didn’t realize how highly trained I was to use that mirror to merge. It was scary, dangerous driving.

My friend sat next to me with her big, huge surgical sunglasses on, trying to help so that we didn’t have yet another accident and said:

“Wow, this is the blind leading the blind.”

“You just have to Laugh….”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

Ugh….Comcast….or common sense?

Brain Injury, Caregivers, , , , , ,

“I’m pretty sure I have a brain injury.”

You wouldn’t think this would send me and my friend into gales of laughter because she does have a brain injury. And she is a walking miracle. So whenever anything goes awry, this is her go-to phrase. Five years ago, she fell down a flight of stairs to a concrete floor and her injuries were life-threatening. After the initial trauma with extensive treatment and still later, after she was further misdiagnosed and needed emergency brain surgery to place 40 platinum coils in her brain to stop bleeding, she recovered.

Although disabled, and under constant threat of possible seizure, she lives on her own. She has successfully navigated these treacherous waters and her band of supporters are actually the beneficiaries of her hard work, as she has reclaimed her independence as much as possible.

But every once in a while………..

Her cable and internet died for no discernible reason. She called Comcast, put up with their shenanigans for hours on the phone, and then emailed me the written confirmation of their repair plan. Not only were they going to charge her $50 to come out, but they were not going to come out for a week.

I told her this was unacceptable (okay I said bullshit). She called Comcast again the next day, wasted a few more hours of her precious time and was assured that someone would be at her apartment at no charge the next day.

“You’re not going to believe what I did,” she said to me.

“Oh, you didn’t forget Comcast was coming, or miss them or fall asleep, did you?” I asked.

“Nope, you’re just not gonna’ believe it…….”

This really nice repair guy shows up. He’s young and handsome and very charming.

“Uh ma’am,” Mr. Handsome Repair says, “you’re green light isn’t on. The TV is not on.”

“I noticed that when they were trying to send the signal to repair it from afar, but it didn’t respond to the signal, so I didn’t know what to do,” my friend said in a bit of confusion.

“Okay, no worries, let me see what I can do.”

He goes around the back of the 50 inch TV, he shuffles among the wires and all the components, and he too appears flummoxed. She knows this because he just keeps muttering, “hm……………..hm……………………hm.”

He stands up and looks around her teeny, tiny apartment. His eyes light up. He looks at my dear friend, with a bit of pity, no doubt, walks over to the door, as if to leave and reaches up to the door jamb.

“Are you going to get something out of your truck?” She was afraid he was just going to go without explanation.

“No, ma’am.” And with that, he flips the light switch next to her front door and everything churns and sputters to life.

“All your components are plugged into the plug that is operated by this switch. So you might never use it, but someone flipped the switch on you and cut off the power to everything. That was your problem.”

She likes to sheepishly say in these kinds of cases……”Sooowwweeee.”

I assured her, this is not a brain injury this is an old lady affliction.  Our ego, our common sense, our thinking outside the box appears to degrade with our eyesight, gravity ridden faces, and loss of car keys. Not only did she navigate Comcast twice without losing her mind, but she got a chance to spend time with Mr. Handsome Repair Guy.

After a certain age that’s a win-win.

“You just have to Laugh…..”

One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters… Charles Baudelaire

Uncategorized, , , , , , , , ,

Saturday was my birthday. I wanted wine and song. My daughter called from Ireland to wish me a grand year, and suggested I check the internet machine for our local beloved troubadour to see where he was playing. Miraculously, he was playing at a WINERY from 2:00 to 5:00 in the afternoon. In twenty minutes, my husband and I were at a wine tasting bar listening to great music. Serendipity rocks.

For 10 bucks we could taste all 17 wines on the menu. A designated driver was named (not me) and I, the birthday girl went for it.  Now, Pennsylvania wines are usually quite awful, especially if you love wine. So we were pleasantly surprised when we enjoyed the flavor of some of these wines. The vintner was very proud. The chatter continued on in a  lively and humorous fashion. We were all having fun. It turns out that my husband and the vitner graduated from the same high school in the same year. They actually know each other, but the intervening 2 score years (nice way of preserving their dignity) changed their remembrance of one another.

Okay, so I’m tipsy, singing, meeting new people, drinking some not half-bad wine, and my phone jangles. Well, it’s my birthday, so people have been contacting me all day. I pick it up with a big ass wine smile and say:

“Hello!”

“Hello, is this Cathy?”

“Yep, it sure is…who is this?”

“This is the cardiologist from the hospital. I want to discuss your brother-in-law’s condition.”

Uh-oh.

Can I tell you, that it was the most lucid and coherent conversation I have ever had with a physician.

I answered all his questions, gave him a supremely detailed medical history, discussed current medication, the possibility of new medication, the long term effects of those new meds, and what the physician would require in the future in terms of follow up and testing. All while standing outside in a snowbank because of the music and raucous crowd in the winery.

I asked every freaking question that came to mind, I questioned the doctor’s  thought process concerning my brother-in-law’s medical history and future. I was rocking that conversation like I just graduated from medical school.

Clearly, I need to drink  more wine.

“You just have to Laugh……..”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

“You really don’t have to be young to find a friend in a teddy bear.” -Rachel Newman

Caregivers, Humor, Medicare, , , , , ,

I have become sort of immune to authority figures in the world of medicine and insurance. My friends would tell you my immunity started long before caregiving. My older brother, Chip would say I made my self the authority figure right around 5th grade when I would tell my Mom what Chip wanted for lunch. My baby brother Bill would say, “Cathy doesn’t have any problems with authority, as long as she is the authority.”

Okay, fine.

I’m bossy and pushy when I need to be.

But sometimes I am surprised by the far-reaching influence of my bossiness.

I was grilling the nurse in the hospital about the details of my brother-in-law’s discharge. What day were they thinking? What kind of meds would he need when they sent him home? Did they know I had a 24 hour notice rule, so that I could set up his at-home caregivers? Would they call the insurance company to confirm the need for ambulance transport since my brother-in-law was non-ambulatory?  Would the case manager call me so that I could give her the time of day that transport would work best for the caregivers as well as his meal time at his facility?

My brother-in-law was so used to this diatribe, that every once in a while he would chime in with a: “Yeah, when can I get out of here!” emphatic remark. He liked looking bossy, too.

His hospital roommate, a kind and gentle Teddy Bear of man, whose family had quietly visited with him just a few hours earlier and had now left, was patiently listening to all of this. We had exchanged greetings earlier. He was very soft spoken. Even his young grandchildren were very quiet and respectful. He didn’t have his television blaring, like my brother-in-law usually does.  He didn’t pull his curtain shut or ask for privacy. He didn’t call his own nurse for any assistance during this time. But he was clearly awake, aware and watching all this broo-ha-ha.  He seemed to be taking it in with great interest, but just stayed calm and quiet.

After I had hashed out all the details that I needed to make the exit from the hospital as smooth as possible for my brother-in-law, I noticed that his roommate called the nurse over to the side of his bed. She very graciously went over and asked if she could help. Before he could say another word, she cautioned him that she was not his nurse, but if she could help she would.

He looked at us, and then looked up at her with pleading eyes and said ever so softly: “I, too, was wondering when I could get out of here and go home.” Then he looked at me, and I swear there was a twinkle in his eye  that was a dash of courage, but still a Teddy Bear, asking for his own reprieve. I’m pretty sure he winked back when I gave him the thumbs up!

“You just have to Laugh…………”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski