That’s a happy little title. . .with its happy little words like “golden” and “afternoon”. Those sound like happy words. They sound like the premise to something wonderful.
I’d like to sentence those words to the fiery depths of hell, along with “Can you hold on second?” and “Let me get you that number.” and “I’m sorry, but you are out of options.”
To hell with you words.
Yesterday I ran the gauntlet for my uncle. Between the hours of 8 AM and 11 PM I made 66 phone calls. I received 37 phone calls. I sent 29 emails. I received 103 emails. I digitally mailed in three four plus page forms for various things. I googled until even Google was like:
“Bitch, I got nothin’.”
I tried every loop hole I could find to get him placement in the right kind of facility. I dug through the sludge of governmental agencies. I was directed to speak with Ms. So-and-So at the Department of We Only Pretend to Care, who told me to talk to Mr. I’m-Too-Busy-For-You at the Office of You’re Poor And We Don’t Care, who directed me to Mrs. Utter Confusion from the Corporation of Why Did They Tell You To Call Me?
And I was directed back to Ms. So-and-So.
And the circle continues.
By the end of last evening I had realized that I’d spent the entire day ramming myself head first into the same damn wall again and again. I was the definition of insanity personified. The thing is, my uncle falls between the cracks. There are two big conditions that can get help for someone in his position:
1. You’ve got money. You can totally afford anywhere that can be found, so no problem.
2. You’re sick enough. And by “sick enough”, I mean sick enough to their standards of what they are willing to help with.
My uncle doesn’t have money. . .and by their judgement, he isn’t “sick enough”. What’s even better is that the places that specialize in handling Alzheimer’s patients are even more expensive. As they should be. This isn’t exactly easy work.
Having one of these issues is fine. Having both means a trip straight through the cracks into the Land of No Options.
In the Land of No Options is where the husband and I sat back to discuss. It wasn’t the first time this idea had been mentioned, but it was time we nailed down the settlement agreements.
My uncle is moving in with us. We’re looking for a home, and he’ll come with us and I will stay home and care for him.
Yesterday I thought I’d be freaking out about that idea, but today I feel almost like a weight has been lifted. I can step out of the gauntlet. I can do what is right for him, in a manner that may even help the husband and I in our endeavor to build our own home. . .I think he will be happy with us.
And maybe I’m in a bubble and trying to keep my frail emotions above water, but I am not doing the stress today. I’m going to recognize that we have a plan and I am going to make it effective.
So today I have called a Realtor.
I have called an Adult Day Care Center.
I have signed up for free classes to teach me how to be a better provider for an Alzheimer patient.
I have filled out the necessary forms to help him receive aid for in-home care.
I have made him an appointment with a new neurologist to discuss treatment options.
I am working on finding placement for his dogs.
Today I have a plan. . .and it’s an I Don’t Do Bullshit Plan.
Herstory Lesson: Try not to go full force into your plans. Give them time to breathe, so you can be prepared for the changes that come.