Processed A Lot
I spent the weekend with my “cat daughter” or “kitton” (not a mis-spelling). I hadn’t seen her since 2011. We met in 2000 when we were working in the same place. She was sixteen and going to MSU and her parents lived in Virginia. I was a mother figure to her. I helped her out when there was no one else. We both like cats.
I met her at Detroit Metro. We hugged and cried. We both let go. We put conditioner in each other’s hair (fur) Saturday and ate out a lot. Her husband, who occasionally has work projects in Michigan told her that she must eat Zaytoon’s. She says that there are no good Middle-Eastern restaurants in South Carolina. I had never thought about it. She was surprised how they had popped up everywhere. Of course we have lots of them. Michigan has the highest Muslim density outside the Middle East. We also ate at De Luca’s, where everyone in town eats the best Italian food in the city. When she got home, she told Ashok that he must eat there when he comes to Michigan. Taking her back to Detroit Metro was hard, but she needed to get back to her family (including seven-year-old Ayush) and job.
This weekend was just what I needed. I needed the time to process my feelings about Barry’s deterioration and the prospect of taking the insurance company to court if need be. I was so okay with the idea that I actually got a decent night’s sleep last night. Wow.
This morning, the nurse came to evaluate Barry. She had thought that we received help two years ago and was surprised when informed otherwise. She saw how impatient Barry is. It was a little funny. Trying to give Barry a head’s up about what he would be doing next, she told him that he would be needing to put on his socks and shoes. She did this right after telling him to show her how he gets into and out of the shower. So he took his shoes and socks and starting putting them on in the bathtub, trying to do what she told him to and saying he didn’t understand such a request. I told her, “One thing at a time.”
She said to him, “I thought you were kidding.”
He responded, “I thought you were serious.”
While she was there, a lawyer’s office called. I made an appointment with this guy, who has experience with exactly this kind of case.
I think I have about an 85% chance of getting help without taking this to court, but now the insurance company knows that I have absolutely no problem taking them to court. I can prove that Barry is a falling risk and a choking risk. Huntington’s has no cure. It’s all downhill from here. The longer they fart around, the greater the odds that Barry will fall and require a nursing home, which they can pay for. If they choose to help before the appointment, I can cancel it. The lawyer now has a copy of the insurance policy. I am ready to go.
The next phase of my life does not begin until I have help with Barry. I have only two goals in life right now: getting help from the insurance company and helping Barry see his grandsons. When I accomplish one goal, then I can focus 100% on the other. There is no “next” until I get help. I am going to pursue this until I die, Barry dies, or they provide benefits. If I lose in court, I will appeal. This isn’t over until I say so because I have nothing better to do with my time. Never mess with someone who has nothing better to do and all the time in the world to do it.