Medicare...Doesn't Care

For several years, my father has used the services of a home health care company. Before I moved in to care for him, I was grateful for the service because I knew his medical needs were being attended to and he was getting regular baths. Over the past four years, the nurses have changed and the service in general has slacked off. And it’s my fault…according to MediCare.  And his eligibility to continue the service is about to expire.

Because I live full time with my father and provide cleaning, cooking and other personal chores for him, I am considered a caregiver by MediCare standards. The government agency will no longer provide payment for a certified nurse aide to visit twice weekly to bathe my father; nor will it pay for the services of a nurse to visit weekly to check his vital signs and check on his general physical well-being. That leaves me entirely responsible for his care. I would like to note that I have no medical training and haven’t the first clue how to use a stethoscope, other to drape it in a cool fashion around my neck.  Because I am reasonably bright individual, the home health service has “educated” me on proper diet, medication interactions and safety precautions and feel I am well prepared to take over complete responsibility for my father. That makes me very nervous.

My fears exist on many levels, not the least of which is the frustration I am bound to feel when my father fails to comply with medical orders, as he is wont to do. Without the back up of his regular nurse, I will have no ammunition to fight him. That frustration, gone unchecked, can be dangerous. I am anxious that one or both of us may get injured, or if I make a mistake with his medicine, there could be adverse results. It’s an astronomical burden to place upon a family member to be solely responsible for the elder. I most worry about my father’s personal hygiene. He has been known to go more than six weeks without properly bathing and I depended on the home health agency to provide that service. Now, however, the responsibility falls to me. I want to provide my father with as much dignity and privacy as possible in his final years, and I don’t think scrubbing him down twice weekly is the way to go about it. It’s not so much that it will bother me; I’ve seen it already. I am more concerned for the psychological repercussions for him. I feel it will degrade and belittle him to have his daughter bathe him like a child. I know, I know…Circle of Life and all that, but still…

I completely understand that it was my choice to care for my father in his final time on earth. He adopted me when I was a helpless infant, fed me, provided for me, nursed me. I feel a strong obligation to him for that. I am equipped with the knowledge of his condition and its maintenance, but I do possess the skills to manage it. I firmly believe that some training should be made available to care givers of elderly patients. It would lower the hospital admission rate, perhaps lower elder abuse rates and at minimum, prepare us…for whatever happens.

Over the past few weeks, I have conducted extensive internet searches and read a number of articles, pamphlets and editorials on caring for an elderly family member. I don’t take my responsibility lightly, folks! A common thread in those publications is that caregivers must take time for themselves and request respite care. Will Medicare pay for that? Nope. Who, in the end, pays for that? The caregiver. 

Me.

Somebody's Hero

This woman? She is my new hero. Her name is Linda Tirado. Up until a couple of days ago, she was a hard working mother of two small children who worked two jobs and averaged 4 hours of sleep a night. Then she wrote an essay that was published on the Huffington Post and her life changed...almost immediately. She is a complete stranger to me, yet I am thrilled for her new found celebrity. 

Ms. Tirado's essay focused on poverty and how it affects women. Her objective was to shine a light on the bad decisions made by the lower class and, in a sense, explain to those in the middle and upper classes the thought process behind those decisions. 

This Is Why Poor People's Bad Decisions Make Perfect Sense exposes what women in the lower class must deal with every day just to put food on the table for their families and pay the necessary bills to get them by one more month. Ms. Tirado writes:

"We have learned not to try too hard to be middle-class. It never works out well and always makes you feel worse for having tried and failed yet again. " 

"There's a certain pull to live what bits of life you can while there's money in your pocket, because no matter how responsible you are you will be broke in three days anyway. When you never have enough money it ceases to have meaning. I imagine having a lot of it is the same thing."

 Her words struck me to my core. It was if she reached deep into my psyche and discovered my thoughts, fears and feelings of the last 8 years. Someone finally understood what I was going through with paying bills and buying groceries and gas for the car. She KNEW I wear disguises when I use the CoinStar machine just so I can get a little after-dinner surprise for everyone instead of just the bland pasta dish and bread. 
Ms. Tirado's essay was fraught with references from her life that were mirror images of my own: the struggle to get bills paid, going into a tailspin when an unexpected expense arose, worrying about what her family was going to eat. 

I haven't always been poor. My parents were solidly middle class - my father was a life-long railroad employee and my mother worked for a sporting goods manufacturer. I grew up without a clue of how my parents provided for me; they just did. I got what I wanted for Christmas and birthdays and we did pretty well, I guess. I went to college on their dime - no students loans, scholarships or grants for me. I did a fair job of managing life after college, up until my mom died. I admittedly fell apart on every level and became very financially irresponsible in the following couple of years. I established a solid financial footing during the 9 years I worked at a private school. I shared a house with my best friend at the time, so I only had minimal basic bills. I could afford almost all of what I wanted and was able to acquire larger ticket items with my recently rebuilt credit. Life was good; I had money in the bank, I had good medical insurance and I felt quite stable. Then the proverbial boom was lowered. 

I lost my job, along with 15 others, in a layoff due to an operations budget shortfall at the school. I was offered a generous severance package, but the blow to my emotional and mental state was damn near impossible to overcome. I was severely depressed and ended up making some REALLY bad decisions, acting more on alcohol induced impulse than on logic. Within about 6 months, I was broke and about to be evicted. I moved in with a guy that I thought would be the answer to all my problems. Suffice it to say that he most definitely was not. During a particularly dark period, I wandered around in a fog, participating in more rash behavior. Remarkably, I ended up pregnant and unmarried. 

In that moment - and every moment since then - I was poverty stricken. It's been so difficult to accept my station in life. But once I learned how to shed my pride, I found no shame in becoming a couponer and bargain shopper! It's especially challenging to have physicians, educators, and other high earners as good friends, but because I love them, I've learned to live with their salaries and I am extremely grateful when they share their good fortune with me in the form of dinner, shows, toys for the Pie. 

The world looks down on the poor. Society judges the lower class without knowing the circumstances under which they became so. Yes, it's embarrassing. It's humiliating, is what it is. But it's the life we have and we try to make the best of it. Linda Tirado summed it up this way: 

"I am not asking for sympathy. I am just trying to explain, on a human level, how it is that people make what look from the outside like awful decisions. This is what our lives are like, and here are our defense mechanisms, and here is why we think differently. It's certainly self-defeating, but it's safer. That's all. I hope it helps make sense of it."

To read the entire essay by Ms. Tirado, click here 

Funds Needed

http://www.gofundme.com/5gpa6k


This link will take you to a GoFundMe page where you can donate, if you wish, to helping to pay for plumbing repairs.

thank you for your consideration

Mixed Messages

Suddenly, everyone is talking about princesses. A few days ago, a media outlet ran a story about a private girls school in Kentucky that has launched a new development campaign. The school poses that modern girls are not vapid, helpless princesses, but strong, capable and independent young women. Here is one of the several print ads they offer:

I find this very intriguing since Disney just released their new spots on television:

So, which is it? Do we encourage our daughters to be princesses or not? The so-called experts on child development and psychology have conflicting opinions and are sending mixed messages to parents of little girls. There are valid points to each side of the argument, but I'm trying to determine which point weighs more heavily with me. 

On the one hand, we have called our daughters "princess" since time immemorial. A daughter is such a sweet little creature that we take pains to shelter her from harm or negativity. We swaddle them in pink the instant they leave the womb and painstakingly buy them dolls, play kitchen equipment and tiny vacuums in order to prepare them for their roles as homemakers. We shower them with whatever they want at the sight of the first tear, pouty lip or batted lash. And why not? They are our precious baby girls - our princesses!  

Disney would have us believe that being a princess is the ultimate goal for every little girl. I question this singular path of thought. Every Disney princess I have seen (and that's a lot!) presents in appearance as perfect. They are all stunningly beautiful with long flowing locks, huge eyes, lovely and radiant skin, and many of them have the singing voice of an angel. They are immediately adored by all those they meet and usually have gentlemen falling over themselves to make the her their bride. That ideal is unattainable. Is that what we should be training our girls for? To become a wife...and then what? We never hear about what happens "happily ever after." 

Click here to see a very interesting take on modern women and how they are princess-ified. 

Admittedly, some Disney princesses do possess characteristics and values that I would like my daughter to emulate: kindness (Snow White), compassion (Ariel), intelligence (Belle), humility (Cinderella), strength (Mulan), courage (Merida), determination (Tiana), and adventurousness (Jasmine). But I look at it as more my responsibility to model those values every day at home, rather than cross my fingers and hope she picks it up by watching the movies. The Pie often inquires, "Is this real?" when we watch a movie together. I explain that they are made up stories, but they teach us a lesson about life. I try to let her figure out that lesson, instead of brow beating her with it. 

What I want my daughter to grow up knowing is that she - as herself - is good enough. She is perfect in my eyes and she makes me proud to be her mother. I need her to understand that she doesn't need a tiara to be special. She already is.  

The Other Woman

In recent weeks, some people have told me that I am "too nice." I'm not entirely certain what that is supposed to imply, but I found myself reflecting on it. Before I became a mother, I had an edge. I was tough ...didn't take crap from anybody. Now, upon careful examination, I can see soft spots. Little chinks in my armor show up more often than I would like. I don't care about how I look, as long as I'm clean. I've become another woman. 

There was a time when I would never dare to leave my house without my hair and make-up done and dressed presentably. I regularly had my hair colored and styled, visited tanning salons and had manicures every 3 weeks. Nowadays, I make regular trips to Wal-Mart not only without make-up, but with my hair pulled back and many times without a bra! My hair turns grayer every day and is desperate need of a cut... and my nails? I'm lucky to get to cut and file them myself, rather than chew them off! Pedicures? A very rare treat! 

Before I was a mommy, I was a tough chick. My exterior was hard, crusty and nearly impenetrable. I spoke harshly and sarcastically to people and didn't care if I offended anyone. I was honest and straightforward. No sugar coating for me. Now, 6 years after birthing the most awesome child on the planet, I am more aware of tact and diplomacy. I choose my words carefully and make a concerted effort to remain positive in difficult situations. I am more friendly to strangers and find polite conversation less annoying than I used to. 

Once upon a time, my agenda was all that mattered. I worked 10 or 12 hour days, stopped for a drink on the way home. Stayed out all night and slept all day on weekends. Mornings consisted of sleeping until the last possible minute, repeatedly slapping the snooze button. (Oh, wait...I still do that last thing!) I had no one else to answer to, no one to feed but myself, no one to take care of but myself. I didn't ingratiate myself with the neighbors. I wasn't a part of a community. If I didn't want to do something, I didn't; and harbored no guilt whatsoever about saying "no." In present day, I sleep very little. I am always the first one up to make sure homework is in the book bag, clothes are ready to be worn, breakfast is made and lunch is packed. I have a strict schedule of dropping at school, nap times, picking up from school, extracurricular activities, preparing meals, getting baths and stories read, slathering lotions and potions on old,

neuropathic feet and then cleaning up before I can finally fall into bed. On many occasions, I am responsible for not only my kid and father, but the children of other people, as well. Neighbors rely on me to plan their garage sales, teach them to use a new piece of technology, babysit and otherwise counsel. And I do it all! I don't want to let anyone down. I care now about being a part of something bigger than me. I help because I once needed help and was afraid to ask. When I received what I needed, gratitude became my way of life. 

Admittedly, there are times when I wish I could morph back into that hard edged, stone cold bitch that I was when I wasn't a parent. But for the most part, I like being the other woman. 

An Open Letter to Men

WARNING: MEMBERS OF MY FAMILY AND/OR THOSE WITH SENSITIVITIES TOWARD VULGARITY WILL NOT WANT TO READ THIS. IT CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE AND DEPICTIONS OF SITUATIONS THAT COULD BE UPSETTING TO YOU. 

An Open Letter to Men

Dear Penis Possessors,

I have something to say. I don’t think you’re going to like it, but for my own sanity, it has to be said. And I need some questions answered.

 I have recently found myself the recipient of uncomfortable attention from men.  Within the past several months, four different men have thought nothing of suggesting I have sex with him for no other reason than the pleasure of it. None of those men were my steady boyfriend … and one was my father.  

Last week, as I lay quietly in my bed, reading a book, my father entered my bedroom, slid his hand up my leg and grabbed my genitals. He sometimes gets confused and disoriented, so I asked him, “What are you doing?” He answered by repeating the offense. Shocked, I asked, “Do you know what you are doing?” He then showed me his penis, and then grabbed at my genitals again. I firmly instructed him to return to his bedroom, closed my door and cried. I could not begin to process what had taken place in the supposed safety of my home and began to freak out. I posted a number of cryptic quotes on Facebook and fortunately, my neighbor saw them and called me to talk. Our conversation helped calm me down, then I went to take a shower in an attempt to cleanse myself of the incident. I then vomited while standing in the shower, overcome with disgust and shame.

The day before the unthinkable happened with my father, a man I briefly knew over 10 years ago and had slept with once, spent the day texting me in an attempt to get me to agree to meet him in order to recreate the past. For several weeks, this man hounded me through Facebook messaging and texts for this reason only and I tried to decline in a subtle way, but that seemed to go unnoticed.  I had to state directly that I was not interested in a situation that debased me and lowered my value as a human being to that of a sex toy. It is my hope that he does not contact me again, but I cannot be certain.

A couple of months ago, a new guy friend talked me into coming to his apartment for the sole purpose of performing oral sex. I admit it was a mistake and will only say in my defense that my self-esteem was at a dangerously low level and I desperately needed to feel and be wanted. More requests followed but when I passed on the opportunity, I was verbally abused; I was called names and made to feel less than a person.

Back in November, I was on a date with a man I met in a restaurant. He is the friend of a friend, so I felt comfortable going out to dinner with him. The entire evening, he spoke suggestively, then graphically, about what he wanted from me. I tried to play coy, hoping that a nice first date would evolve into a second date and maybe something more concrete. He took me to a park and while we were there, he forced himself on me. I said “No” several times, but he would not be stopped from getting what he wanted. Afterwards, he dropped me at my car and said he would call me. He did. A week or so of ignoring his calls and texts only made him mad, so I confessed that I didn't want to see him again. He didn't take it well, and again I found myself being verbally abused. I wasn't invested in him much, so I didn't let it bother me. I knew it wasn't about me, it was about him.

This past weekend, I attended my high school reunion with a girl friend. I was having a great time until I caught the attention of a guy who had obviously drunk a lot of alcohol. Thirty years ago, we never exchanged one word, but he was more than happy to share words with me now. Specific, graphic words involving sex acts came tumbling out of his mouth into my ear as I sat trying to watch a slide show of pictures. He cornered me at the food table and began kissing my neck and telling me he wanted us to get together. He suggested we go into the parking lot to get to know each other better. I reminded him that is was a high school reunion….not high school. By mingling with my classmates, I was able to lose him a few times, but at the end of the night he wanted me to have his number so I could call him to hook up.  Oh, I forgot to mention…he’s married.

Now guys, here is what I want to know:

Do I dress or present myself in a way that indicates I am willing to have sex with any guy that comes along? Do I provoke feelings in you that you can only communicate in a sexual manner? Do I seem to acquiesce to your dirty talk when I simply smile and turn away?  Do I hang my tits out for you to ogle at or wear skimpy skirts with no underwear? (That answer is no, by the way) Just what is it about you men that make you think this behavior is okay?  And furthermore...Why me?

I know this about myself: I am not drop dead gorgeous, a hot chick or a knockout. I think I can be reasonably attractive with the right make up and lighting, but I would not consider myself pretty. I am overweight…considerably overweight. I dress well for my size and just try to look nice. I know I am a quick wit and intelligent, but that doesn't seem to come into play in this situation, since all you want to do is shove that ugly piece of meat in one of my bodily orifices!

I completed a counseling treatment program back in May and feel far better about myself than ever before. Is it that new confidence that is drawing you in? Because maybe I need to re calibrate that.

When a woman feels good about herself, wants to look good and seems to be enjoying life, why must you swoop in and piss all over our good thoughts?

Some of the men mentioned in this writing will recognize themselves. Well, men…what do you have to say for yourselves?

Scandalous!

I’m in the mood for a good, juicy scandal. One so outrageous that simply can’t be believed. One that gets round the clock CNN coverage for a solid week. I have only two conditions for said scandal: 1) no one can be harmed or killed and 2) it must involve someone that is almost above reproach.  I wonder why we, as a society, enjoy seeing someone fall from grace. Why do we soak up the humiliation of others and hang on our seats for the next breaking news about it?

For me, I think it comes from a place of envy. Seeing someone who seems to have it all lose face among his or her fans seems to be a sort of comeuppance, a way of reminding the subject that he or she is not impervious to scrutiny. That we are all human. In many instances, a scandal exposes hypocrisy at government level or reduces a pompous ass to a sniveling weasel. The Germans even have a word for that feeling: schadenfreude. 

When thinking about what might shock America to its core, I came up with a few ideas. None of them may turn into stuff of legend or history books, but I figured they might at least give us something to think about … other than our own dull lives.

For example, what if Michelle Obama was discovered scarfing donuts and gulping down Red Bull before delivering a stirring speech about childhood obesity? What if Angelina Jolie turned out to really be a man? Adultery scandals are always good fodder for tabloids…what if someone leaked that Queen Elizabeth II has carried on a love affair with one her palace servants for the last 50 years? Sex tapes are de rigueur, but what if Oprah Winfrey starred in her own and it was exposed on TMZ?  It needs to be something unique and mind-boggling. Any one can send of picture of their genitals on their phone…ho, hum. Boring! Leave hate-filled rants on your child’s voice mail? Seen it. Prostitute your daughter on a stage for the sake of fake-jeweled crowns? It’s a popular television show. Yawn.

So, it’s time for someone America has placed on a ridiculously high pedestal, who has the respect of nearly citizen, to really screw up. News casts are getting pretty boring, so let’s get busy!!