… and then they do!

All was going well: my mother has been calm, the recertification papers were walked through by the long term care agency, and the; and then we picked up the mail at my mother’s. Mail, more mail, tons of mail. And guess what? There was a packet of mail from Medicaid stating that this, that and the other were missing and that the completed forms were deferred until March 11. Then there was another packet of forms, also indicating a deferral to March 11. It included data that had to be entered by a physician, releases, even more documentation for finances, stuff that had already been submitted. I saw this mail, yesterday, March 6. I worked on this new assignment last night and into today, faxing, calling, emailing, not getting answers. Emails that I has sent to the managed long term care were NOT received and had to be re-sent. I faxed a medical form to the doctor. We all know that anything he receives ends up in “the land of the lost.” And, because there is another Nor’easter pounding us again, who the heck will be around to do anything? Note: March 11 is in 4 days. Mail takes an eternity. The due date is a Sunday; no one bothered to even adjust that. In addition, the forms had been rubber-stamper-ed with such a worn out device that half the address and the zip code were missing. How’s that for a class act? A physician is supposed to return a form by mail and it is up to the client to figure  out and correct it the return address.

I called Medicaid to complain and asked that notations be made in my mother’s records indicating that all this had been sent in before and was miraculously lost. And, that, because I do not live with my mother, and because she is blind, and because I don’t pick her mail up daily, I had just received the paperwork and there was no way it would be in by the 11th.

“Sorry,” said the worker, “I can’t make any notations.” This is not a “regular” office. And yet, I heard her scribbling in the background–unless she was writing her grocery list. This was after being on hold for a half hour.

Back to worry and desperation: I called the Entitlement Department again and was told they were “here for me.” But, as much as they were here for me, the papers weren’t there for them-thar folks at the other agency. I was told to send the stuff over. (again) I faxed sixteen pages. Then I emailed to say that I had faxed it. Then I called to say I had emailed and that I had faxed. The agent whom I know now on a first name basis, said she’d take a look. She would “get back to me. I am still waiting.

Every year this happens and I scratch my head and wonder what I could have done differently. I play “blame the victim” and then realize, “hey, that’s me! And that is also my mother who is going to be one hundred years old. I am just the facilitator, the go-to care-giver, the person who has spent hours and days and nights dealing with this. For years.

I tell myself, “this will all work out, it will be settled. My mother’s services and supplies will remain intact. It will all be fine.” I continue to plow through her paperwork, to gasp at a recent $49,000, one-of-many statements from the hospital, for her recent stay. I tell myself, “nah, they can’t charge this to my mom, she couldn’t possibly be responsible. I couldn’t possibly be responsible! However, for each and every communication, form, questionnaire, fax, interpretation, correction, phone call, bill-to-pay, I am the one responsible.

It is easier to think about a second Nor’easter, listen to the wind, watch the pounding rain and the blowing snow.

So much easier.

This series starts here:
Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey

The previous post is here

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