Monday: As I began to tell you, last week hit suddenly: the moving truck arrived from Florida and I spent a good amount of time pushing, pulling, fishing through, unwrapping, organizing, a load of boxes that were filled with fragile items wrapped like paper mummies. A few boxes ended up at my house and there are still a couple that must be gone through at my mother’s. The place shaped up and despite all the attempts of the movers for seniors to plan the layout, nothing materialized as they envisioned it. The contents are all there: it’s a bit crowded and a bit awkward but it is livable and viable. A work in progress. I still need to make a few returns and pick up a small television and return the loaner to the building.

Tuesday: As the week progressed I found myself cramming in one of my own medical appointments. I was there on time and waited and waited and realized that my usual fifteen minute wait was more like an hour and a half and the waiting room was nearly empty. This was the second time I had a bollixed appointment at this place: someone forgot, again, to enter that I had arrived into the computer.

Wednesday: That wasn’t all the waiting I did. I had to make a visit to the Social Security Office, not far from my mother’s place. I had some personal business to take care of, got to the Social Security Office after noon and it was closed, shut down to save money, sequestered.

Back to unpack cartons.

Thursday: Back to Social Security. I took my number and a seat and waited about forty-five minutes to be called to the window and was told no more people in the back office would be calling in any more of us out front. I wanted so much to photograph the waiting room, the number board, the crowds of people waiting for information, people speaking every language but I thought better of it.

I was offered an appointment that someone had canceled for the next day at 10:00 am. I grabbed it. In the mean time I had to concentrate on getting my mother’s paper work in order. Life was getting more and more confusing.

My mother still needed, according to the elder attorney, her own account in New York and I needed to separate funds from mine. In addition, the combo wheelchair/rollator we had purchased before she arrived, was flawed (so much for the bargain price) and uncomfortable. So between hours of looking for parking, dragging the walker and the new, unloved appliance that needed to be returned, and the bank, there were hours of work to be done. After a notable time at the bank (which happens to be available at the residence where my mother lives weekly, they have a little branch but it wasn’t open last week) my mother, the aide and I had new accounts in hand. Off we went to the medical appliance store. (see how my life has changed? When did I ever imagine having days like this?) When the fellow finally came out to help us, my mother was exhausted and the aide and I were somewhat suspicious of the quality and price of the merchandise. So understand: this wheelschair-pushy-thingy-2-in-one combo was a special price and I can tell you why. It was scratched. It leaned slightly to one side. It was USED, had to be. The guy went on vacation and was inaccessible, my mother was inaccessible and the stars didn’t line up until last week. We couldn’t confront him until this time. The bottom line: he wasn’t going to take it back. After selling us something that has likely been used, this s.o.b. gives us the “how can I sell it now,” routine? “You take it out of the premises and it is used!” And isn’t it funny that six other people before us might have faced the same thing!

Yes, I know the bill says something like “you buy it, it’s yours, sucka,” but really, if there is something wrong with it and it is uncomfortable what are you supposed to do with a $350 thing? I just stood there and didn’t say anything, let my mouth gape, turned away, I was going to haul off and add him to my pissed consumer list. The nerve. And then something great happened: my mother fixed it: “I never used it and furthermore it is DEFECTIVE!” It is UNCOMFORTABLE!” She gave the clown an out! She said the magic word! The eighty-two pound, ninety-five year old lady broke the code. “Defective? well in that case … ” And that’s how we were able to get out of there, almost an hour+ later, with a cheap transport chair and cushion and ended up paying $100 MORE than previously so this creep could save his face and we could get the heck out.

Everyone ended the day exhausted, but the week wasn’t over. I figured that while I was doing my personal business at Social Security, I could find out how to fix some issues for my mother:

• change her address
• get her a new medicare card
• change her bank routing number for the new account for direct deposit
• find out how to act on her behalf

It was Friday and I was ticket number 13. Despite my appointment for 10:00 am, I wasn’t called to “the back” room until after 11:00. The woman was kind enough to share with me that she couldn’t wait to get out of there, just a few more hours!  I remember those days … well, I did what I had to do for me so I pressed on about my mother and she gave me a load of forms to fill out and sign, and assured me I could come in with them, completed, along with her ID’s and everything could be completed at “the window.” Sounded easy.

Back to mother’s to find a parking spot, fill out the forms, have her sign them, get her ID’s. Back I go to Social Security, look for a parking spot, take a number, sit and wait again …

My turn. Up to the window. I am greeted. I say, “Hello.” I explain that I was here earlier and was told to bring an assortment of papers that were given to me by the woman I saw “in the back room.” I explained that everything was signed and that I had my mother’s ID cards as instructed.

“Everything was filled out correctly, she said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but you want to make a lot of changes and you don’t have the permission approved yet to be her representative. Why you didn’t bring her here yesterday?”

“I explained that she is ninety-five and it was getting late and we had many errands … that didn’t seem to be a good enough explanation. She asked me the same question several times like I was a dolt and couldn’t think of bringing her in myself. Does she know what it’s like to shlep a ninety-five year old woman in a wheelchair? First I was told all this was possible and now it wasn’t. The other alternative was to do this on the phone with another party nearby to help her to speak on her behalf if needed.

Back I went to the residence thinking we could end the madness there on the phone, make the requests and changes and be done and then be able to start tackling the legal stuff. But my mother was MIA. The aide was MIA. I couldn’t find my mother after finally parking, waiting for slow elevators filled with elderly people pushing wheeled apparatii or being pushed in same. Someone said my mother was in the dining room, someone said she left. The aide was not answering. I gave up and left a pile of notes on the desk and the chair in the apartment and went for a weekend break. I had had it. Another day wasn’t going to change anything.

Later, the aide was able to help make progress on a couple of the requests but it looks like we may have to make a journey back to that God forsaken building with a ninety-five year old woman in a new wheelchair that cost a lot more than it should have. I think I may need my own by the end of the week. Damn, everyday is something.

By Saturday I had a twenty-four hour headache that began with an ocular episode and burst into an ache that wouldn’t quit until this morning. I have no guilt for taking a break … a short photo journal is coming.

This series is linked: see “continued here.” Also, below the line there will be links for the previous post and the next.

The series starts here

continued here