Being Amber Rhea

Lia commented on my last post and it reminded me of something I meant to include, but forgot.

(This won’t be very well written.)

The day before my dad died, when I was in the airport about to get on a plane to Chicago, my grandmother called and told me my mom was following an ambulance to the VA Hospital, where they were taking my dad because he had taken a turn for the worse. She didn’t come right out and say “come to Augusta,” but she said something like “I think your mother needs you now.” And I felt awful and told her not to guilt me and don’t think I haven’t struggled with this - but I need to go on this trip. And she said, “Even if your daddy is dying?” And I snapped at her again about guilting me. She asked, “Well is there anything you want me to tell your mother?” And I was crying at that point and I said, “I don’t know. Just tell her I love her.” Then I hung up.

At that point I was crying too much to try to hide it, and I didn’t want to make a scene (which I probably already was doing, even though I was trying to hide behind an elevator shaft). It just so happened that there was one of those “interfaith chapels” right near where I was standing - near the escalators coming into Terminal E. So I went in there. Basically it was just a little room with some chairs and a table with a Bible and some other various religious accoutrements. I called Jenny and Rusty to tell them both what was going on, and by that point I was just bawling. I couldn’t stop. A few other people had come into the room and I was embarrassed, so I just stayed facing the wall. They eventually left.

When I was on the phone with Rusty, I felt a hand on my knee. I turned around and there was a woman kneeling on the floor by my chair and she said, “I’m a hospice chaplain. It sounds like you need some help.” I told Rusty I’d call him back and hung up. The hospice chaplain spoke with me for several minutes and I don’t remember all of what she said, but she was very comforting and just wonderful. She said she had just happened to be walking by and heard me crying. After a few minutes she hugged me and said good luck and walked out.

When I told Lia about this when we met for dinner a few months ago, she said, “That’s what we call a God-incidence - instead of a coincidence.”

Definitely appropriate.

When I was in Augusta last weekend, my mom dug out a tape from the 80s where she’d recorded some things of familial significance. I hadn’t watched it in years, but when I saw it, I knew immediately that this stuff would have to go on YouTube.

First up is my 30 seconds of fame on local television in 1986 (or it might have been 1987; I can’t remember for sure). My parents knew the guy who owned this piano shop and he asked us to be in a commercial. I remember we did several takes. I also remember complaining to my mom that I was too old to say “Mommy” and “Daddy,” and she explained to me that actors and actresses often play characters who are younger. That satisfied me.

Next is an Augusta local news segment from the mid 80s. My parents are in the B-roll of Maxwell’s for a few seconds toward the very end, around the 1:04 mark. It’s funny for a number of obvious reasons (80s hair, 80s attire, etc.) but also because it shows just how little local news has changed in the past 20 years.

Finally, my dad’s winning chicken recipe. Wait, let me explain: In the 80s, “Midday on 12″ was a program that came on at noon on Channel 12 in Augusta. They had a segment called “Lookin’ at Cookin’” where viewers could submit recipes, and a winner was chosen each month. My dad’s honey-baked chicken recipe was the winner one month in 1984. He won a set of really cheap pots that we ended up giving away to someone.

Aside: I love these two ladies’ Southern accents!

I also want to give a plug for Affordable Video Solutions on W. Peachtree. Originally we were going to digitize the video at home, because Rusty has one of those converter boxes to connect the VCR to his computer. But our VCR tried to eat the tape. So we took it to AVS and they fixed the tape (it wasn’t actually damaged; they just had to wind it back into the housing) and converted it to DVD. They were very friendly and fast, and the price for the conversion was $29.95. I definitely recommend them if you need anything like that.

ETA: Ha, the chicken recipe video is already the top hit on Google for "midday on 12" augusta.

It’s been three weeks.

I still feel like I’m moving in slow motion. My Ambien hasn’t arrived yet (stupid mail-order pharmacy) so I’ve been taking Tylenol PM to try and help myself sleep. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Overall, I feel okay in a general sense - I mean, I don’t feel the raw sting of loss constantly on the surface, the way I did after my marriage imploded - yet there’s this subtle feeling of… I don’t know what… emptiness? Even that’s not it. I can’t really describe it. But there’s something subtle and pervasive still lurking there, making me unable to sleep soundly, making me feel like I’m walking through molasses a lot of the time.

I was chatting with Jenny on GTalk yesterday and she said something like, “Grief takes a surprising amount of time.” I don’t think “surprising” was the exact word she used, but you get the gist.

I told her that I was starting to worry that I’m annoying the people around me. She said that should be the last thing on my mind right now. I know, I know.

When the initial arrangements were being made for my dad to go into hospice care, a friend told me, “I won’t sugarcoat it: this will be the hardest thing you ever do.” I’m not sure that’s true, for me. I think all the shit with my marriage was harder - although I realize it’s not really a case of degrees of hardness, but different kinds of hardness. With that, I ached, deeply; my whole body felt it, I lost weight, my mind was a mess, I tried to keep up appearances, I moved halfway across the country, I cried so much that I thought surely I couldn’t cry anymore - and then I cried some more. It was like this Xiaolu Guo quote I saw today on Rachel’s Tumblr:

People always say it’s harder to heal a wounded heart than a wounded body. Bullshit. It’s exactly the opposite—a wounded body takes much longer to heal. A wounded heart is nothing but ashes of memories. But the body is everything. The body is blood and veins and cells and nerves. A wounded body is when, after leaving a man you’ve lived with for three years, you curl up on your side of the bed as if there’s still somebody beside you. That is a wounded body: A body that feels connected to someone who is no longer there.

That’s not how this is. Like I said, it’s more subtle. But still real.

I will still maintain, if forced to choose (when would I ever be forced to choose?!) that the marriage stuff was “worse” - but this is just weird and unnerving. And even with all the caveats in mind, I still feel kind of pissed off at myself for thinking there should be a comparison.

If you’ve sent me an email and I haven’t responded, please be patient with me. Maeve, I know I need to email you. You too, Niki. And others. But please, be patient… this is a bizarre time for me. Hopefully I’ll snap out of the slow motion soon - or whenever the time is right, anyway.

…why people believe in God.

Conceptually, I’ve always been able to understand why. Who was it who said that thing about how if God didn’t exist, humans would create Him? Something like that. Anyway, that’s always made sense to me. I think we all want to feel some sort of comfort that we’re not totally alone in the universe and that there is some kind of purpose (even if the truth is actually the opposite). Because if we’re all alone, reality can seem too scary to handle.

But during the last few weeks with my dad’s rapidly declining health and finally his death, I’ve come to understand on a much more real, personal, visceral level why people find comfort in what I’ll nebulously refer to as faith.

A caveat, too: “faith” is one of those words I generally dislike, because so often it’s used as a buzzword, devoid of any real meaning. Other words/phrases along those same lines are “values” and “tradition” and “way of life.”

Anyway, as I was saying…

Over the past few weeks, I have allowed myself to feel comforted by expressions of religious faith that seemed heartfelt and nonjudgmental. And why not? We all need to find some comfort wherever we can. I still do not consider myself a religious person, nor am I comfortable with the appellation “spiritual” (though I flirted with it when I was a teenager) - but I do know that during hard times, comfort and support is important, and there’s no need to split hairs over what form it takes.

I’m inspired by my mom’s friend P., who lost her son (who was just a month older than me) in 2006 when he was killed in a collision with a drunk driver. Prior to that he’d had a severe head injury at around age 11, and in his early 20s was diagnosed with leukemia (it had been in remission for several years at the time of his death). He had recently gotten married. I cannot even conceive of the suffering his mother has endured, and yet she remains so devoted to her faith and so warm, caring, and thoughtful of others. She spoke with my dad a few times when he was in the hospital and then when he came home for hospice, and according to my mom he was very moved by it; she thinks talking to P. really helped him. She has been a source of comfort to my mom, too; never preachy, never proselytizing, but always just there, with a kind word and a sympathetic ear (and not just a trite cliché, either).

I’m inspired by Lia of Star Light Ministries, who as far as I can tell seems to have the same approach to Christianity as P.: just being there, with love, without judgment. And based on what I know about Christianity (and I do know quite a bit, actually, having studied it in high school and college, and done plenty of reading and research on my own), it seems like this is the more authentic manifestation of Christianity, although unfortunately it’s quite rare.

I’m inspired by Denise, the American Legion chaplain who officiated my dad’s funeral service. She showed such compassion and sympathy, in a way that I really believed (rather than just going through the motions like a lot of people do), and she had only just met me! She just had a way about her that was comforting, respectful, and right.

I didn’t pray in the kitchen last Sunday with my mom, her friend M., and Denise, as they were going over what the service should include. I had been sitting at the table with them, but by that point I had gotten up and left the kitchen, and had just come back in to get something out of the fridge. They were about to say a prayer and Denise invited me to join, but I said “I’m not much of a praying person…” and just stood silently until they were finished. And it’s true, praying makes me uncomfortable and I don’t like to do it (and I certainly don’t like to “fake it”); but as for faith as a source of comfort, I get that.

My mom has never been a religious person either, but there she was, praying in the kitchen, and I could tell it was a help to her rather than her defenses going up as they usually would.

When Denise quoted Scripture at the funeral, I didn’t feel the annoyance that I typically do when people quote Scripture. Maybe that’s because most of the time it seems like people are doing it in an accusatory way, with an agenda. But the few passages she quoted were relevant and I could tell she had put some real thought into selecting appropriate ones.

And as I heard, many times, “He’s in a better place now,” or “He’s not in pain anymore,” I didn’t get annoyed. I was surprised because if you’d have asked me before all this started, I would’ve guessed those phrases would really irritated me. I guess I just didn’t have the energy to get worked up about it; I was taking comfort wherever I could get it.

I am still not a religious person, nor do I think there really is a God like the Judeo-Christian God, although there very well might be something; but I get why people are religious. I realize that in the past I have unfairly judged an entire religion by the bad apples who make themselves very visible in its name. I will try not to do that in the future.

And yeah, it might be cheesy, but there is a feeling of comfort to be had in that “Footsteps” poem. I think we all need that from time to time.

I realize I haven’t put up a real blog post in a week. In a way that feels like ages ago, in another way it feels like mere minutes ago. Same as always; I won’t go off on the tired old babbling about the subjective, convoluted nature of time.

So much to say but I don’t even know where to start. I’ve had trouble falling asleep all week, and many nights I’ve written ridiculously long blog posts in my head as I lay awake in the dark. I’ve also been drinking too much sweet tea over the past few days, left over from Tuesday’s catering from Wife Saver; but I know my fitful sleep is attributable to far more than just extra caffeine.

If I’d had any forethought (but how could I have?) I would’ve brought my old-school paper journal with me to Chicago, meaning I’d have it here with me now, and I could be scribbling in it whenever the spirit moves. I know I’ll be doing a fair amount of that when I get home. And I also know I need to do more writing here, and it needs to come from the gut, without a filter; I guess death always makes you reassess things and realize, starkly, how short and fleeting life can be. So I need to write here for the reason I started this blog: for ME. I need to write in MY style, which admittedly others won’t always grok. But that’s okay. Because it’s not about them. And all of this has made me feel like I can do it, must do it, write for my life, without worrying about who I might piss off or what some nebulous “they” might think.

It feels weird to know that I’m going home tomorrow. It’s been over a week since I’ve been home, slept in my own bed, seen my finches, watched my Tivo, sat at my desk… it’s been over two weeks since I’ve been to work. I know getting back into the swing of things will feel good. But like I said, it also just feels weird. Everything has felt so surreal this week. I feel like things are in a state of suspended animation and I’m moving in slow motion… that’s the best way I can describe it, and even that is not totally accurate. I don’t know when I’ll come out of this state. I do know that the old truism about never knowing how a traumatic event will affect you until you’re actually dealing with it is right on.

I’ve had nightmares almost every night I’ve been here (when I’ve been able to remember my dreams at all, that is). And yet I’ve stayed in bed until late morning whenever possible, until my back hurts and my shoulders are screaming for a massage, because the lethargy is just too great to overcome. Really the only thing that forces me out of bed is having to pee.

One weird thing that’s happened while I was here: my mom’s AC literally froze. As in, the AC repair guy came out to look at it and said it had turned into a block of ice. We ran the fan for a full day in order to thaw it out (it’s back to normal now). I’d never heard of anything like that!

—

Chicago, Tuesday, July 17th, around 9:00 p.m.: phone call from my mom. I had been waiting for a call and I knew it wouldn’t be good. And I guess maybe part of me knew exactly how not good (or good, depending on how you look at it; he was suffering a lot, after all) it would be. Dacia and I were walking down Belmont looking for food. I stepped into an alleyway so I could hear my mom better. She sounded quiet and deflated, like she had been crying but wasn’t crying at that moment.

“Hi Amber. Well… Dad died.”

What could I say but, after a big gulp of air, “Okay. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

We talked for a few more minutes. I don’t remember what all she said. I do remember he passed away at 8:20 p.m., and about six people were in the room with him at the time.

I told Dacia. We hugged. We stood there. She asked me what I wanted to do. I said, “I know it sounds bad, but I want to eat dinner.”

She rubbed my back and said, “That’s what you do when you’re alive. You eat.”

—

Thanks, Dorie, for looking after our finches.

More posting to come, either really soon or not.

Well, I was going to put up a somewhat flippant post about the first day of the Desiree Alliance conference, saying that it was a lot like other conferences I’ve been to, only that people were taking their clothes off. In a totally non-sexual way - the conference space doesn’t have AC, and it’s really fucking hot, so, solution? Remove some of those bulky layers! Pretty awesome if you ask me.

So I was going to write a funny ha-ha post focusing on that, and looking forward to day 2 of the conference. But the other news, now, is that my dad passed away, at 8:20 p.m. tonight (Thursday, July 17). I’m catching a 9:05 a.m. flight to Atlanta tomorrow, and then a connecting flight to Augusta at 1:18 p.m. Rusty will be joining me on Saturday or Sunday. At the moment, I feel weirdly (to other people’s perceptions, anyway) calm and collected. I really only started to get emotional on the phone with my mom because she was so upset and I was sympathetic with her.

We’ll see what the next few days bring, though. I’m sure I’ll do my share of crying and riding the emotional rollercoaster. Password protected posts to come, I’m sure.

Just another quick post… still in Augusta, but will be heading home soon. Two hospice nurses came (as well as a bunch of people to visit my dad) and moved him into the hospital bed in the living room. He seems a bit more comfortable now.

My emotions are all over the place: sad, numb, angry, surprisingly okay, patient, impatient, resentful, disappointed, annoyed, overwhelmed, resigned, irritated, stressed, deflated, exhausted (well, that one has stayed pretty steady)… basically anything you can think of.

I am really looking forward to the Desiree Alliance conference. I’m also really looking forward to SLEEPING, and spending “alone time” with Rusty. (I don’t mean sex, although I’m looking forward to that, too; but I wouldn’t use a stupid euphemism like “alone time” for sex.)

Thanks again to others who have called/emailed since I last wrote. At the moment I feel too emotionally worn out to return calls and such (hope you understand), but I really do appreciate it.

Okay gotta go eat the onion rings Rusty got me from Burger King. Such healthy eating, I know.

Just a quick post. I’m in Augusta, and I’m very tired. My dad came home today (as you saw if you follow my updates on Twitter). It was a really difficult experience seeing him so weak, having to be physically lifted and moved by the EMT guys (who were really great, btw). He had some visitors later… generally he seems to have a good attitude, and still has his sense of humor. But overall it is very sad. I’ve been a lot less teary-eyed this weekend than last, though I still have been on the verge of crying several times. I think maybe it’s because now we actually know what his diagnosis is, instead of being in the hospital, waiting on tests, dealing w/ incompetent interns, etc.? Maybe. I’m sure my emotions and how I cope will be all over the place, depending on the day and the situation.

I’m still going to Chicago next week. I feel kind of guilty for doing so, but I also know I need some “me” time. I’ll probably be coming to Augusta a lot more frequently. I don’t feel quite as anxious about the whole situation as I did a few days ago, now that I know he’ll be getting hospice care. I did some reading about hospice and what it encompasses, and it looks like basically they will do anything and everything you need. So now I don’t feel quite so worried about my mom (even though I am still worried, but just not on that one particular level).

If you have called, texted, emailed, sent a Twitter direct mesage or @ message, or any other form of supportive communication - THANK YOU. I really appreciate it and it means so much to me. I really want to convey my sincerity on that. I’m sorry that I probably won’t be answering everyone individually (due to time, stress, exhaustion, etc.) but knowing that there are people out there who truly do care has made a big difference. ‘Cause sometimes, well, I don’t trust people very easily and I wonder if I’m mostly “alone.” This has made me feel like maybe I’m not. And whether it’s true or not, it’s a nice feeling.

Thanks for meeting us at Waffle House tonight, Jen… that was a fun distraction. Overall keeping a sense of humor (when it’s appropriate, I mean) is very helpful for me. And so is being able to lean on Rusty. I know you’re reading this, GDBF… I love you and I can’t articulate how grateful I am.

Jenny, I’ll try to call you tomorrow. I don’t mean to add more drama, but… well, I know you’re always there (I never have any doubts about “aloneness” with you!) and your text message today made me tear up (in a good way), and I showed it to my mom and she said that was so sweet of you. If I get time tomorrow, I’ll call, and I’ll probably just want to ramble.

I still have this stupid weird feeling like if people see me writing about this they’ll think I’m trying to say I’m the only one who’s ever dealt with a parent with cancer. I know that’s ridiculous. That’s one of the things you never have to think about with an old-fashioned paper journal, for sure!

Okay, I guess that’s all for now… Rusty’s in the shower, I’m just trying to stay awake until he’s done. Tomorrow the hospice nurse is coming over at some point, and they might be delivering my dad’s hospital bed (or it might be on Sunday). Some password-protected posts will come eventually, as will a bunch of scanned old photos.

I’ve told it all to Rusty. I’ve told a good chunk of it to Jenny via IM, and hopefully made some sense amid the typos and inevitable disjointedness of IMing while at work. I’ve scrawled some of it in my real journal (that is, until my hand started hurting like hell; I can hardly believe I used to write 20+ page letters to friends, back before any of us had email).

The original placeholder title of this post was “In the VA on July 4th.” As I said on Twitter, the irony was most certainly not lost on me that my dad was in the VA Hospital on July 4th, with much of the place closed down and only a skeleton crew working, and the asshole intern who looked like he just walked off the set of Grey’s Anatomy (but not in a good way) saying they can’t do anything because of the holiday weekend. There were signs everywhere that said, “Our Mission: To Do Everything We Can For Veterans,” and patriotic decorations of the sort you find in elementary schools, with bubbly cut-out American-flag-patterned letters stapled to those big sheets of paper that come on rolls, spelling out, “We Love Our Veterans!”

That is some terrible irony. I guess the only way it could be worse is if it had been Memorial Day weekend.

“Support our troops” means put a fucking yellow ribbon magnet on the back of your SUV (yes, it’s so cliché to even say it at this point, we’ve all heard it before), not actually providing care and coverage to the infirm. Oh right my dad gets a piddly $200 a month benefit from the government for being exposed to Agent Orange in Vietnam; “oops, our bad for exposing you to a potentially deadly chemical; here’s two hundred bucks!”

And leaving the infuriating irony aside, this whole situation has brought out into the light (yet again) the stark, ugly reality of the divide between the haves and the have-nots. We can spend billions of dollars on a wall between the US and Mexico but somehow we can’t figure out how to provide comprehensive health coverage for every citizen. I mean thank goodness for small favors; at least he’s actually registered at the VA at this point (unlike when he had a stroke in 2006, and was treated like a second-class citizen by the staff at Doctors Hospital [coincidentally, also the hospital where I was born], since he didn’t have insurance). He has Medicare Part Whatever - I can’t keep track of all the letters and what they mean. I worked on a program for it back when it first came out in 2005, and I remember thinking, holy shit, if I can’t make hide nor hair of this nonsense then how the hell is someone who’s elderly and unwell going to navigate this fucking labyrinth of bureaucracy? Oh but at least the web site had large type!

Anyway Medicare Part XYZobtwFU will pay for a nursing home - but only for 90 days. Someone explain that rationale to me! Who goes into a nursing home and then, after 90 days, is suddenly fit and well and ready to go golfing!? Or do they just expect you’ll die before the 90 days is up? If not, go ahead and start spending your retirement savings - oh wait, that’s assuming you have any retirement savings. There’s that nasty divide again.

And yet knowing all this, my mom still votes Republican. It baffles.

I don’t know. There’s more I want to say. I’m on an emotional rollercoaster. And there’s this side of me that’s infuriating even myself, where I start to feel selfish (that word again!) for even mentioning this to anyone, like they’re going to think I’m trying to say I’m the only person who’s ever dealt with a family crisis. Now realistically, who would think that? No one. But that’s my mind for you.

I guess one of the good things about going to Augusta this weekend is that I won’t have to see that stupid psychiatrist on Saturday. I really do not like her, but for now she’s the one prescribing my meds. I don’t feel that I’ve been benefiting from talk therapy lately, but that’s another story for another time.

And I have another post about my dad and such in the works which will come out eventually, but it’ll need to be password-protected. And who knows when I’ll get around to writing it.

Oh and also? Preemptively… please, no comments on this post telling me what I should do or who I should call or what I should look into. Unless you know something 100% definitive and can do the work for me? Well, I appreciate that you might mean well and want to help, but no thanks.

I’m having another “freaking out” day re: Sex 2.0. I feel light-headed, and I don’t know how much of that is due to stress and how much is due to it being too warm in the office (note to self: go get some water!), but I don’t feel so good.
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One of the “issues of the day,” so to speak, that makes me the most angry, sad, flustered, etc. all at once, is the healthcare issue. It is waaaay up there on the list. When I think or talk about it for too long (and a very short amount of time constitutes “too long” for me), I get so riled up, and just stay in a state of agitation until I manage to shake it somehow. I don’t know what to do with all that energy that the anger and sadness produces in me. I end up feeling so powerless - there’s nothing I personally can do, and I hate that.

I believe that a responsible government, first and foremost, takes care of its citizens. I believe that all U.S. citizens should have access to comprehensive medical care free of charge. I believe this to the core of my being and nothing will change my mind.

I get Molly Holzschlag’s RSS feed. Yes, Molly Holzschlag, the prominent web standards advocate. “What does this have to do with healthcare?” you ask. Well, today I read this in Molly’s feed:

I have no medical insurance and cannot find anyone to insure me. I am a U.S. citizen, so there is no health care for me whatsoever unless I become completely impoverished. But I’m in the middle class, unmarried, and have no access to regular medical care. This problem has gone on for years now, and I believe at the core of my soul that my challenge of this moment, on this day, has everything to do with my nation’s inability to care for its own.

I read that, and now I’m once again filled with that angry energy and nowehere to put it. I want to make it better for Molly, for my dad, and the millions of other Americans dealing with sources of stress that should not exist.

After my dad had his stroke, he refused to go to the hospital, because he knew it would be “too expensive.” For two days he refused, and in the meantime further endangered his own life (for example, he fell getting up out of a chair, as a result of impaired balance due to the stroke) and the lives of others (e.g., my mom’s mental health was absolutely shot; also, he was driving - thank god he didn’t get into a car accident, who knows who he might’ve killed). It took my mom calling me, nearly hysterical, begging me to try to “talk some sense into him” - which I tried to do, but when he spoke to me in response, I could barely make out any words because his speech had become so unintelligible - and an intervention of sorts, to finally get him to go. (The intervention was a friend of the family going over to my parents’ house the following morning to help my mom physically force my dad into the car if necessary, and drive them to the ER.) In the hospital, they treated him like a second-class citizen - which, being without insurance, I guess that’s what he was. These days, my mom’s mental health is slowly improving (I think) - at least, she’s not taking Valium every day anymore - but she has lost about 12 pounds and is getting dangerously thin. And of course the medical bills are sky high.

This should never be allowed to happen in the wealthiest nation in the world.

My dad swears by Johnson and Johnson’s First Aid Cream. It was the go-to remedy for all manner of cuts, bruises, and maimings when I was a kid. This is because (apparently) one time when my dad was in Vietnam (no, this is not a Walter Sobchak-esque story) he tripped over a piece of jagged wood and cut his big toe damn near off. He proceeded to slather it with First Aid Cream day in and day out, and it healed. I can attest, he has two normal big toes to this day.

(Full disclosure: I wrote this in a comment on Duane’s blog and was so heartily amused by my own writing, that I decided to just put it up as a blog entry.)

Yesterday Rusty and I were hanging out with some friends and the topic of health insurance came up. One of our friends mentioned the exorbitant amount he and his wife pay every month for coverage (they’re self-employed). In response to the mouth-agape, “holy shit that’s more than some people’s yearly salaries” look on my face, he said, “Well, it’s expensive, but all it takes is one major health crisis for it to pay for itself.” But, nobody should have to take that kind of gamble!! Another friend mentioned not being able to have her baby at the hospital really close to their house because it didn’t accept their insurance. And Monday morning I am going to have to resume jumping through hoops to try to talk to an actual person at my insurance company, to try to find out whether the therapist I have an appointment with Thursday (you know, so I can do something to help myself) is covered.

And what about my dad? He and my mom have been self-employed for almost 20 years. From the time I was about 7 years old onward, we didn’t have health insurance. My mom finally was able to buy it for herself about 5-6 years ago (after having to pay out of pocket for a critical GI surgery in 1997, until the hospital finally just stopped sending a bill). A year or so ago my parets finally got financially stable enough so that my dad could try to buy insurance too. Oh, except when he tried, he got turned down left and right because of pre-existing conditions. So, the health insurance companies basically said, “You’re not in perfect health and therefore you’re too much of a ‘risk,’ so fuck you, even though we are purportedly in the health business and are supposed to be here to help you.” (Which we all know is patently false, of course.) “P.S. Hope you don’t have a stroke!” And then, of course, he did, and from there you know the rest of the story.

As I said yesterday… this is one hell of a country.

And save your bullshit comments about supporting a “free market.” I am so sick of reading that same tripe over and over.

I just gave my mom a check comprised of donations from readers over the past few weeks and my own contribution. She was speechless for a while, then said, “I’m probably going to start crying in a minute, but right now I’m just in awe.” She said I could post a big THANK YOU from her on my blog. So there it is!

I’m going to go ahead and put the stylesheet back. Even though there are still a few hours left of Naked Blog Day, I am going to bed at this shockingly early hour, and I don’t want to be freaked out by the expanse of white and Times New Roman in the morning.

• Things with my dad have gone from bad to worse. I’ll be leaving for Augusta tomorrow morning and will be there until Saturday. In all honesty, I am not looking forward to going; but I need (and want) to help my mom as much as I possibly can.
• I’ve moved to the new apartment but I’m nowhere near unpacked. I can’t find any-damn-thing. Fortunately Rusty lives down the hall, so I can camp out with him. But finding clothes to wear is a challenge, even in the face of the looming laundry pile that’s eating his couch.
• I’m pretty much broke. Apparently my rotors were fucked, in addition to my brake pads, so that didn’t help matters. I want to give my parents as much money as possible, but I’m afraid my contribution might be a paltry sum compared to the generous donations of readers and friends. This kind of makes me feel like a loser. How does anybody get by these days, much less save money? (Do not answer that question; it’s rhetorical.) The term “nest egg” kind of makes me want to punch anyone who says it.
• There’s other stuff I can’t write about because I don’t want to get dooced.

I’m not looking for anyone’s sympathy, or phishing for compliments or praise. I’m just stating the facts, and telling y’all why I don’t care all that much about ideological arguments lately.

Thank goodness I have Rusty to help me keep a modicum of sanity; otherwise I don’t know what I’d do. Oh, and I miss Jenny and Niki big time.

…is not a good thing.

- Espcially when one has been sleep-deprived all week while one scrambles around trying to move to a new apartment at all hours of the night/morning.

-Especially when one has been way too busy (typo: busty) at work while one’s boss is out of town.

-Especially when one is constantly worrying about the situation with one’s dad, and, perhaps even moreso, one’s mom.

Especially when one is talking of oneself by constantly using “one.” ‘Cause that’s not annoying or anything. Oh, and is too lazy to make an unordered list.

Must shower and then go clean old apartment. Oh and pack up the shit that’s still there. Ugh.

My dad came home from the hospital Monday night. Yesterday a friend of my parents came over and stayed with him for 4 hours during the afternoon so my mom could work; she’ll be coming back today, and I think tomorrow too. He seems to be doing alright - best as could be expected given the circumstances, I suppose. I forgot to mention previously that they also found that he has type 2 diabetes, so he’s on a strict diet and has to have his blood sugar checked once a day. As for effects of the stroke, he mainly just has to work to get his strength and coordination back.

Thanks again to all the people who have made donations and/or offered advice - it means more to me than I can convey. My mom is looking into various payment options, many of which I passed along to her from comments and emails I received. It sounds inadequate, but all I can say is “Thank you!”

Well, my dad had a stroke. Fortunately it was a minor one, and he’s doing as well as can be expected. But if I hadn’t talked to him on the phone Tuesday night, he might not have gone to the hospital at all, and then who knows where we’d be. He’s a stubborn bastard like that. (But despite all of it, I love him.) Oh, and he doesn’t have health insurance.

He’s been in the hospital since yesterday. They’ve done bloodwork, a chest X-ray, and a cat scan (hence determining that it was indeed a stroke). He’s supposed to start physical therapy later today. My mom doesn’t know yet what the long-term prognosis is, but overall he seems to be doing okay. I’m going to Augusta Saturday morning and will be there all weekend.

I don’t know how my parents are going to pay the medical bills. My dad is 62, but he had opted to wait on collecting Social Security, because apparently if you wait ’til you’re 65, you get an additional $200 per month. (My mom had said, “But what if something happens in the meantime?” Exactly. He just thought we’d never have to find out, I guess.) And of course you have to be 65 to get on Medicare.

Someone is coming to talk to him today about what “programs” he might qualify for (if any). He might qualify for Medicaid, but I’m thinking it’s probably unlikely, given that the Bush administration continues to make it harder for people to get and pay for the medical treatment they need.

Anyway. I’m going to help out as much as possible… I don’t have much disposable income, but I’m going to redirect whatever I can to my parents, to help pay for this. If it means I don’t buy new clothes this spring or I have to eat PB&J for lunch for a while, I can deal. I’d rather have my dad be alive.

I hate to look like a freeloader scrounging for change via the web; I don’t want to seem obnoxious or like I’m looking for charity. But, I’m going to move the Paypal donate button to the top of the right sidebar, and any small donation would definitely help. (The Paypal form shows the email address as admin@sotsforum.net; yes, that is me.) Don’t feel like you have to, at all; I don’t want anyone to feel pressured, and I don’t like how some web sites breathe down your neck about, “Give us some money! Donate!! Donate!!1!” But, if you want to donate a few bucks, I’ll be indebted to your gratitude. I know that sounds cheesy, but I’m for reals.

Before seeing The Aristocrats tonight with the GDBF, I decided to call my mom since I hadn’t called in a while. Ain’t I such a nice daughter? Scene (for purposes of your orientation/mental images): sitting on a sofa in the lobby of the Tara theatre, the GDBF to my left. Mom and I chat about work and life in general for a few minutes. Then my dad picks up one of the other phones - so now both parents are on the line, and I am bombarded! The conversation progressed thus:

Dad: Amber, this is your father. Now who is this Rusty character?
Mom: I’m sure she can’t go into a lot of detail right now, he’s probably right there!
Me: He is right here.
Dad: Well, what are his intentions?
Me: [laughing] “What are his intentions”? [GDBF laughs]
Mom: He heard that! I can hear him laughing!
Dad: Maybe he won’t be laughing so much after he talks to your father.

Just gotta shake my head and roll my eyes. So cute, aren’t they?