The Spirit of the Season

Even though I am agnostic, I grew up half-Danish, and Danes take their mid-winter pagan/Christian celebrations very seriously. I love Christmas, even if I'm not convinced that some poor woman with an intact hymen managed to survive her husband's wrath and give birth 2007 or so years ago tomorrow. I attended a religious high school, and love the solemn ceremony. I love Christmas food, I like tasteful Christmas decorations, and I love Christmas music. Well, even though I do enjoy Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer, but I like the old stuff. Not 1930s or 1940s old stuff. Not even 19th century. I like the medieval carols. The simplistic and naive songs without product placement.

So tonight, upon (very flattering) request from the Foilkids, we (that means I) played carols on the piano, with some assistance singing: The Holly and the Ivy, I Saw Three Ships, The Cherry Tree Carol, The Friendly Beasts, and others. And then on the guitar.

Even though I love these songs, when I play them and sing them I think: those beautiful medieval melodies and words, the same people who sang them had pograms against Jews and gypsies, tortured people to get confessions of witchcraft, and slowly roasted people live over coals for heresy.

Sometimes a bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing. I still love the music, but whenever I hear someone say of something from another era "That was an easier kinder time" or something like that, I wonder if that person has ever picked up a history book. But I love playing I Saw Three Ships, a medieval English song showing an abysmal knowledge of seaways and geography. (The ships sail into Bethlehem. Sure they do.) But you have to love a song where, when singing of the mother of god and her husband (who's not the father of god, of course):

He did whistle and she did sing
On Christmas Day
On Christmas Day
He did whistle and she did sing
On Christmas Day in the morning.

Well, here in Power Town, it is Christmas Day in the very early morning. The girls are finally sound asleep (snoring is a dead giveaway) and it's time to put the skateboard, the kitchen sink (toy) and all the other goodies under the tree.

Have a merry little Christmas or a nice day at the movies and out for Chinese food.

Well, It's Mid-Winter, When a Middle-Aged Gay Man's Heart Turns to Thoughts of Love

I have a whole bunch of friends who don't date and don't have relationships with the opposite sex, if straight, or the same sex if gay. I've given up trying to figure out why. Maybe it's the risk of rejection. Maybe physical closeness just isn't that important to them. Maybe there's something else I can't put my finger on.

The temptation when one has a friend who hasn't been on a date in say, five or more years (or in the cases of some friends, um, ever) is to assume that they have affirmatively given up on relationships (not a bad choice, sometimes) or that they aren't seeking a relationship. Certainly, from my perspective, someone who keeps to the same routines, day-in and day-out, isn't seeking a relationship. But in his heart, sometimes he is. No, Mr. Movie and The Professor haven't come out of the closet and introduced me to their new beloveds.

But Mr. Studmuffin has. I have never known Mr. Studmuffin to date. I have never heard him talk about being on the prowl, having a crush on someone, man or woman, or otherwise indicate any interest in anyone as anything other than a friend.

Yesterday, TigerGrrl opened up a Christmas card from Mr. Studmuffin's address with Mr. Studmuffin's last name and another last name above the address. TigerGrrl, bless her sweet little girl (okay, she's a big girl, but she's really just a little girl under that 8-year old 5' tall exterior) heart, came bounding up to me and said "[Mr. Studmuffin's name] has a new man in his life! Isn't that great! Look!" She waved the card with a very artsy and unidentifiable shot of two men's assorted facial features in my face.

We agree that we were glad that Mr. Studmuffin had a partner* and TigerGrrl asked me if the two were married. Since Mr. Studmuffin does not live in Massachusetts, I explained that two men can't marry each other in most states. TigerGrrl was happy to learn that in the state in which she was born (Massachusetts) and one of her grandparent's countries (Denmark), Mr. Studmuffin could marry, if he so chose. TigerGrrl seemed to not question that a man might want to marry another man and was genuinely happy for Mr. Studmuffin.

I would, ideally, in the next year, meet friends' partners before they get to the moving in or marrying stage. Mr. Studmuffin and Lt. Col Katie, I'm looking at you.

*I'm actually reserving judgment: I need to actually, oh, I don't know meet this mystery man.

Parenting by Cell Phone on the Metro

I don't know whether to be sympathetic, cynical, skeptical, or sardonic (but I will be alliterative, damn it all!), but listening to someone you don't know go into full parent mode to an unknown preteen is a deeply discomfiting experience. Mainly because (1) everyone has techniques that work in controlling her or his own kids that one might not want the whole world to know, and (2) no-one can drive you as deeply round the bend as a rebellious or non-responsive child, mid-disobedient act.

Tonight, I got to listen to a not-very-effective verbal chastisement via cell phone. It didn't go well. A parent of a child maybe three years older than TigerGrrl (let me just add, I am so dreading the preteen and teen years: run me over with a truck before then, please) was trying to discipline via cell and this didn't go well.

Apparently, the father-in-question (hereinafter: FIQ) had forbad the teen-in-question (TIQ) from earting in her bedroom. Mother-Oh-Me-o-My (MOMY) was calling to check in on TIQ. TIQ appeared to be (from what I could eavesdrop) uncooperative.

Sample overheard conversation:

MOMY: "Are you eating in your room?"
[response not eavesdropped (hereinafter: RNE)]
MOMY: "Did you ask him? You know that's a rule."
[RNE]
MOMY: "You're already on computer restrictions. If you don't follow the house rules, you will lose more privileges."
[RNE]
MOMY: "You need to learn how to follow the house rules . . . blah, blah, blippity, blah . . .
MOMY starts checking the cell and then "She hung up!!!!"
Me, letting MOMY know, "you're in public, sweetheart", "Well, that went well." (I really did say that and it gave me an obscene amount of pleasure.)
MOMY, serenely smiled at me, and I thought: shit, I'm not tough enough to handle TigerGrrl as a preteen or teen, much less DestructoGirl, who is going to trample on me without reservation.

Lessons learned: absolutely none. There are no lessons here. Just fear and pain and absolute parental mortification. Although I hope I'll be smart enough to not pick a fight about a hormonal teen eating Entemen's (or Pringle's or whatever) in the bedroom. Fight with a teen (a bottomless garbage disposal unit) about food? I'm not that dumb or self destructive. Pick your battles.

It's A Sign From God (or Dr. Socks); or Chinese Menu Religious Belief

While the estimable Twisty Faster is awol*, Dr. Violet Socks has returned from the Spirit World and I have been touched by grace. Dr. Socks named me, yes me, in one of her recent posts in which she asks all of us to define our perfect religion:

Okay, we got wine, we got chocolate, we got the Smoking Lounge. What else do we need? What should be forbidden? What should be commanded? Do we need priests and/or priestesses? Do we need churches, temples, votive candles, golden idols, 3D bobble heads to hang from the rearview window? Do we need Sai Baba? What about rituals and holidays? Oh, and beliefs — should we have some beliefs? Add your suggestions in the comments and we’ll see what we come up with. Don’t be shy — put in anything you like. I’ll wrap it all up, sprinkle in a little Dr. Socks bullshit magic, and have our new religion all ready in time for a Christmas unveiling.

Go!

We should all get creative here.

*I hope she's well. I miss her funny feminist rants. And no, that is not an oxymoron.

Mama Is So Proud

No, this isn't a post about the FoilKids. Of course, I am so proud of them (they're the best, in case you didn't know), but really, this is something else.

The Rules gals and others will tell you that women should never really do anything to pursue guys. That is, of course, hogwash. Waiting for the guy to make the move means that you give up all the initiative and you end up mainly going out with guys who like you, not guys you like. As proof of this (really, proof of nothing, but let me use the example), PdeFF, the InsaneEx was one the only guy who ever pursued me relentlessly. Every other man in my life in adulthood was either pursued by me or pursued me while I pursued him (the most fun, I must say).

SNV asked ExMarineFred out twice before he agree to go out with her. The first time he turned her down explaining that he was seeing someone else. Most of us, while admiring the good morals of the guy (he has great morals), would have felt rejected enough to simply never ask him out again. But no. SNV then bumped into him several months later, asked if he and his erstwhile girlfriend were still and item, and upon hearing a negative response, asked ExMarineFred out dancing. He said yes, and no says no to all the other women who might feel inclined to ask him out.

So a very shy and reserved friend of mine wants to attend a historical ball at Gadsby's Tavern or some such. She asked me if it would be too forward to ask an acquaintance of ours to the ball. I said no, but didn't really expect her to do the asking. She did, he said yes, and I helped fit her ball gown today. I'm quite pleased, and proud.

It costs me nothing to ask a guy out (not that I do it often): I'm pretty un-humiliatable, and if someone says no, well, there's always someone else out there. But I know most people have more dignity, amour propre, call it what you will, more hesitation of risking rejection than I have. So I'm pretty aware how hard it was for this woman to do this, and I'm so glad it panned out. I'm quite proud of her. And I've met the guy (and seem him interact with my friend) and I'm pretty clear they'll have a good time.

Yup, asking out someone you know and like: a fantastic approach to dating. More people should actually try it.

Speaking of which, recently I had the best first date I have ever had (three hours chatting while having a coffee) and while there is no second date in the offing, I just feel pleased. I may just call him up and line up the second date myself. Hey, I should follow a good example and practice what I preach. But even if I don't, it was just a thrill to be out and not thinking all kinds of hypercritical thoughts. (What's with the not asking any questions? Is he picking his nose? How much cologne does he think he needs? Is there something really, realy wrong with his body odor? What's with the lack of eye contact? Does he have to keep edging nearer all the damn time? Back the heck off, octopus man! Give me some room! Why is he talking about his plans to get married? We just met! I don't need to know his psychiatric history! I'm sure as shit not telling him mine. This man is never going to hear about Foilwoman, that's for damn sure. . . . you get the idea.)

Maybe, even if I'm still just dipping my toe in the water (although I'm getting ready to launch OGL: 2008), I'm actually moving out of cranky-divorced-woman-land.

Foilwoman Explains It All To You: Why Your Friend in Deep Personal Crisis Isn't Returning Your Calls (For Once, Assume It's Not About You)

American society, at least, is increasingly solipsistic. Everyone seems to assume that whatever happens directly relates to their own life. After September 11, 2001, we got to hear endless stories of how god reached out and saved one or another dimwit who probably didin't deserve saving. How do I know the dimwit didn't deserve saving? Said dimwit never seemed to imagine that any of the thousands who died couldn't have deserved saving just a smidge more than he or she (the dimwit) did. Obviously, dimwit was the center of the universe.

So this week, on the Metro (yes, I still eavesdrop to narcissistic twits and twats on the Metro: that will never cease) I overhead a young woman (YW) talking to a friend, acquaintance, or despised enemy (who can tell the difference nowadays, who I shall cleverly refer to as YM). YW was bemoaning the lack of attention she was receiving from a friend or victim (we'll just call her Victim, hmmm?). Apparently Victim's partner was dying of some rare and awful disease. YW was telling YM about how rejected and offended YW felt: Victim wasn't returning her phone calls. Victim didn't come to her birthday party. Victim wasn't being a friend by providing support and ego gratification to YW. I can only assume that YM1 had hopes of someday, this century, getting laid with YW, because YM didn't say anything to contradict YW's world view. No. YM agreed that it was shocking that a woman dealing with her husband's imminent death (or at least serious, serious illness) did not observe the inane social niceties and return YW's calls.

Okay, so YW is a self-centered nitwit, and YM couldn't contradict a totally wrong human being to save his soul (sycophant!), what the hell else is new? Our society nowadays seems to revolve around reciprocity without the realization that sometimes you simply can't ask for reciprocity. Indeed, sometimes, wanting reciprocity is selfish, stupid, naricissistic, and just plain mean-spirited.

By this I mean, there are times when you have to be giving without expecting anything in return. For instance: when someone you know has a family member or loved one die, you write a condolence note, whether you knew the decedent or not, whether you liked the decedent or not. You find something nice to say, even if you think the dead guy was a monster of the first order.* While some people, impressively, will thank you for a condolence note, you do not expect thanks or acknowledgement. You're wrong if you don't write the condolence note, but the bereaved is, how to say this politely, fucking bereaved so they get a bye. Deal with it. When you lose someone you love, you might not feal up to writing thank you notes either.

Parents deal with this. You don't get a thank you for parenting, And you shouldn't expect it. Just do your job (love your kids, act like it, and make sure they know it). That's its own reward.

Likewise, if you have a friend with a chronically seriously ill or terminally ill spouse or partner (or less dire, but still stressful, a friend going through an awful divorce, ahem), that friend may or may not feel like talking on the phone. You may leave a hundred messages. Deal with it. Someone who is emptying bedpans, giving morphine injections, and fighting with the insurance company isn't a person you should be turning to to make sure you are truly a good friend, beloved, and the top of the heap. Nope. Deal with it. And when someone only has bad news to tell people, that person might not want to repeat herself a million times to each new caller expressing concern: it's depressing, not reassuring. Yes, he's still ill. Yes, I'm still broke. No, there is no solution.

So YW, Victim isn't an ungrateful bitch. She's the primary caregiver for a seriously ill (possibly terminally ill) person. She's not caring about your birthday. If she loves her partner, she'd probably trade your ability to see future birthday's for her partner's lack of such ability in a heartbeat and really doesn't want to celebrate your birth or continuing good health. She's tired. She's wondering why this is happening. All of her partner's relatives are calling her or pestering her or double guessing her. So grow the fuck up. It's not about you, and if you make it be about you, it will be about you and your immaturity and lack of empathy.

I know. It's hard. But bake some cookies (or whatever food Victim actually likes) as well as a couple of casseroles (Victim doesn't have the time or energy to cook) or, in a pinch, give certificates for carryout, and ask: "What can I do that would help? Do you need your house cleaned? Car services? Just say, and I'll help."

And don't wonder why Victim (or her partner) are not coming to your Christmas or New Year's Party. Think about it. You can figure it out.

And yes, I admit, YW and YM and their clueless conversation wouldn't have bothered me as much if I didn't know what FoilMormor was going through right now. But I almost grabbed the two and said: "Try to imagine someone whose frame of reference doesn't, at least right now, include you? Is that so hard?" Of course, I didn't actually say that.

*"I never really knew your father, but since you are his daughter/son, I know he must have had some wonderful qualities." or "Though I never met your sister, I know how important she was to you, and how much she meant to you."

Glass Way More Than Half Full

I'm totally broke right now. I'm quite thankful I'm handy and can just make a whole bunch of Christmas presents. Despite that, and Second Mate's illness (he's mentally doing better, but physically, it all sucks, and the mental deterioration will return), I'm doing pretty well right now.

Part of that is due to having Innana's help and support. She went shopping with the FoilKids and me for a Christmas tree, and we have a lovely blue spruce in ChezFoil. And when I write "went shopping" I mean she handed me $$$ to buy the tree so that the girls didn't think their mother was too broke to buy a real Christmas tree. Now, I'm cheap enough to buy used Christmas presents and to give items from my home that I know will suit the recipient (and I'm cheap enough to limit my gift list as follows: TigerGrrl, DestructoGirl, Innana, Saintly Babysitter, and a number of neighbors who have helped me this year, especially the lovely woman who drives TigerGrrl home from chess every week), but I really didn't want to tell TigerGrrl she had to wait until Dec. 20th (when I wouldn't be quite so broke) to get a tree.

After the surreptious tree subsidizing, Innana took the FoilKids and me to the Claude Moore Colonial Farm's Wassail, where TigerGrrl got to select the apple tree to be wassailed, and DestructoGirl chased chickens and turkeys. Both girls got the great good pleasure of picking up sticks and scratching the pigs ("pinks" in DestructoGirl-speak. In DestructoGirl-speak, pinks say "coink".) and running around the farm.

And my girls, of course, are the best girls ever. PdeFF is going on and on about his financial worries (a creditor is suing him, surprise, surprise) to TigerGrrl, so she is way more aware of finances than an eight-year old should be. I've told her many times that this is not her job, and that while we have a budget that we have to stick to, we have enough to live on, a good home, and family who will help us out in emergencies.

Last night, I did an exercise with TigerGrrl that Innana told me about that she learned at Oxbridge (it seems a bit touchy-feely for those stiff upper lip people, but still, it works). It goes like this:

You ask your student or whoever (in this case TigerGrrl) to say the five things in the world that make them happiest:

TigerGrrl said: "Mama, Papa, [DestructoGirl's real name], my Harry Potter books, and [the FormerFoilDog (now living with PdeFF)'s real name]" and then added "my friends" (lots of kids, Innana, Tony, SNV, ExMarineFred, FoilMormor, SecondMate, BigGrampa, Big Bob, LOS, NSLOS, Aunt Elsebet, Cousin Roland, etc. etc.).

I then asked her if she needed money for any of the things that made her happiest, and she said, "No, except for the Harry Potter books" and paused "but if I lost them, we could get them second hand for a dollar or so at a second hand store or I could check them out of the library." I'm so proude of her. So I told her that she really didn't need to worry about money and the fact that I clip coupons, look for discounts, and shop second hand really don't affect her well-being, and that she will always have enough of necessities, and some luxuries.

That said, I'm waiting anxiously for a check for $50 for some online research surveys I've done to come in the mail. And Innana send me a student who will be paying me a nice fee this weekend (well, not a huge amount, but it will make a real difference to me). I'm pretty sure family will send some Christmas gift money (I'm sure because FoilMormor and Big Grampa both told me they would), and it feels pretty bad to be waiting that anxiously.

But the fridge is full of food, the rent is paid, and I'll just pack a lunch every day until funds arrive. The girls and I made homemade cookies to give away this weekend, but we've eaten most of them, so I'll make the cookies to give away again this weekend. Without the girls present, there's a chance some of these cookies will actually become gifts.

Also, I've found a free chess and other games group that TigerGrrl can play at occasionally. It's intergenerational, so on weekends when TigerGrrl is with PdeFF, I can go there too to work on my game.

Knock on Wood or Salt Over My Shoulder

I normally pride myself on being quite rational. Last week, on Thursday, I was due to give platelets at the Red Cross donor center, but my iron count was one (1) measure too low (I have no idea what my iron level is when they tell me I scored a 38 and needed a 39 to donate). Of course, Thursday was the day the Second Mate was hospitalized not knowing the product of two single digit numbers or my mother's name.

What was making him non compos mentes? Well, two blood transfusions and a few units of platelets and he was doing better. I know my inability to give platelets last Thursday had absolutely no connection to his deteriorating mental state, but still I felt horribly guilty.

So I am quite pleased to say that today my iron level is 39 (or it was at 6 p.m., it's doubtless lower now) and I was able to give platelets today to assist someone locally who has leukemia or myelofibrosis or something of the sort.

So universe, I want Second Mate to be doing better now. And yes, I will schedule another donation in a few weeks. There will be a whole blood drive near my office in about two and a half months, so I can fit in two more platelet donations before then. You're allowed to give platelets two weeks after previously donating platelets, and two weeks after giving whole blood, but last week, when I got dinged for insuffient iron count it was a mere 16 days since I had given whole blood. I believe I need 21 days after a whole blood donation to get my iron count up to where it needs to me. Or I could start taking Geritol, I guess.

Psychologically, I know why it's important to me to give the blood and the platelets right now, and it's not just the Second Mate, although that's a big part of it. But this is one thing I can do for others that is not just arguably helpful. It really does help someone. And I've been getting a lot of help, and it really is nice to be doing some of the helping.

Also, the free t-shirts are generally quite nice.

Actual Holiday Spirit

Despite all the worries about the Second Mate and FoilMormor, I had a great weekend, largely due to Francesca and Innana.

For my birthday, in the Spring (not that I beleve in it, I'm a Taurus, strong-minded, stubborn, sensual, prone to health problems involving the throat -- can you say uvulitis? -- and reasonably artistic, at least appreciating the beautiful if not creating it) Francesca gave me a gift card for a local chichi salon (Aveda, all those great smelling organic and aromatherapy products) which I have been scheduling and unscheduling since then. A manicure is out, since that is ruined when one plays the guitar, and I never want to put myself in a situation where I can't play the guitar, so I was torn between facial and pedicure. Facial won out, and I am so glad. It doesn't make you look better, but you do feel better. And here's how good a friend Francesca is: She also sent me money to leave a generous tip. So I got a lengthy facial Saturday morning, and it colored the whole weekend. I got tons done.

Innana and I went Chritsmas shoppoing at the Clock Tower Thrift Shop in Centreville, and at Second Hand Rose in Fairfax. I got 99% of the girls presents for less than $20. A pretend but large kitchen set for DestructoGirl. Lots of plastic bugs for the Xmas stockings. A new helmet for TigerGrrl (the one she has is too "girly" so this is a macho one -- cost $3), a Harry Potter Poster book (looks brand new), some dinosaurs and some other games. I have a puzzle (new, but cheap, from Ross, bought several months ago) for DestructoGirl, and Big Grampa is sending TigerGrrl a slightly fancier chess set than the one we have now (plus DestructoGirl won't have stolen and hidden one of the rooks and three of the pawns). I also got cloth napkins at a very reasonable price as TigerGrrl doesn't want paper napkins used in the house as that is bad for the environment. And I found a silk sweater for me for $3.

Then Innana and I went to see Beowulf. Full review to come, but we had a great time despite the misogyny, the anachronism (no stilleto heels in the dark ages. Nuh-uh) and the plending of myths and cultures (oedipal conflict is Greek and Modern, not medieval. And really there wasn't sex in Beowulf, not of the sort this movie provided). I couldn't stand the computer-generated look, but the Old English and the actual text of the poem showing up at times was all good. Oh, an Ray Winstone can strip down any time in any movie I'm watching (it was actually required by the text of the poem, so all to the good), any time. Salty goodness. They should make a movie with him, Viggo Mortensen, Sean Bean, and Alan Rickman, and I'll just put that on an endless loop.

I found a chess club that TigerGrrl and I can play in free of charge (well, $2 suggested contribution, but the leader told me not to bother -- he doesn't want me to stretch my budget and he wants my daughter to feel free to be there).

And I got $150 of groceries (actually it would have been $130 or so at the stores I usually go to) at a gourmet grocery store due to "come and be a customer" coupons including $10 off a purchase over $50, 10% of total bill, and $2 off two meat purchases, $1 off butter, milk, bread, and some other items including otherwise unaffordable to me organic stuff, plus a free dozen eggs. I'm going to keep my eyes peeled for more grand reopenings and such.

Off to work now. It's a beautiful day. I'll email FoilMormor later.

Happy Holidays (If You're a Tender Flower or Squeamish, Don't Click on Any Link In This Post)

No, I not linking to Rotten.com (Oops, I just did. Tricky keyboard.), although given my mood about things, that might be the appropriate mood-meter type reveal. Instead, I'm linking to First Nation's incredibly heartfelt holiday post. I lust after this woman's sense of the ridiculous. Really, I do. And ability to post photos. That hairless cat attacking the furniture? I want that picture as my wallpaper on my computer at work (except then I'd have to displace the FoilKids, and DestructoGirl, well, you want her to be your friend, not your foe).

The Second Mate Update; or WTF Is Wrong with American Healthcare?

The Second Mate and FoilMormor are luckier than most Americans. They have Medicare and supplemental insurance as well as long-term care insurance. You'd think that would mean that the only worries FoilMormor has to contend with right now are those about dealing with her husband's illness and his understandably (if exhaustingly) worried and needy children. You'd be wrong.

Actually the FoilStepSiblings and the rest of the Second Mate's family have come to a pretty good understanding with FoilMormor. While there isn't universal acceptance of the prognosis, everyone seems to be on board with not overburdening my mother or stepfather with emotional neediness.

One child, a former R.N. who now works with computers, has flown in, and has checked into the hotel alongside the Second Mate's hospital so that he doesn't make more work for anyone. He limits himself to two visits a day with his dad, then gets what information he can from the various medical providers. This adult child contacts his brother and sister and keeps them up to date, and has told FoilMormor she doesn't need to do the daily update of family, he will. So he's seeing his father (he saw him this summer, but obviously, time is of the essence now) and will let his siblings know when they need to arrive. The other two both visited in the last three weeks, so no one will, if anything bad happens, be left thinking that they didn't see their father or make an effort.

The harassing (but concerned) phone calls have stopped. Everyone either calls the Second Mate's son or sister, nurse and doctor, both of whom can translate what the internist, the oncologist, and the hematologist say into something other family members can process.

So, all good? No, no, no. This isn't Denmark, France, or Canada. This is the U.S. Hospitals don't treat sick people in a long terms and continuous manner. This is the land of managed care.

To the best of my knowledge, the Second Mate, who on Thursday was hallucinating due to lack of oxygen caused by lack of red blood cells, among other things, is being sent home from the hospital into the care of his 71 year old wife. Apparently since his stats are back up after two blood transfusions, under the managed care view, he's cured and can go home. The fact that his marrow doesn't produce red blood cells anymore so that it's just a waiting game until the whole cycle repeats itself isn't really a concern. So he's getting sent home on a Sunday night.

Why is the fact that it's Sunday an issue? Well, insurance. FoilMormor and the Second Mate's supplemental insurance covers 24-hour nursing care at home, which Medicaid does not. However, when my mother called the insurance company to arrange for coverage of the nursing care (to measure blood levels, help if he hallucinates, falls, needs help, whatever) she went through voice mail repeatedly. She finally got a live person who told her that the approval (and the care must be pre-approved) would have to be obtained on Monday the day after the hospital evicts my terminally ill stepfather. My mother is 71. She's not frail, but if the Second Mate hallcuinates -- instead of thinking she's Serena (trust me, that's not her name) he thinks she's an incubus or something (God will tell him, I'm sure -- hallucinations are great that way) and won't go to the hospital or something worse, nothing good is going to happen. The case worker at the hospital, who is supposed to help with this, said "You'll need to contact you're insurer." Well, that's helpful.

FoilMormor then decided to call her insurance agent (the lady who sold her the policy) and this woman is now working all of her contacts at the supplemental insurance provider to get someone to own this issue on a Sunday. The Ex-RN Stepsibling had to fly home this afternoon (he has to work), so he can't help right now, although he will be back.

Aside from insurance, for Second Mate's treatment his intake of fluid and food has to be carefully tracked. Second Mate hasn't been eating, and his doctor is worrying about his body cannibalizing itself (old age really isn't for the fainthearted). While Second Mate has been in the hospital, FoilMormor did not track his food and fluid intake, assuming that hospital staff were doing this. The doctor yelled at my mother, telling her that she must write down everything Second Mate eats or drinks. My mother had the effrontery to say she assumed hospital staff would be doing that while he was in the hospital and she was told quite firmly that it was her job, and she should be present for all of her husband's meals. I wonder if they ask working spouse's to do that? What about single (never married, divorced or widowed people? People with an incapacitated spouse?) people? Do they ask men to do this for their wives or is it just assumed that wives will cease all normal daily activity (exercise, paying bills, buying groceries, cleaning house, for the non-retired, working) to do this.

My mother actually had been tracking all intake at home and is now forwarding all of her detailed and copious spreadsheets detailing all food, liquid, and medicine ingested by the Second Mate in the last month. "They want detail? They're getting detail." She's mad, and it's better for her to be mad at the hosptial (Sorry, hospital staff, I know it's unpleasant, but I'll warn you right now: the measure his meals while you're caring for him order was a bad idea. Next stupid idea? Should she measure his urine output because you can't handle a catheter? Grrrr.) than at the Second Mate's family, so I regard this hostility, touch of paranoia, and downright fury from my mother as entirely appropriate and not a symptom of anything other than extremem frustration on her part.

So yesterday, Jensaman called and said he would come out to help FoilMormor. He's probably arrived by now, but I only talked to FoilMormor last night and I'm not going to call her and pester her. I had called Friday night, and she was screening her calls, and she asked me to call last night, so I did and got all this news.

But Jensaman will help with the insurance company, the hospital staff (he's charming and very demanding and will make short work of the chain-my-mother-to-the-bedside-and-keep-medical records idea on the part of the hospital), and with things like picking up medicine from the pharmacy (amazingly time-consuming and exhausting, especially when strong pain-killers are involved), getting the Second Mate to chemotherapy, grocery shopping, and making sure my mother gets some time to take a walk, take a swim, things like that. He's only going to be there for a few days, but he will stay until the in-home nursing help is arranged.

Of course, Second Mate will be back in the hospital soon enough. The red blood cells provided by the transfusions are dying off even now, and, of course, they're not being replaced, so future trouble and more treatment will be needed. I did ask if the nursing care, once approved, will need to be pre-approved again when Second Mate goes back into the hospital and then is turfed out once his blood oxygen levels are high enough (incredibly temporarily) again. FoilMormor did not respond, and there was dead silence on the phone line. This was not a welcome line of thought. I then suggested that she call the helpful insurance agent and explain that she needed and ongoing approval, not a one time approval. This is myelofibrosis. He ain't getting better. Treatment may bring him back to an acceptable level temporarily, but it's only a matter of time until another transfusion and more platelets are needed. I'm sure the insurer will be quite surprised at this line of inquiry.

I'm going to be profane and ungracious now. (Francesca and Innana, if you are reading this, avert your eyes): Medicare, Liberty Mutual, and whoever else is involved? Don't call yourselves health insurers. Admit it: You're used douchebags who make money but don't give a flying fuck about providing care. Medical decisions (and coverage) needs to be provided 24/7, not just during business hours. Doing this to a seriously (mortally) ill 82 year old and his 71 year old wife is just indecent. This wouldn't happen in Denmark (or Canada, I'm pretty sure). Anyone who says our health care is the greatest: you're as delusional as a creationist. Or intelligent design-type nitwit. Our insurance system sure is intelligently designed in exactly the same way.

And the sickest thing about all of this? FoilMormor and the Second Mate have much better insurance than most U.S. citizens. They have Medicare, supplemental insurance, and private long-term care insurance. They have much more than most people. And they are getting less-than-adequate treatment in the name of cost-savings. If this is what happens to the well-to-do (or at least comfortably off), what happens to the average Joe? Nothing good, that's for damn sure.

But at least we can be angry at something or someone who isn't someone we should be comforting or should love.

Dealing with a Crisis Family Style

Every family has their own way of dealing with crisis. Let me just say here that there will be lots of probably unfair judgments in the next post, and I will probably delete this next post in the near future but for right now, I'm venting.

FoilMormor is dealing with the pretty obvious immminent death of her beloved spouse. Being of stern Scandinavian stock, she's looking death in the eye. She and the Second Mate, before he couldn't multiply two single digit numbers, discussed the likelihood of his demise in the near future and, I assume, discussed the ways they would deal with that and his final illness, which appears to be ongoing at this moment, although the miracles of modern medicine may drag this on for quite a while (that may or may not be a good thing).

FoilMormor has discussed this with her brother, Jensaman, and her sister, Aunt Elsebet, and both are planning to do staggered visits (both are retired and are financially comfortable) as requested by my mother during illness and afterwards to help with whatever needs doing. Both Jensamen and Elsebet have stated, to my mother and to LOS and me that LOS and I should feel no guilt because, direct quote from Jensaman "you are both working and raising your children; your mothers siblings can take care of this, so let us."

My mother has imposed a limited phone call edict: she's like me and finds the phone stressful, so email is the preferred mode of communication. Her kids (NSLOS excepted: NSLOS is allowed one phone call a day) are allowed one phone call a week. Everyone else, DON'T CALL. FoilMormor calls one of the Second Mate's kids every day and gives an update, and that kid is given the task (not "tasked", N.B., see here) of adivising other siblings as to their father's health.

This may seem a bit harsh. But last week, the day before Thanksgiving (when FoilMormor laid down the goddamn law), FoilMormor got 17 phone calls from people asking when the Second Mate ate last, what did the doctor say, why didn't you say A, why didn't you say b, why don't you fly to (inappropriate far-away place) to get a second opinion, have you looked into laetrile, have you tried organic food, and why aren't you trying aromatherapy/homeopathy/whatever piece of new age bullshit this victim of their last conversation or Reader's Digest article thinks might be useful for some really stupid reason. Also, the Second Mate, in the hospital for chemotherapy at that time, got more than five phone calls which went on (when you call someone and he sounds tired, especially if that person is in the hospital get off the fucking phone) and completely wore him out.

So Second Mate's family got advised: one person gets the information and shares it. No keeping my mother awake until all hours of the night. No second-guessing the decisions being made by the woman with the durable medical power of attorney (FoilMormor). No calls that are about seeking answers that you just won't get no matter how many times and ways you repeat it.

Second Mate's sister and her husband (both doctors) stepped up to the plate and came to visit and are helping my mother out, and they are communicating with Second Mate's increasingly needy kids.

I really sympathize. But Second Mate is 82 years old. System failure can't be a super-big surprise. Alll children have seen their dad within the last month and a half, and they know the prognosis. They've looked it up. All these calls aren't helping anyone. They are not about giving support or keeping in touch. It's something else.

Before Second Mate lost the power of rational though (he may still have some, but he's fading), he said, of all the questions regarding his eating and other digestive habits "Why do they want to know how much I'm peeing?"--Give your dad some dignity! Back off! and "This really is an invasion of privacy."

I know different families have different styles, but pestering someone to death just seems dumb. Here's a tip for those trying to help someone dealing with a mortally ill partner: Ask what they want, listen, and then do that. Not something else. Anything that's about making sure you're a part of it or that you are remembered or loved? By the time the mathematician can't multiply and divide, trust me, you're forgotten. If it's about you, not your loved one, put a sock in it and suck it up. It's time to pull up your big girl panties, man up, and show that you've got some gonads of some sort. People die alone, and you're not a part of it. I'm sorry it feels bad, but this isn't the time to relieve your feelings of neediness.

I'll probably take this down later, but my poor mother is feeling a bit hounded right now. And she's being the bad stepmother, creating barriers, but it's to protect the Second Mate, not to harm the kids (they're in the will, they needn't worry). Now that Second Mate's sister is on the scene, maybe she can create some more realistic expectations about contact, run interference with criticisms of the doctors (as one herself, she can maybe do a bit of the explaining why aromatherapy ain't gonna work), and bring these late forty-year to mid-fifty year olds to the realization that the death of one's father at age 82 after a long, healthy, happy, and successful life is something many people would be glad to have a chance at.

Oh, I'm being way too uncharitable. But I do want to slap their self-involved faces right now.

A Matter of Life and Death

You may assume I meant the above title humorously, but I did not. It's not a matter of life and death for me, but it is for my family. FoilMormor's lovely husband, the Second Mate is, it seems, dying of myelfibrosis. Getting "progressively worse" from the time the diagnosis was shared with members of the family has taken a whopping two-plus weeks, no more.

Myelofibrosis destroys your ability to funciton by destroying the body's ability to produce red blood cells. First you're short of breath and weak. Then your functioning really deteriorates. How long can you live without enough oxygen? Not long, as high-altitude climbers who have gotten altitude sickness can tell you. You lose mental functioning, physical coordination, and evenutally self-awareness.

The Second Mate, a physicist and lawyer who was a university professor at an institution of no small prestige for all of his working life could not tell my mother what eight time nine equals. He can't bring a fork to his mouth. He is furious with my mother (whose name he is getting wrong) because she called the ambulance to take him to the hospital. Since then, he has been unable to accurately name his children (not so many that it would be that hard, and he has always been a very involved father) and informed the examining physician at the hospital that God would not allow him to reveal his (the Second Mate's) name.

FoilMormor and I had talked last week, and she and the Second Mate had discussed that the myelofibrosis would likely be a terminal illness. While the Second Mate is still undergoing chemotherapy, the therapy has a less-than-20% chance of "success", with "success" never really being clearly defined anyway. The weaker and more mentally fragile the Second Mate gets, the less likely he will survive the chemotherapy. So it looks like his death is going to be sooner rather than later.

I hope the Second Mate gets better. He is a good man. He loves my mom. He love me and my kids even though he has plenty of kids and grandkids of his own (who are very nice). He is a warm, loving, human being who up until recently has been pretty full of life. FoilMormor met him when he was in his fifties, and probably gave him an extra ten years of life by getting him into cross-country skiing, hiking, biking, and the like. However, the Second Mate is in his eighties now and the best determininant of a good prognosis with myelofibrosis is youth.

This is not good news.