Since moving Dad to Texas I've been receiving hieroglyphic notifications of quantity limits for his prescriptions from his Medicare Drug Plan. I spent nearly an hour on the phone Monday morning getting info about Dad's pharmacy coverage. That's probably not the right way to contemplate MLK Day. After going through a long automated phone menu and three alleged humans, I was told my Power of Attorney document wasn't on file, so HIPPA wouldn't allow me access to diddly. If I would just fax that Power of Attorney they would file it in a week or so, and then they might maybe, ha-ha, lah-di-dah explain Dad's coverage... if I could guess Rumplestiltskin's name.
I wish I'd never heard the phrase, "Durable Power of Attorney". I'm forever sending this document off into the wild blue yonder to entities that can't seem to file it for future reference.
So I found records that I sent the documents in 2009, and called again. Thank heaven I got a compassionate and efficient human who promptly accessed the legal documents in the records and gave me answers. She could tell I was a woman on the edge, and I gotta say Rhonda was the best doctor I've had in a long time. She also told me to take care of myself, take a long walk through Walmart, and then have a milkshake at McDonalds.
Thank you Rhonda, thank thank you Rhonda for saving me from another phone menu! I am grateful to be held in your prayers for the Medicare D members and their families, and I don't mean that facetiously. It's gonna take a lot of prayers to get through this care-giving phase of life with any sanity left. I am glad to be held, but not on hold.
Poetry is juxtapositions of word associations distilled in a mental crockpot. Phone menu associations are poetry gone awry with the lid of the crockpot rattling all night while the chili boils down to asphalt.
At three in the morning the sound of the lid wakes me enough to wonder if Henry Gibson asked Marshall McLuhan or Yehudi Menuhin whatcha doin', but not enough to wander out to the kitchen to salvage the chili. This is your brain on drugs. This is your brain on hold. This is your brain on Laugh-In.
Dad's doctor is not named Benjamin Netanyahu, but I can't remember her name. Am I in any better shape than Howie? How does he retrieve material stored in his mind? How can I do the same?
Netan Yahoo's on first. Hu's on first. Hippos are dancing with powers of attorneys.
© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder