Yeah, I’m still around, just busy. A month ago I was settling into the routine of having my mother in rehab prior to moving her into an Assisted Living facility. It all seemed pretty straight-forward   :   roughly three months in the rehab, giving me plenty of time to decide on exactly where to put her and then furnish her unit at that ALF. Want to see God laugh? Tell Him your plans.

On January 25 her insurance company informed us that it would stop paying in two days’ time, i.e. they would not pick up the co-payment of 80% after Medicare paid 100% for the first 30 days. I’m working at a killer job and had no time to get her unit furnished. And it appeared she needed more therapy if she was to negotiate the long corridors of the ALF in a wheelchair. I agreed to make the co-payment for another three weeks. That bought us some breathing space.

Next item: my mother picked up a low grade infection, which set her back somewhat. She is better, but it appears that at her age and condition it is optimistic to envision her zipping around the hallways of the ALF in her wheelchair, let alone using her walker.

Further complication   :   I began to get bad vibes about the ALF I had chosen when it came time to sign the contract. Items they had told me were part of the package turned out to be additional charges. Other things that were to be available are actually non-existent.

Then my brother got into the act. He and my sister-in-law phoned from Texas via the Deaf Relay System and wanted to know how much all this was going to cost. Wouldn’t it be cheaper just to get someone in to check on her at home a few hours a day? Yata-yata-yata. I hung up on them. Hell! It’s her money I’m spending, isn’t it?

So where are we now? I made a superhuman effort, being nice but firm with everyone. Managed a 100% refund of the deposit from the first ALF instead of the 50% stipulated in the original agreement I had signed. Have Mrs P booked into what is actually a much better ALF at roughly the same cost. A place where she will be assisted to the dining room, or she can have a tray in her apartment at no additional cost.

The one hitch is that she cannot have a private apartment immediately. She will be sharing a two-bedroom apartment with a 102-year-old woman (with dementia, yet) for four to six weeks until a private unit becomes available. That’s okay. One thing at a time. A day at a time and all that. Only way to go.