Well, here I am, unsuccessfully sleeping – so blogging instead. Maybe once I get moved back home, sleep will come easier, but I’m not counting on it.
Our medical system is completely whacked. There is no way an insurance company (private of government) should dictate how long a person stays in the hospital, or what kind of therapy they should be getting in order to qualify for coverage. I know you know all this, but until you live through the nightmare of it, when all you want is for your loved one to have some peace as they die, you don’t know. I didn’t. I didn’t understand until now.
I’ve always hated insurance companies since I was a young adult and saw some young friends get filthy rich quickly with nothing more than phones and desks for investment while farmers invested millions in land and equipment and then had to depend on government programs to make their payments. I know insurance companies spend millions on lobbyists to influence our congressmen and women to vote for legislation in their favor. I know they are a billion dollar industry and they hold you in their “good hands” because they make money, lots of it.
I’m ranting because I’m grieving. At the same time I’m trying to be my sister’s health advocate, I’m having to change her address with utility companies, stop the newspaper, pay the lawn guy, have her old cars hauled off, get her estate in order, get my mother’s estate in order, grieve for my mother, clean the house and prepare it for winter, figure out her banking so I can pay the bills, inform the post office, the assessor, the lawyer, the accountant, … You get the picture. I’m mad.
In the hospital, I hold my sister’s hand and she tells me things, things she thinks of and wants me to know where to find it, or who to get to fix things around the house, or which piece of furniture our great grandpa built (she remembers this kind of thing – I never did). That should be my only job right now, to sit and listen. I wish.