Saturday 9: Broken-Hearted Girl (2009)
9) Random question -- We're having a Saturday 9 potluck lunch! What will you bring? Fruit salad. No one else seems to bring it, and it's easy.
These are the thoughts and observations of me — a woman of a certain age. (Oh, my, God, I'm 65!) I'm single. I'm successful enough (independent, self supporting). I live just outside Chicago, the best city in the world. I'm an aunt and a friend. I feel that voices like mine are rather underrepresented online or in print. So here I am. If my musings resonate with you, please visit my blog again sometime.
Saturday 9: Broken-Hearted Girl (2009)
9) Random question -- We're having a Saturday 9 potluck lunch! What will you bring? Fruit salad. No one else seems to bring it, and it's easy.
I went to the movies.
The Fabelmans is a movie about movies. It's Steven Spielberg's onscreen autobiography, and it's affecting and tender.
I also had a nice big gooey bowl of pasta. Snarkypants sent me a gift card for my birthday and specified it be used for lunch. I respond to direct commands, so I did. (Thanks, Snarkela.)
While I have discussed with my shrink that my natural tendency toward alone time may not always be the best option for me, and consequently have gone out of my way to be social (separate birthday celebrations with one of my former coworkers and with Joanna, road trip with Elaine, weekly movie group), days like this have their place, too.
The teeth are an ongoing issue, though. She's already had two teeth pulled and now we're looking at a third. This isn't surprising, really. At 11, she's approximately 60 years old in human years. Plus she had chronic gum disease for her first two years.
Right now she's on an anti-inflammatory to combat a sore in her mouth. It might be an allergic reaction to her ceramic bowl -- since replaced with stainless steel. Next we have to have some bloodwork done. If she's in good shape, we'll schedule the extraction.
She is a sweet girl. She depends on me. As much as she hates the vet, I hate thinking of her being in any discomfort.
I admit it: I'm not doing very well as I adjust to this new period of my life.
A lot of it is because I'm navigating unfamiliar seas. I've never been this old before. I've never dealt with bureaucracies this often before. No, this is not going to become one of those tiresome "government fucks everything up" screeds. The issue that I had (now resolved) with the State of Illinois unemployment service was part my fault and part my former employer's. But it did take hours online, hours on the phone, and two separate in-person trips to iron out.
Now it's Medicare. I signed up for Part A (free Hospital Insurance) on September 1, more than 80 days in advance of my 65th birthday, and it was easy peasy. Got my card in no time. I didn't apply at that time for Part B (Medical Insurance). There's a premium for Part B, and it was redundant with the Blue Cross/Blue Shield I had through work. I didn't know on September 1 that I was going to lose my job.
Well, I lost my job on October 27. I applied for Medicare Part B on November 1, still in advance of my November 22 birthday, for coverage to begin on December 1. I was sure it was going to go smoothly. The insurance broker I've been using* wasn't as sanguine. He said that while he was certain I would eventually be covered beginning December 1, he didn't think I'd get my card by then. Too many other Americans are applying this time of year (December 7 is the open enrollment end date) and the system is overburdened.
He was right. I've been on the phone with Medicare three times, and these are marathon calls. (The shortest one was 40 minutes.) Why, I keep asking, if I have a email receipt saying my Part B form was received, can't I find online status of my application? Finally yesterday (December 1) I learned that my application was being reviewed.
Both the federal employee I spoke to on the phone and the broker seem confident that my coverage will be retroactive to December 1. After all, I qualify and I applied within the prescribed window. I have spoken to both my shrink and my chiropractor about this and they're both very, "Yeah, we get it." Both will continue to treat me without proof of insurance since I have that email receipt. And let's not forget that I've had Medicare hospital insurance for a while, so if something BIG goes wrong I can still confidently go to the ER for care.
And it's always my teeth. Forever my teeth. I feel like I've been going to the dentist every week for years now! While I was in the chair Tuesday (a 90 minute session), I was told that I had reached my 2022 maximum. I wasn't surprised. I've had a lot of work done.
When I said, "Ok, I'll see you all in 2023," this seemed very reasonable. After all, Tuesday was November 29. We're talking about skipping a month. ONE MONTH!
The hygienist, who was doing double duty because the billing specialist has the week off, was telling me that, since I'll probably blow past the deductible and hit the 2023 max pretty quickly next year anyway, I should just schedule work for December. I appreciate that she is concerned about how the temp crowns will hold up, but she shouldn't have brought it up when I was in the chair.
Here I am, with ten fingers in my mouth, staring at the ceiling, thinking, "Oh my God! I'll never be able to pay for all this!" It was depressing and stressful.
When I was able to take a break, I said to both her and my dentist, "I am paying for medical procedures on my liver and kidneys. That has to come first. If my GP was here, she'd say that my teeth can be replaced but my organs can't, so they have to come first."
My dentist said he agreed, and that January would be fine. The hygienist was still very "but the crowns!" And I understand her concern. They are temporaries and are only intended for use for a short time (hence the name). But there are realities of time and finance here.
My dentist said, "If these pop off, come in. Unless it's Christmas Day, come in. I'll replace them." He reiterated that as I was paying my bill on the way out. (By the way, I paid $800 that day.)
I'll be OK. When I got home -- away from the drilling and as the medication began to wear off -- I considered the cash I haven't budgeted for. Remember the unemployment I mentioned way back at the beginning of this post? I never included that in my financial calculations so I can use that for my medical bills. I had hoped to wait until November 2023 to begin receiving Social Security, but I'm eligible for those funds right now, too. I can use my "social safety net" money to pay these BIG bills without depleting my retirement funds.
But retiring is hard. Harder than I expected. Too many variables. Too many things I can't control. I wasn't expecting not working to be so much work.
*I suggest everyone contact an independent broker before you begin the Medicare journey. The amount of materials you will receive is dizzying, and it's hard to do on your own.
I agree with every syllable, but when I got to the end I wanted to comment, "Yeah, but when is Henry coming home? How is Henry feeling?"
I didn't, of course. I'm angry, but I'm not cruel.
Besides, I don't know that Reg would even notice my comment. He's all about the emojis -- the cares, the sads, the loves. Most of the people who reacted don't even live in Key West and haven't seen Henry since the accident. Some haven't even met him. These are the people Reg wants to hear from. Not people who know the truth.
One woman -- unique in that she actually cares about Henry, knows him from church -- responded with: Now, while Henry is in the hospital might be a good time for you to talk with a therapist, a good time to just take care of you.
Yeah, like that's going to happen.
We're now in December. I had made my peace with the idea that this Christmas will be the last time I'll ever see Henry. I'd kinda like to know if he will be out of the hospital, at home, or maybe in some kind of assisted living facility next time I see him. Or will I even be going to Key West for Christmas?
I will miss Henry. I love him.
Reg loves him, too. When I'm not mad, I'm sad that Reg's attitude precludes us comforting one another over what we have lost.