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New Endgame: annals of “The Finest Healthcare in the World”
Well, the old woman turned ninety-five on 2 June. Her insurance announced that she no longer required “skilled nursing,” and turned her out, back to “assisted living,” three days later. The spousette had already arranged for her former quarters to be returned from the west side of the building, overlooking a parking lot, to the east side, with a pleasant view of the Oakland hills (she’d been put on the west side while the east wing was being “remodeled”).

She and I spent Saturday 5 June moving the goods and chattel from one room to the other, an undertaking that required most of the day. Following this, I sat seething in the car (I had been, I confess, entirely ungracious at having been conscripted into this undertaking, since unlike L I had never formed an emotional attachment to the crone) while my wife visited with her friend, then barely conscious—her foot, still untreated, had turned entirely black—for what proved the last time.

An hour after we returned home, the facility called to inform us that Dora had died, probably not more than forty-five minutes after we’d left. We accordingly spent Sunday moving all the clothing, furniture &c out of the new room and off the premises, into our rented storage locker, which has now, with the addition of all this useless chattel, attained Lina’s Platonic ideal of storage space: not a cubic yard unused or “wasted”; most of the contents entirely irretrievable for any practical purposes.

Lina had, fortunately, made the final arrangements (the woman had been very clear as to where and in what form she wanted her corpse to be deposited: the arrangements were costly, but with last month’s sale of her house, the estate can afford it) days before the end. The relatives will be arriving from New Mexico this week for the obsequies.

Two days after the death, Lina fielded a phone call from the HMO: “We’ve denied your appeal. It’s been determined that Ms. Garcia does not need to be in skilled nursing.” “You’re fucking well right she doesn’t,” my wife snarled. “That’s because you killed her as she was about to be discharged,” proceeding to some eloquent and not entirely civil variations on this theme. I pointed out to her afterward that she was abusing a munchkin who’d had no hand in making the actual (and actuarial) hard-hearted call, but she was unreceptive to this argument, upon which I sensibly did not enlarge.

What a ghastly cuntry (sic) this is.

mordially,
Expand Edited by rcareaga June 13, 2021, 05:23:34 PM EDT
New Condolences. :-( It's infuriating, and far too common.
     Sinner in the hands of an HMO - (rcareaga) - (9)
         Go find yourself an advocate nurse - (crazy)
         Really makes you wonder about people who work for them - (drook)
         Damn, that's sad! - (a6l6e6x)
         That has to be illegal. - (Another Scott)
         Endgame: annals of “The Finest Healthcare in the World” - (rcareaga) - (1)
             Condolences. :-( It's infuriating, and far too common. -NT - (Another Scott)
         A remarkable development - (rcareaga) - (2)
             I'd be happy just knowing the jerks don't get it -NT - (drook) - (1)
                 Doubly remarkable - (rcareaga)

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