"I'm sorry, I don't understand. How can the insurance company tell a doctor I no longer need to be here? Isn't it the doctor's job to determine that?" I'm trying to stay calm but having my caseworker tell me the insurance company is denying inpatient treatment beyond this week is skyrocketing my blood pressure. "I understand your frustration, Mr. Cooper, I truly do. I'm still arguing for another week, but I wanted to give you a heads up in case I don't win.""I can't walk on my own! Our house is not handicapped-ready. Piper isn't a nurse. She has to work. Who's going to help me with PT?" The questions come pouring out as fast as they pop into my head like a popcorn popper with no lid."When do you think your wife might be here today?"I understand Piper is the rational one of the two of us, but this is pissing me off. "It doesn't matter, does it?""I thought it might be beneficial for us to go over some other programs that might be able to help you if you're released this we
She answers that question when she shows up a little before eleven. Putting her purse down when she walks in, I can see the attitude she built up since I talked to her. It's oozing from her. Her hardened eyes turn to me. "You need an attitude adjustment, Moby. Not just for me but for yourself. If you think this is the way to heal, you're dead wrong. If you're defeated before you even start, you're done. I will only say this one time, so listen closely." She leans into me sitting on the bed so I can see her eyes and the storm brewing in them, she squints just slightly, lowering her voice, "If you ever scream at me like I'm a dog again, you can just go ahead and call your mama because you won't be sleeping under the same roof I do. Understood?"I nod my head unsure words are appropriate right now. Luckily, Rhonda saves me. I think that's the caseworker's name, but hell, it could be anything. My short-term memory was shit prior to the stroke, it's non-existent now. Rudely, I don't
Preparing for Moby's homecoming wasn't quite the blissful experience I imagined. My dad and Nate built a makeshift ramp up the stairs to our house; that was a nightmare in and of itself. Holy hell, never solicit this kind of help from anyone other than a professional. Seventeen hours later, five additional men, and countless trips to the hardware store, and I now have a piece of plywood lying across my front stairs. That might be a slight exaggeration, but I swear, not by much. Never in my life have I seen grown men fighting over stupider shit-nails versus screws, hammers versus nail guns, types of wood-for the love of all that is holy, who cares? I would like to believe we don't need to build something to withstand the test of time, just help Moby out for a week or two until he's more comfortable walking on his own. Day two of preparing for Moby's return included modifying the shower to help make it easier for him to get in and out. Taking glass doors off a track shouldn't be ve
An hour later, Dax graces me with his presence. I'm sure Cam ran off to tattle on her friend not loving her fiancé's brother. Hearing the thoughts in my head, I try to shake loose my shitty attitude but find myself having a death grip on it, refusing to let it go."What's up, Dax?" I ask coldly."You got a minute to talk?""Not really, but I'm sure you're not going to go away until I make time so say what you have to say." Holy nastiness, Batman. I've become a raging bitch.He doesn't respond; he waits for me to have the decency to lift my head and make eye contact with him. Expecting to find anger, I see nothing but warmth, his eyes are inviting, and there's a trace of a small, sympathetic smile. Completely caught off guard, I harden myself to anything he has to say, visually offering my defenses crossing my arms against my chest, leaning back. "You've got five minutes. Go."He laughs. The son of a bitch laughs. "You're so much like Cam. When I was trying to get her to no
Reading the post on Facebook sends me into orbit.Me: It would have been nice if you asked if I wanted a party before planning onePiper: It's just dinner at a Mexican restaurant. You have to eat.Me: Doesn't mean I have to do it with a bunch of people who haven't cared enough to come see me in the weeks I was cooped upPiper: Really, Moby? Do you want me to cancel?I hesitate before responding. I don't want to have dinner with those assholes. Most of them haven't bothered calling or texting much less come by, but suddenly they want to make sure people see their names on the RSVP list. I don't do fake. I know I've hurt her feelings. People always say you can't read tone in a text but I sure as hell can read her tone in her last text, it's exasperation at my ungratefulness. She's trying to do something for me, something to get me out, and I'm shitting on it.Me: No. I'm sorry. I'm just not sure how I feel about seeing peoplePiper: Why would you not want to see people?
Moby's starting to seem more like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde than the man I married. One minute he's loving and attentive, the next he's an arrogant ass lashing out at anyone who dares cross his path. I'm leery about how dinner will go. These are all people who care about him, even if they haven't made personal appearances at the hospital. They're taking time out of their schedules to come welcome him home, spend time with him, and encourage him. If evil Mr. Hyde is present tonight, we may have zero friends when the night concludes. He can't stand the sympathetic way people look at him. If Dr. Jekyll makes an appearance, all will be grand. Sadly, I've seen both of them today in a matter of minutes and can't guarantee who I'll be dining with.I pull up to the curb of the restaurant to let Moby out so he doesn't have to walk as far."What are you doing?" he looks at me confused."Letting you out while I go park so you don't have as far to walk.""Are you just trying to scream at any
Waking in the morning, Moby's already out of bed. I lie there staring out the window at the beautiful day. My heart lightens with the sunshine beaming through the glass until images of the night before begin to flood my mind. I wonder what I'll face when I find my husband. I know I can't control his thoughts or his mindset. I can only control my own, but maybe in harnessing positivity in myself, it'll be contagious. I'm probably being overly optimistic but willing to give it a shot.Tossing the covers aside, I climb out of bed. I need coffee, and am going to have to face him to get it. I mentally prepare myself to be joyful, confident. I may make myself sick with my charade, but if I can get Moby out of his funk, I'll try anything. When I open the bedroom door, the smell of my favorite brew assaults my senses. I find Moby sitting on the couch the way he would any Saturday morning: a cup of coffee in hand, a magazine in his lap, and him stretched out in comfy clothes. Phoenix cuddl
The weeks seem to fly by with never enough time in the day to get everything done. We've created a new routine, or as much of one as possible with constant physical therapy and doctor's appointments. Moby's currently doing outpatient physical and occupational therapy at Peace, the same hospital he did inpatient therapy with. He goes for two hours a day, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I take him there-since he still isn't able to drive-then take him home, before going to work, three hours late.Cam's been more than accommodating, allowing me to work eleven to seven instead of eight to five. I usually don't take a lunch break, so I'm not there quite so late but a couple times in the last month I've had to use it to take Moby to different doctors appointments. He has regular visits with his neurologist and nephrologist, not to mention an internist. The bills keep stacking up but somehow; something always comes through to pay them before they're due. Moby's short-term disability helps