A Long-Awaited Announcement

THE PONY HAS BEEN RELEASED TO RETURN TO WORK!!!

At his doctor appointment on Thursday, the podiatrist x-rayed The Pony's ankle again. He said it is clearly halfway healed, with a good portion of something-or-other also showing in that cracked bone which indicates the ankle is on the mend, and ready for action.

It was strange to see The Pony prancing around the Mansion kitchen wearing TWO Adidas slides instead of one. He said he had been down [those 13 rail-less stairs!] to the basement while I was in town, and had walked a mile on the treadmill in Farmer H's workshop. The Pony said his ankle felt fine, and he was waiting to see if it would ache later from the exertion. He will do some treadmill walking for a few days, trying to get back in fighting shape for his mail routes.

The Pony is going back to work on MONDAY! He stopped by the local office to provide his medical release, and the manager said she could definitely use him on Monday. Now he will wait to get a text of the schedule. While there, he also chatted with his union rep, who said that yes, the option he has chosen to appeal, the Reconsideration, is the correct venue for his case.

Oh, and when he returned home from his appointment with a plethora of paperwork to re-submit... Farmer H looked it over, and discovered that the podiatrist's office had checked A WRONG BOX on the crucial form. It said that The Pony's injury was NOT consistent with the description of the accident. Which is poppycock! No way would they kept him on as a patient, submitting workman's comp paperwork, if they didn't think he had a claim! They would have just said, "Pay in cash!" Or "We're filing your insurance." So it is likely as The Pony suspects: an office worker checked the wrong box. He is taking it back to the office tomorrow for clarification, and correction.

Sweet Gummi Mary! The Pony has about made a trip around the globe with all the extra travel seeking paperwork that was omitted, not submitted, or signed by the wrong people.

I know he's eager to get this detailed information sent off [IN THE MAIL!], so he can start the waiting process to see if he will receive his rightful several thousand dollars in compensation that he's due for his workplace injury.

The Pony Is In Denial

Did you really expect a different outcome? On Tuesday, The Pony got a letter from the U.S. Department of Labor saying that his workman's compensation claim has been DENIED!

As his shop steward said when he contacted her: "What in the actual EFF???"

After all the hoops he's jumped though (with a broken ankle, mind you) to goad three postal service employees to fix what they'd neglected, or done wrong, with his paperwork... now the U.S. Department of Labor has a few more paces to put The Pony through.

Even though they've already paid him one week of his Continuation of Pay, now this claim is denied, and The Pony will have to pay back the money he's been given (oh, so much! that one week!) unless the claim is adjudicated in his favor. That's not a problem, the money is sitting in his bank account. He's not like the poor gal who needed that money to live on while she's injured. I hope her claim went through okay.

The denial letter says they didn't get sufficient medical evidence to support his claim that the injury was caused by the work incident. Supposedly they don't have any documentation from the podiatrist, who says the forms were sent in. Also, the Department of Labor says the doctor's signature was unreadable. So they got SOMETHING. They'd already mentioned that the urgent care forms were only signed by a nurse practitioner.

Now The Pony has to file a reconsideration, and supply supporting evidence not already received, and have his case reviewed by a different committee than the one who made this determination.

SWEET GUMMI MARY! WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN?

The Pony went by the podiatrist's office on Wednesday, and was told by office staff that the paperwork had been sent. Also, that the podiatrist was in another town that day, to come back on Thursday. The Pony said he WOULD, since he has a follow-up appointment that day. So they said they'd have the paperwork ready to give him a copy of everything.

As The Pony pointed out, the podiatrist's signature was a stamp. As Farmer H pointed out, ALL doctors have unreadable signatures! Anyhoo... I told him to specifically request that they also print the name under the signature. And not to leave until he's satisfied that EVERY detail mentioned in that denial letter is remedied.

Then he has to mail it in himself. He has 1 calendar year from the date of determination on September 2 in order to file for reconsideration. Once he does so, they TRY to get a new decision within 90 days.

Looks like that podiatrist's office was right when they said nobody else around here will deal with workman's compensation, because they try to deny everybody. And also that Farmer H's brother knew the score when he said he'd had 4 claims, and 3 of them needed a lawyer to get his rightful compensation.

It must be a big business. There are many billboards along the highway with lawyers touting their services for workman's compensation claims.

Mrs. HM Gets Herself Into A Sticky Situation

Last week, the Hillbilly family took a two-day trip to Oklahoma for the purpose of gambling in several casinos. We stay at the largest casino, and drive around to the others in a big loop. It's a lot of walking for someone as knee-challenged as Mrs. HM.

I take my time. Farmer H dropped off The Pony and me at the door, The Pony in his broken-ankle boot still outpacing me. We set a time to leave, and the three of us go our separate ways, then meet at the door later.

I was on my way up front, having made a pit-stop at the ladies' room. This necessitated walking across the entire front wall of this casino. A straight shot. About halfway there, I was passing the free soft drinks counter. It was on my right, and the rest of the casino on my left.

A little man was veering towards me at a rapid pace. Mrs. HM does not like to inconvenience people. Not even little 30-somthing men rushing to the soda fountain. I tried to hurry my Galapagos Tortoise pace, so he would not have to stop and let me pass by. 

My legs do not respond as they used to. The sole of my right shoe stubbed along the cushy casino carpet. I pitched forward. Only my out-thrown right arm, palm slamming onto the soda fountain counter, stopped me from falling on my face. Whew! That was a close one.

The look on that rusher's face was PANIC. I guess maybe he thought I could have fallen on him! It's not like he would have had a chance at helping me up. Too scrawny. A little man with frail appendages.

I survived the ordeal, with a racing heart, and a very sticky palm. People need to drink more diet soda.

Just A Hypothesis, Concerning The Mail

We had a lot of rain on Saturday. The water had been over the bridge, but was down when I went to town in the afternoon. On the way home, I stopped by EmBee to get our mail. Nothing. It's usually there by 4:30, even on a Saturday. So I figured we didn't get anything.

Sunday, I was feeling woozy from my head pains, and commanded asked The Pony to ride to town with me. On the way home, I said,

"I'm stopping by the mailbox. You can reach out your window and see if we got anything. Just in case I missed it yesterday."

"Wow. There's a whole mailbox full! It's definitely two days worth of mail that we got today."

"Uh. This is SUNDAY. There's no mail delivery on Sundays." 

[I told the City Carrier Assistant with the USPS]

"Oh. I mean, this is probably the mail we got tomorrow."

"TOMORROW is Labor Day, a mail holiday, and I don't think you can see the future."

"Um. You know what I meant. The day before. YESTERDAY'S mail."

"Okay. Sure. I guess it was late because of water being over the bridge, and having to come around the other way."

"Maybe. But sometimes they'll tell us just to forget that part. So if it was a substitute, or a new carrier, they probably would have said to forget it, rather than explaining how to go around."

"And yet we have a mailbox full of mail."

I don't know about you, but I at least want my mail carrier to know what days the mail is delivered, and the difference between yesterday, and tomorrow! Is that too much to ask? I fear The Pony has grown as rusty as his immobilized broken ankle during his time off.

No, Your Party Invitation Was NOT Lost In The Mail

Don't be offended that Mrs. HM didn't invite you to her party. You wouldn't really have enjoyed yourself. It's basically a party of one. A pity party. 

 

It's day two of my frayed facial nerves, and no respite is in sight. Last night, the pain was mostly in my lower jaw and neck area where you might have the mumps. Early this morning, that pain had settled in my right ear and back of my neck. And now, as I type this at 1:10 a.m., it has gone back to the upper jaw. It also hurts way up in my nose. Like at the end of my right nostril, too far for a picking finger to reach anything.

The only relief I got was during a shower, when I let the hot water (as hot as I could get after The Pony's shower) run on my face. I almost fell over backwards, with my eyes closed and head tilted back. So my balance is affected.

My pity party started around 2:15 p.m., while The Pony was in his hot-water-stealing shower. That shower was my own fault, because I decreed that he would be riding to town with me. I had to get meat for Farmer H to grill, and with me not feeling well, and Farmer H on his way to the city, I did not want to be stranded if I felt too unwell to drive back home.

Anyhoo... my pity party was not very festive. No games. I only went through one round of lives in Candy Crush. I couldn't concentrate. It wasn't even fun. Then I sat at the kitchen table trying to will myself to stand up. Any change of position sets off a readjustment of the fluid in my sinuses. I took a few minutes for a good cry. The only gift I opened was the bottle of acetaminophen. I have been taking one every four hours. The Pony says you can take no more than six per day, and that the label advises two every six hours. No. I'll take one, every four hours.

I had to lie down after making the baked beans for our BBQ. I left them in the oven, with instructions for The Pony to wake me in 30 minutes. Lying on my left side made most of the pain go away. But the minute I got out of bed, it was back with a vengeance.

I had another good cry on the toilet of the NASCAR bathroom a few minutes ago. Did you know that through tears, while rocking back and forth almost catatonic, the black and white checkered floor tile looks like a kaleidoscope?

Every time I take an acetaminophen, I have high hopes that when it wears off, my pain will have abated. Still waiting...

Does Your Face Hurt

That's a little joke my sister the future ex ex mayor's wife used to play on me when we were kids. She'd ask, "Does you face hurt?" And I'd reply, "No. Why?" And Sis would say, "Because it's KILLIN' ME!" Ha ha. So funny. Well, the joke's on Sis now. Because my face DOES hurt!

It's that sinus thingy again. Both top and bottom jaw are aching. I'm sure it's due to the low-pressure system that gave us 4 inches of rain last night. When I got in T-Hoe for my daily town trip, I could almost feel my sinuses squeak on that side. The feeling was there, minus the actual sound.

Dang it! Farmer H is going to grill BBQ pork steaks and bratwursts on Sunday evening, and I don't want to set off this pain any more. Chewing seems to irritate it, even if I don't chew on that side. Just the flapping of my jaws exacerbates it. So Farmer H might get a break from my sharp tongue for a couple days. 

Aspirin and acetaminophen haven't had much effect. The only relief comes from using my VIBRATOR on the side of my face! The little vibrator that looks like a bug. I have one in the kitchen, my lair, and by my OPC (Old People Chair). I might need to buy more batteries.

If I touch that vibrator in just the right spot, my nose flows like a faucet. A couple weeks ago, when I had a headache, the vibrator made my right eye pour tears like a cartoon cryer. Isn't the human body amazing? So entertaining. Like a thrill ride.

I guess I'm lucky that nobody walked in and caught me treating my body like an amusement park. [That's a Seinfeld joke for blog buddy Sioux.}

The WAAIIITING Is The Darnedest Part

I got a really late start to town on Friday. It became my errand day, since we didn't get back from our MiniPalooza casino trip until after 4:00 on Thursday. Of course I slept in for an extra hour. Then I had unpacking and some laundry. Of course my Candy Crush playing could not be denied. So it was 4:00 when I left the Mansion. I told Farmer H that I'd pick up something at the Country Mart deli for supper.

Of course I found the monthly bill for SilverRedO in EmBee. Since I was already on the way to mail Genius's letter, and HAD A STAMP WITH ME, I decided to go ahead and write out the check. Not right there blocking part of our gravel road exit, but on the municipal parking lot over by the main post office. It took me about 10 minutes to get that bill ready to mail. When I backed up to pull out of the lot, I saw that THE DRIVE-THRU MAILBOX WAS BLOCKED! Blocked by a long semi truck that brings and picks up the mail! So I had to drive around to the entrance, and take my bill and letter inside to mail it in the wall slot.

Back over at Country Mart, I waited behind an old man buying a deli meal. When I got up to the counter, I saw that the only food available were sides of mashed potatoes & gravy, macaroni & cheese, and green beans. The only meat was fried chicken. What in the Not-Heaven? What kind of grocery store deli only has fried chicken at supper time on a Friday night! I told the little guy who's so nice to me that I didn't want anything.

"I was hoping you'd have something besides chicken!"

"I just sold the last piece of fish. We have BBQ ribs." [Three packs in the warmer]

"I see that. But my husband doesn't like ribs. He says they're too much work to eat."

"I feel the same way."

"All right. Now I have to find something else for supper."

"The ribs are $13, but I can give them to you for $8.95."

"No thanks. He won't like them any better for that price."

I went to the cold deli section, and got Farmer H some "street tacos" in a kit with tortillas, crumbled steak, cheese, sauces, and shredded cabbage. When I got them home, The Pony was disappointed, because even though he'd said he was making something for himself, he saw them in the bag, and thought I'd gotten him his preferred chicken version.

Anyhoo... I did my shopping, which included 4 (for $10) six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew for Farmer H, and his bananas, and his special individual vanilla ice cream cups with chocolate and strawberry swirl. Also some chicken strips for me (from the cold case, so at least from yesterday), and croissants from the bakery.

I rolled my cart up to the checkout area at the same time as a man, woman, and little girl in the red plastic car built onto the front of the cart. It was a toss-up as to who got there first. They didn't hesitate, and had younger knees than mine, so they got to the register first. Not a big deal. At first...

The lady was putting items on the conveyor while the man walked over to the other register and was reading the headlines of the tabloids.

"Oh. We forgot the cheesecake crust. You should go get it."

"Where is it?"

"That way." 

 

She waved her hand towards a general area at the back of the store. Off he went. She was still putting on items as he returned. Then she said,

"We need a gallon of milk."

That's in the opposite corner of the store. Off he went. While waiting on him, the woman had a discussion of something about her order with the cashier, a young boy. The man returned with the milk. The cashier named off five items and asked if that was okay. The woman said it was. Cashier then rang up  and printed out five receipts. Maybe they were store coupons or specials.

In the meantime, four people had come up behind me. A worker came out of the service desk and said she'd help somebody over at the next register. Of course the people behind me beat feet over there. They were all done before I got my turn.

By the time I got home, it was The Pony's bathing hour(s). He barely had time to come out and help carry groceries. Even Farmer lent a Pop-Arm. He must have really been hungry.