This Leaves A Sour Taste In My Mouth

You may recall that I'm having a bad week. Which started on Thursday, the day after Farmer H left on his vacation out west, when I was SUPPOSED to be having a blissful life of leisure until his return. "NOT-HEAVEN, NO!" bellowed Even Steven, rubbing his hands together, before emitting a sinister, "Bwahaha!"

I'm not sure which end of this crap sandwich to start on. I'm dealing with The Pony's lameness. That's old hat by now. I lay out towels for his bath, which occurs on the side of the big triangle tub in the master bathroom. The Pony just can't quit that tub. I fetch him ice water in a jug, a metal insulated cup, and a plastic insulated mug. I prepare his food and carry it to the living room. I assist in the washing of his Samson-length hair every two to three days. I do his laundry and leave it in a basket for him to fold and shove out of sight. He seems to be off the ibuprofen now. So his care is becoming part of my routine. However...

THE PONY STILL HAS NO APPOINTMENT WITH AN ORTHOPEDIC SPECIALIST!

That's right. It's been 7 days of broken ankle, and he's still in the brace and wrap put on at Urgent Care. He's getting the runaround from both Urgent Care and his boss. Each says they need something from the other, and in the meantime The Pony might be healing incorrectly. He's on the phone with both entities twice a day. When Farmer H returns, heads might roll. He's got an insider in the Department of Labor, or whatever it's called. This work injury is not being dealt with correctly. In fact, it doesn't seem to be being dealt with at all. I can't go into the details. It makes me too sad.

At the other end of my unappetizing plate, we have the $920 bill for anesthesia from Farmer H's medical procedure back in May. The one the clinic assured him was all approved. Every time he asked. Right up to getting on the table for some cutting. And several times since then. Assurance that they were following up with his supplemental insurance to remedy the matter. Well. The only entity that hasn't been getting updates is the one that is owed the money!

Anyhoo... I've been on the phone with a very polite rep from the anesthesia company (if that's what it's called) about our ordeal. My specifics matched up with what they'd been told. However, they've heard nothing since May. So at least there's a note in the file now. We have no problem with paying that bill IF WE ARE ACTUALLY RESPONSIBLE. If we are, it would mean that clinic did not do their job, but we'd deal with them in some way, after settling our debt. We wouldn't be happy about it, but that's how we do things around the Mansion. We pay our bills. Thing is, the clinic is stringing us along with tales of taking care of this matter. NOT telling us that we're stuck paying it because they messed up.

Oh, what a foul crap sandwich I cleave, when employers and clinics attempt to deceive...

Here. Let me slice you off a little piece. I'm willing to share my 7-day lunch with you.

The Pony Gets The Wand

Another busy day for HM's Taxi Service. The Pony has undertaken an endeavor which required a court hearing earlier this month, and a subsequent notice printed in the local newspaper. He thought records were being mailed to him, a form from which he would need at the newspaper. Since almost two weeks had elapsed, with no documents, The Pony decided he should check with the source. A phone call is not his style. So we loaded up the truck and moved to Beverly... WAIT A MINUTE! That was the Beverly Hillbillies. WE loaded up T-Hoe, and headed to the county courthouse. 

I was a bit apprehensive. The courthouse is over in Bill-Paying town. It sits in a square of one-way streets. I know my way around. I spent a year on jury duty, you know! But parking is at a premium around the courthouse. There's an annex across the street, with a parking lot behind it. But in case you are extremely unobservant, you know that THE PONY IS ON CRUTCHES with a broken ankle.

"I hope we can find close parking, Pony. If not, I don't know what we'll do. Neither one of us can walk far. I'm pretty sure the street in front of the main entrance is all handicap parking."

"Yeah. And I DO have these crutches. So it shouldn't be a problem."

"IF we can find a space."

I turned onto the two-lane one-way street in front of the courthouse. All the parking spaces were taken. All six or seven of them. WAIT A MINUTE! At the very end of the block. A space was open! I pulled in. Backed up. Straightened T-Hoe. Tried to get closer to the curb. I'm not used to parallel parking on the left side of the road.

Oh, no. Here came a white-haired woman, motioning for me to put the window down. The Pony waved his crutches. And then the woman said, 

"You still have about 10 feet, dear. To back up and get out of the crosswalk."

"Oh. Thanks! I couldn't tell how close I was. I don't want to block that car in behind me."

Whew! Close one! Then I had the stress of standing street-side watching for traffic while The Pony flung open T-Hoe's large door, to slither down over the running board and onto his crutches. We made it to the sidewalk. Then headed for the handicap ramp, rather than the 10 wide concrete steps.

SWEET GUMMI MARY! We might as well have been hiking up the switchbacks of Pike's Peak! The concrete handicap ramp zig-zagged. I bet it was 100 feet long. 50 up the first ramp. Double-back, and 50 up the second ramp. Getting into the building required walking by pillars with toe-catchers. The round pillars sat on square concrete bases about 1 inch high. I know, because of course I caught my toe on one, and almost went down.

"Pony! Watch out for this concrete base. Don't hit it with your crutch!"

There were two sets of automatic sliding double doors. Then a cordoned off area to funnel you into the metal detector. I'm no stranger to a metal detector. I went through one when I was in prison. FOR AN INTERVIEW, people! The first guard said, "Empty your pockets into a bin." All I had taken in were my keys in my pants pockets, and my folded money and debit card in my shirt pocket. They didn't need THAT! I put my keys in a bin, walked through the detectors and got back my keys.

"Um. Do you want me to go through anyway? With my crutches?" 

[Which are metal]

They did. The Pony set off the alarm. The second guard came over and waved a wand all around The Pony's midsection and butt and private area. The Pony passed. On we went to the window of the Circuit Clerk. Where The Pony discovered that NO paperwork was on its way, because the publishing of the notification had to come first. Then the newspaper would send the Circuit Clerk documentation, the order would be finalized, and THEN a copy would be sent to The Pony.

We had to sit on a bench to rest The Pony's cramping good foot. Then back down Pike's Peak, and into T-Hoe, and off to the newspaper. When we had hiked down their ramp, the door had a sign saying the office was not open to the public. Huh. Good thing a dude came over with a key and unlocked the door and let us in anyway. At least they didn't have a metal detector! I don't know why they were closed to the public. It wasn't a mask thing. Nobody inside was wearing one, and there were no signs demanding it.

We were ushered to a desk, after a short wait, and the guy typed in stuff off the form The Pony had with him. I paid the fee with my debit card, since The Pony had conveniently left his stuff in T-Hoe. Believe me, I have an itemized bill ready, after the medical items and this trip.

After that, we headed to gas up T-Hoe, pick up Chinese food, procure my magical elixir, and stop for scratchers. Not a winning day for that, but the food was good. With leftovers stashed in FRIG II.

The Pony Isn't The Only One Around Here With A Bad Leg

Actually, Mrs. HM had a bad leg before The Pony turned up lame. At least HER bad leg was not a personal appendage. 

Once Farmer H left on Wednesday, and I was footloose and fancy free, I picked up some Country Mart fried chicken. Farmer H is not a fan. I got the 8-piece, with the intention of feasting on it over several days. The Pony, after all, would likely be working those 10-hour days, and picking up something for himself on the way home.

The first supper of fried chicken was fine. I got home with it around 4:30, and set some on a pan to warm in the oven while I changed clothes and cherry-limed my magical elixir. The next supper was not so good. I saw that my 8-piece chicken had been born with one wing and three legs! I bet that really led to some teasing in the chickenyard. 

Anyhoo... whereas my first meal had been delicious, this one was not. That third leg was dry as a bone! I took a bite, and a chunk tore loose in my mouth. A chunk of chicken leg that might as well have been JERKY! So dry and tough. Not at all satisfying. I got a picture of the bone that remained.

 

Seriously. That's after ONE bite. Which I had to pull out of my mouth and see if it was actually edible. I ate a bit of it. Pretending like I was on that ALONE show, and it was the only meat I'd had in 30 days. I did not even want to gnaw the rest of any desiccated meat off that bone. I put it in a baggie so it would kind of steam and stay moist, like decomposition makes a compost pile. So it wouldn't be splintery for Juno the next day. I'm 100 percent certain she enjoyed that chicken leg more than I did. Of course I pulled off the tiny needle-sharp bone first.

That chicken must have belonged to Methuselah's grandpappy. It was no spring chicken, that's for sure. Of course I kind of forgot about my bad chicken leg when The Pony got home with his own bad leg. Juno did not get a taste of THAT one, but Jack was jumping all over the freshly-wrapped ankle when The Pony tried to get out of his car.

Things around the Mansion have gone south at an exceedingly rapid rate. Like "The Summer of George," this vacation from Farmer H does not seem to be panning out as planned...

The Pony, The Punter

We're not talking about football here. So don't think The Pony's broken ankle has turned him into a gridiron kicker. We're talking about the flat-bottomed boat called a punt, and the driver of such who wields a long pole to push on the bottom of the waterway. He's a punter. Like the gondolier of a gondola, but with a pole not a paddle, and without the singing and striped shirt. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

The Pony may lack common sense, but he's a pretty good problem solver. I'd say he's in the Genius class of problem-solving. They get it from Farmer H, that mechanical mindset. So I was not really surprised when I came upstairs Friday morning, and found that The Pony had discovered a new way to ambulate.

"Oh, Mom. I don't feel comfortable walking on those old crutches, so I went in Genius's room and got his rolly chair. I can go all over the house with it."

"I heard something up here, and I was worried that you might have fallen in the kitchen!"

"No. That was just me trying out the wheels. To see if I could get over that little metal strip that divides the carpet from the vinyl. I CAN! It's so much easier to get around in the kitchen than on the carpet. That's why I use a crutch to propel myself in the living room."

Yes. Like a punter in a punt, The Pony was poling crutching himself around on a student rolly chair.

"I though Genius had a different chair. With arms?"

"With ARM. It was like a mesh office chair, but with only one armrest. Because it came from Goodwill. He took it with him when he got that college house."

"Okay. That's the one I remembered, but I'm glad I found this one. Because IT can get through the bathroom and bedroom doors easy. Not sure the other one could with me in it."

The Pony. The Brother of Invention.

Mrs. HM Can't Catch A Break, But The Pony Is Delivered A Very Unwanted One

Here's a breaking news story for all you insiders! You heard it here first. 

THE PONY BROKE HIS ANKLE AT WORK!

It happened Thursday, the day after Farmer H left on his trip out west. Just the basics here. The full story, with gory pictures, will be on my not-so-secret blog in the coming days.

The Pony is not in too much physical pain. Just three ibuprofen a day (taken all at once!) takes the edge off. He is camped out in Farmer H's recliner with two couch pillows under the ankle. He went to urgent care for treatment. X-ray shows a fracture in his fibula. Right now he's in a wrapped brace thingy, awaiting an appointment with an orthopedic specialist. The appointment has to be handled through this specific urgent care facility, because this is a Workers' Compensation injury. 18 pages of paperwork to start with.

The Pony talked to the other CCA who just broke her ankle. She had two fractures in hers, and is now in a hard cast. Out six weeks. This is the likely path The Pony must take. I think his official letter said only light duty for six weeks or until released by the orthopedic physician. The Pony says there is no light duty work at the office for him. I though he might be able to case the mail, but he says that requires standing and lifting.

Anyhoo... enough about The Pony! The real suffering is currently endured by MRS. HM!!!

Here was my Friday...

After a not-so-refreshing three hours of sleep, I arose at the Not-Heavenish hour of 10:30 a.m. to get ready and take The Pony to town for crutches and antibiotic prescription ointment. He has three big scrapes to complement his poofy ankle. First I had to help him wash his long flowing matted curly locks in the kitchen sink. No bath or shower with the ankle wrap. Besides, he couldn't stand on one leg long enough to shower.

We got the prescription, but the pharmacy only had crutches for 5' 10" and taller. We went a few blocks to Farmer H's pharmacy, but they had none. Then our third stop yielded a spiffy lightweight metal set, but the place couldn't take insurance on them. We got a cash discount, though.

From there we proceeded over to Bill-Paying Town to the urgent care. The Pony's supervisor had not been able to fax the forms they needed at 6:30 on Thursday night. So she emailed him the document, which I had to print. On it, they had typed RIGHT ANKLE INJURY, but it was the left ankle. She said it shouldn't matter, so we didn't have to swing by for her to initial the forms first.

Urgent care could not fill out the paperwork. Said the orthopedic specialist would have to do that. So it was an entirely wasted 20-mile trip. Then we had to swing by the post office anyway, to turn in the doctor's excuse. The Pony said he couldn't make it up the loading dock ramp to get inside, since it was too steep for his brand new crutch-walking. Also, all the LLVs were back by this time, and I couldn't park him close enough to hand the paper to somebody else to take inside. So I parked out front, and took it to the counter, where an amiable clerk with a scraggly beard expressed concern.

"Oh, no! I was here yesterday when it happened. That's too bad."

From there we went to Country Mart for limes, because The Pony said he might like to have a rum drink during the course of his incapacitation. He won't have them on work nights, which are were six days a week. Then I picked up Domino's Pizza, which is just next door. And my magical elixir, and a bottle of water for The Pony, along with a new Kit Kat candy bar that is pink, with cereal like Fruity Pebbles in it. We were both famished, it now being 3:30 p.m.

Oh, and I will have to deal with the trash dumpster myself now, and hike around back to deal with POOLIO. I've been carrying water and ice and possible snacks to The Pony. Shadowing him down and up the steps to the garage. Washing his elbow abrasion and putting on the ointment and bandages.

I'm not used to having someone need so much direct care. Not even lazybones ungrateful Farmer H. I was in tears Friday morning, trying to get everything together before we left, having to make two trips to and from the basement down those 13 rail-less steps.

"It's not you, Pony. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I'd do anything for you, but you have to admit, this is way more of a workout already than what I'm used to. It's like I'm training for the Olympics. But I swear, I WILL win the gold medal in the MOM-lympics!"

Yeah. I'm kind of exhausted.

Mrs. HM Can't Catch A Break

Mrs. HM just can't catch a break. You'd think she'd be on top of the world. Swinging the world by the tail, as the old Porter Wagoner / Dolly Parton song goes. 

 

Farmer H gone on a vacation. The Pony working 11 hours a day. It would be like old times! Mrs. HM would have the Mansion to herself. To do as she pleased. Sleep as long as she liked, with the Sleep Police many states away. Make food only for herself. Wash only her (and occasionally a stray Pony item) dishes.

REEEEEEEE!

That ain't happenin', people! My world stopped revolving at 4:30 p.m. on the day after Farmer H departed for out-west.

I had just come in from my errands, and was warming up day-old fried chicken. As I was putting the cherry limeade flavor in my magical elixir, I heard a text come in.

"Oh. That must be The Pony. He was done around 5:00 yesterday, so I bet he's clocking out."

He's so thoughtful of others, that Pony! Lets me know so I won't worry. He's been going in at 7:30, and getting faster on this route they've had him on all week. I picked up my phone. Sure enough, it was a text from The Pony. What I saw made my heart stop, my blood run cold, and my head spin.

"Had a fall. Bleeding some. Heard a pop in my ankle, but don't think it's broken."

Yes. There's more to the story. But right now, my internet has been down for two hours due to storms, and I'm hoping I can save this in my documents so I don't lose it. Along with my half-finished post for my not-so-secret blog. It doesn't help that the lights have flickered twice. 

 

I just can't catch a break...

Maybe It's An Office Curse

The Pony has made it two days without an injury! I'm pretty sure somewhere in the post office there's a chalk board with " ____ DAYS WITHOUT AN ACCIDENT." The way things have been going lately, that number in front might be 0.

According to The Pony, he still hasn't heard anything about the dog bite lady. But another gal broke her ankle this week.

"She was over in Between-Town. I've delivered there before. It's not fun. Some houses are on a steep hill, and you have to walk down steps to get to their yard. I don't know how she broke her ankle, but I'm guessing it was one of those houses. So now she's out for a while."

"What did she do, call the supervisor?"

"Duh. Probably an AMBULANCE!"

"I wouldn't call an ambulance for a broken ankle."

 

"Mom. It's not like she could WALK. She had a broken ankle!"

 

"Somebody could drive me to the hospital. Maybe the supervisor."

"The policy is, if you're hurt, first call 9-1-1, THEN call the supervisor."

Anyhoo... The Pony overhears bits and pieces of other conversations. One of the newest CCAs was relieved of duties over a possible tampering scandal. ALLEGEDLY. I say it was just not a good fit, and rather than deal with problems down the road, they cut ties early. Although after two weeks of paid training.

THEN The Pony said somebody close to him might be in trouble if speed didn't increase. Not sure where he heard this one, if it was from the horse's mouth or idle chatter. Anyhoo... the consensus was that nobody wants to lose this person after probation time, because that would mean training somebody else new, which would be coming right at the time holiday deliveries kicked in.

One thing seems certain. As long as The Pony can remain healthy, and pass his probationary period... he will have no shortage of hours through the end of the year.