P-Day

This is P-Day! The day my leg pumps are supposed to arrive. I got two emails about it. They're coming by FedEx. Supposed to be here between 11:40 and 3:40. 

Of course I have leg therapy today. I leave the Mansion at 11:45. And return around 3:30.

Ain't that the way it always goes? I don't think there's rain in the forecast. I guess the driver won't be deathly afraid of dogs, like my killers Pepper and Jack. FedEx will leave the package without a signature, and take a picture of it. I imagine that when I come out of therapy, I'll have an email with that photo. I really hope it's ON THE MANSION PORCH, and not at some random house down the road.

Farmer H says he will be here around the time I'm gone. He's having HOS (His Oldest Son) repair the roof on one of his themed sheds. So it could be a good thing to have him underfoot while I'm gone.

I'll add an update when I get home. 

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I got back at 3:30. Nothing on the porch. No sign of Farmer H. I carried in my own groceries and put them away. I was changing back to my Mansion clothes when I heard the dogs bark. Then a thump on the porch. Then my phone getting a text or email.

THEY'RE HEEEEERE! 

Just a few minutes late, at 4:05. Tomorrow we'll rearrange the furniture to fit my basement Old People Chair. I need to have my legs elevated when I use the pumps. Farmer H's recliner is too low for me to get out of comfortably. 

I hate change, but a different living room configuration is something I'll have to get used to. Just like using the leg pumps every day.

POOLIO Is Kaput

A while back, Farmer H and Old Buddy took the cover off POOLIO, and spent a half hour leaning on the side, gazing into the shallow depths of the buttwater soup that Farmer H shocks with chemicals every year to start POOLIO season.

That was the last attention Farmer H paid POOLIO.

About a month ago, he said that POOLIO's liner was torn. Apparently, the solution to that is to do nothing. Not see about getting another liner put in. Not declaring that a fix would be too expensive. Just ignoring the situation. 

I'm not upset that Farmer H isn't pouring money into chemicals to get a handful of swims out of POOLIO. I'm sad that he doesn't have this option of an evening dip after a hot day of flipping and mowing. The part that concerns me is that POOLIO can become Mosquito Central. You don't want still water sitting around to be a breeding ground for mosquitoes. 

A "These are the things you've most recently done wrong" discussion is in order.

Meanwhile, here's a splash from the past. Including photos of Just-Born POOLIO. It seems like only yesterday that the boys were eagerly awaiting the installation. But it was May 30, 2006. Back when the Hillbilly Mansion was young, and people were not so politically correct with their ribald comments.

Enjoy.

You Can Trust Him To Build Your House, But Not To Serve Your Meal

It's another edition of Farmer H in the Kitchen. Where his behavior is like that of an alien who has no concept of bacteria nor the laws of physics. Last week it was a struggle getting Farmer H's food to his plate.

I'm sure you remember how Farmer H likes to grab food with his bare hands. Fries off the pan just removed from the oven. A grease-popping bratwurst. No tools necessary if I have set them beside the stove for his use. But if he subconsciously senses that he could make extra work for me, he'll empty a drawer for those utensils.

I make sure Farmer H has what he needs. Well, what a NORMAL person would need. Like all the food set out, with essential utensils.

"Wait! What are you doing? I figured you'd use your fork to get your slaw. I TOLD you that's what it was for. Now you've stabbed the sausage with it. You never do that."

"I can still use it for the slaw."

"No. It has grease on it. You're not putting that into the slaw container."

"I can use the potato salad spoon for the slaw."

"NO! That has potato salad on it, which will also contaminate the slaw. Let me get you ANOTHER spoon. It's only something extra I'll have to WASH BY HAND."

"I tell you all the time, just pick out a dishwasher and I'll put it in."

"Yeah. That hasn't happened in 28 years. I don't expect it to happen now."

Sunday evening, Farmer H's supper was baked chicken breast, stuffing, and corn on the cob. I set out the big yellow lunchroom tray for him. I figured the two ears of corn could go in the big rectangular section. The chicken in the circular section. And two servings of stuffing in two of the square sections. But no. We're working with Farmer H's brain.

I had microwaved the corn, each ear wrapped in plastic wrap. It's quicker than boiling (only two minutes), and the corn gets steamed just right. I moved the steaming hot corn over to the cutting block, still on the flimsy paper plate I'd put them on in the microwave. The butter was there, and it was easier than watching Farmer H play hot potato with the corn by grabbing it out of the microwave.

Silly me. I thought my job was over. I sat down at the kitchen table. Then looked to see Farmer H starting towards the living room balancing a bottle of flavored water, his tray, and THE PAPER PLATE WITH TWO EARS OF CORN rolling around!

"Hey! You can't take buttered corn on that paper plate! They'll roll off on the carpet! And the butter is already soaking through."

"Huh. You had them on the plate."

"For you to unwrap! I thought you'd put them in the long section of the tray."

"They don't fit.They're too long."

"You already had your chicken there!"

"I'll put them right here."

Farmer H laid those two rolly ears of corn across two of the square sections of the tray, his stuffing being piled in the round section.

"Again, that corn is going to roll off. Here! Put them in this lid from the Chinese container. Then they can't roll."

Farmer H did. And set that lid across the two square sections of the tray. I suspect he will be taking up a new hobby soon, pounding square pegs into round holes.

A Mission For Two

I am sending The Pony and Farmer H on a mission this week. They must drive to the regional lottery office to cash in two tickets. They are not NEW wins. In fact, one ticket will be expiring in August. So this "chore" needs to be done. One is a $10 ticket that I got at 10Box's left machine, worth $1000. The other is a $5 ticket that I got at the Gas Station Chicken Store, and sent to Genius. Also worth $1000.

Of course Genius can't cash a Missouri lottery ticket in Pennsylvania. So he sent it back to me, and I paid him with a return check. It takes two people to cash in these tickets, so each can "claim" half the win. That way, there is less paperwork, and taxes are not withheld, because you don't have to report a win under $600.01. It only gets included as "other" income during tax time. Each ticket is a separate win. So they are each claiming two $500 wins.

I used to go with Farmer H to claim my tickets. Now I'd rather not, because my legs stiffen up on the 90 minute drive. Oh, I don't have such a problem when going to the casino, heh, heh! I can tolerate stiff legs then. But if The Pony can take my place, and ride for three hours to accomplish this chore that takes 10 minutes, then I will gladly show a token of appreciation in the form of gift scratchers.

Farmer H just does it because it's part of his responsibilities that come with being married to me!

My Choking Story

It happened during my senior year of college. My home-town roommate and I were driving from Hillmomba back to Springfield. We had a 2-bedroom apartment a couple miles from campus. This time it was Roomie's turn to drive. We were in her white with red trim Mustang, about 3/4 of the way back, when we stopped to eat at Wendy's. 

When we finished, we headed to the bathroom before getting back on the road. It was down a wood-paneled hallway. Just a Men's Room and Ladies' Room, not the kinds with multiple stalls. Roomie entered the Ladies' room first, while I waited in the hallway for my turn. I had my soda cup in hand, eating the ice, which was the disc kind, with a flat side and a curved side.

All at once, I couldn't breathe! A piece of ice had been sucked into my trachea! I couldn't make any sound! I panicked! I was about to start banging on the wooden door in hopes Roomie would come out. Then a man wandered down the hall. I turned in wild-eyed panic, still holding that yellow cup in my left hand, and pointing at my throat with my right hand.

That guy immediately whacked me on the back. That piece of ice shot out and hit the wall. (And thankfully not HIM, heh, heh!).

"Thank you! I thought I was going to die!"

"It happens. I could tell you were in trouble."

Roomie came out of the Ladies' Room, wanting to know what was going on."

"Oh, nothing much. This guy just saved my life! I was choking on a piece of ice."

"Well, that's good." Said Roomie, never one to get excited over much of anything. Even my near-death.

I'm sure that piece of ice would have melted enough to be coughed out before I suffocated. Pretty sure. Though maybe water could have trickled down into my lungs and drowned me...

Thank the (future) Gummi Mary that guy was in the right place at the right time.

That Was Deceptively Easy

When I got home from leg therapy on Wednesday, it was 3:30. The first thing I did was call to check on my leg pumps, as OT had ordered suggested. I didn't get my legs to how they are today by ignoring OT! In fact, she is always complimenting me for my compliance. I hope she puts that in my permanent record, heh, heh! Anyhoo... I called the number that the regional rep for the leg pumps had given me.

According to OT, the order was authorized by a physician (some guy I can't remember who oversees my NP). It went into the insurance system on June 9. At therapy on Wednesday (July 8), OT said she had tried to contact the insurance. As had the regional representative for the leg pump manufacturer, who had met with us in May. Nobody got any response. Because these healthcare entities are limited in the amount of contacts they can make with the insurance, OT said the rep suggested that I call and see if I could get a response. Indeed, back in May, she mentioned how slow my insurance is, and said I might have to call them.

I had a little note with what I wanted to ask. OT had said to mention that I had a "prior auth," and she gave me the name of the contraption that I should be getting. And to mention how it had been ordered a month ago tomorrow.

I got voicemail.

Isn't that the way it always goes? You get yourself all revved up to present your case, and then have to scramble to fit the info into a message. I think I remembered the pertinent points. I left my name, insurance ID number, and phone number.

Then I set about the business of waiting. I was sure they'd call me right back! Just as soon as a representative was available. Apparently, those folks are long-talkers. They must have talked into the night with the people they were already on the phone with!

I carried my phone with me, so as not to miss the call. To the bathroom. To the living room to consult Farmer H about his supper. Back to the kitchen. Set it beside me while finishing my scratchers. I needed to put my phone on the charger as usual, but I was afraid it would ring, and I'd be unable to rush over to the kitchen counter before it quit. THEN I'd be faced with playing voicemail tag.

So intent was I on getting this problem solved that I answered two random numbers! Just in case. My Insurance has called me from a variety of numbers, and their name does not show up. But these were just annoying calls. One wanted my opinion on data centers. We don't even have that issue in our county, though an adjacent one is battling a proposed data center. The other call was repairing roofs in our area, and quite willing to fit me in. I hung up on both. You know, because my real caller might be trying to reach me!

By 8:00 p.m. it dawned on me that I probably wasn't going to get a call. I consulted Farmer H.

"Do you think I should call back tomorrow? Or will that irritate them, and make them put me at the bottom of their list?"

"I don't know. I think I would call them every day until I get somebody."

"Yeah. Maybe I'll give them tomorrow, and then call back on Friday."

Thursday morning at 10:13, my call was returned! I could see that it was from the number I had called to leave the message. Of course I had my phone next to me! Along with my insurance card, driver's license, debit card, and the notes I had made. You can't be TOO prepared!

Insurance Gal listened to my talking points. Seems that all they were waiting for was payment. Insurance covered 80 percent, and the other 20 percent was my responsibility. That's pretty standard. I knew I had met next to nothing of my deductible this year, and that I would have to pay. Insurance Gal quoted me the price: $1172.01. She asked if I wanted a payment plan, to be billed. Or to use a credit card or debit card. I said I wanted to get it over with, and just pay it right then with my debit card.

Insurance Gal said I had to virtually sign the contract. Did I know about virtual signing? I affirmed that indeed, I do that through YourChart with my appointments. So I had an idea. She sent me an email with a link to the program they use. Walked me through it. Then she read from a script, asking me if I agreed to have my debit card charged for this amount. I did. The charge went through, and Insurance Gal said that FedEx should deliver my package in 3 to 6 business days. That I would get an email with the day and time window.

OT better be proud of me for getting this show on the road!

I don't know if this was just the time my leg pumps were finally ready, or if the holdup was waiting for payment. You'd think they would have contacted me by phone, email, or regular mail over those four weeks. Rather than leave me hangin' without knowing what was needed. Maybe it was on their schedule to call me Thursday anyway. 

I still plan to take credit!

She Likes Me! She Really Likes Me!

There has been a delay in getting my leg pumps. Nobody knows why. That's all we're waiting for before OT releases me from therapy. It's been four weeks since they were ordered. I have to call my insurance to check on the situation, since they haven't responded to calls from OT and the pump rep.

Anyhoo... there's nothing more to that story today. As I was leaving therapy, I confirmed the name of the manufacturer that I need to mention in my call.

"What if it takes ANOTHER four weeks before I get them?"

"Well. At least I like you! If I didn't, if you were some cranky lady who didn't tell good stories, then I'd be on the phone in a heartbeat! 'You've gotta get this woman her pumps!' So I could get rid of her!"

Did you miss that part? OT said SHE LIKES ME! And I like her, too.

Cue the montage of us frolicking in the park, flying kites, drinking one milkshake with two straws, laughing at a private joke, trying on funky hats at a street festival, and strolling down the sidewalk doing that "side-kick" thing where you kick your foot over to whack your companion's rumpus. Okay. Maybe that's a little far-fetched. We all know I can't balance on one leg and bend my knee enough to deliver a side-kick...

Anyhoo... that brightened my spirits to hear that she enjoys working with on me. Furthermore, I asked about when I'd know the six months were up, and how to order my next set of velcro leg wraps.

"Just call me and I'll put in the order. Who knows... I might STILL be seeing you!"

Heh, heh. That wouldn't be the end of the world.