Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Mortality is stalking me

Mortality seems to be stalking me.

An acquaintance has a ten year old daughter slowly dying. His family is living life to it's fullness and turning in private to anguish.  I'm glad he shares pictures of her on Facebook. The older sister got her driver's license and he posted that milestone last night.

Maybe it is me, more likely it is the mumbo jumbo formula of my web browser; but, yesterday it was about death and the process of dying. On NPR, the writer of "Being Mortal" was tooting his book and the documentary on PBS based on the book.

I was going to make sure to steer away from that topic but genealogy roadshow was on. It is not as good as Dr. Louis Gate's show but I enjoy it none the same. Next was about the history of tuberculosis. A movie script I have written has parts in the 1800s so I am always observing anything from those times.

I did not pay too much attention to the tuberculosis show. I was busy reading blogs. Then "Being Mortal" came on. I watched it.

Anyway, I am going to 59 this year. My diabetes has become worse despite my careful eating. I have an elderly mother living with me, many older relatives, and the need to make arrangements for my own funeral one day. So what is all this about I think to a higher power.

No I do not anticipate dying any time in the near future.

It is just that I need to direct my sister's money toward the cost of a funeral so she will qualify for Medicaid. If I am going to do that for her; I am going to get it done for myself in case she learns what I have done. It is so gruesome to face your own mortality.

I would like to keep her with private insurance but private insurance or Medicare do not adequately address mental health treatment. I feel so frustrated that her psychiatrist tells me "My sister's insurance does not pay for future hospitalization that she will need if they change her medications."

I don't say anything because I am always stalling for the right tactic for her care. I'm at war with a monster and a broken system. I still think the same thought, "Who is my sister's doctor, you or the insurance company?" I mean, how does he think my sister is so well-dressed and cared for out of $550 disability check she gets.

I want to say the truth, "I will take a second mortgage out on my house pay for it if that is the only way".  Can you see my right hand flailing in the air with my consternation?

There is much more on the topic but one purpose of my blog is to keep my "ass" out of trouble. Naming names and dredging up details which are true can be turned on me. I've contemplated writing about my experiences with mental illness and the system.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas sums so many of my feelings on this dark topic. So much genius from a man who lived such an unstable alcoholic life. Some people feel too much.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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