A while back, I told you the epic tale of bureaucracy as I attempted to acquire my father’s Hospital Discharge Summary. Several entities want or need it. Several entities with some (perceived) degree of power in this situation demanded a ‘Letter of Administration’ in order to get it.
I talked with my lawyer early this week and he assured me that my state-issued Affidavit ($89) was the document needed in all cases going forward, just as the County Clerk had said. It was explained to me that getting the ‘Letter of Administration’ would require certain additional administrative costs after which a period of six to nine months would have to expire before the Letter could be issued to me. All of this would be needless, of course, as the Affidavit is the thing to have.
Today, my lawyer called me. He’d just been at the Clerk’s office, discussed my case, and the “smartest, most experienced” Clerk in the room confirmed that the Affidavit was the document to have.
My lawyer and the Clerk were right, of course. So, here’s how the case was resolved. About half an hour before the lawyer called me, I went to the Medical Records office at the hospital. I presented my Affidavit and asked for a copy of Pop’s Discharge Summary. A couple of minutes and seventy-five cents later, it was in my hands, and I sped away from the hospital before anyone there could change their minds. The hospital did things right. The others did it wrong. The speeding was just me being a smart-aleck.
Who’d-a thought there could be intrigue in getting a stinkin’ piece of paper?
Mom continues to be extraordinarily happy; so much so that there is some question about the depth and truth of it. On Wednesday, Piedmont Place’s staff shrink spent about forty-five minutes with Mom, ran her through a battery of tests, asked her a number of questions, and then told the Social Worker that she would not be taking Mom on as a “client.” She doesn’t need the help. My take: if she can get it by a professional shrink, Mom’s really happy.
And then, there’s the increased socializing. Early this week, she and some friends took a little drive to the mountains (two hours each way) for lunch. Later in the week, a more modest jaunt to the local Olive Garden.
Lisa and I took her to the beautician on Wednesday. There’s not much wrong you can do with Mom’s hair these days. But on this day, she came out of the shop looking like a little grey-haired Jimi Hendrix. I wanted to take a picture, but thought better of it.
The longer you spend in a place, the more you can see its beauty. My morning ritual includes opening the blinds of the living room window to watch the birds enjoying breakfast at the feeder. Then I open the blinds at the kitchen to observe the neighborhood. The former is an opportunity to watch a ballet of flying animals interacting and singing their own special songs. The latter, an opportunity to see sunlight played in the prettiest ways over colorful trees, bushes and flowers.
Lisa and I will go home to Minnesota someday. It’s home and it’s special to us. Until then, I’m learning that North Carolina is pretty good, too. (Now, if only we could get these people to drive better…)