Up In The Valley

Every once in a while, I still need to scratch that sports media itch. When the Dallas Cowboys shook up the 2012 NFL Draft by trading up to draft Shreveport's Morris Claiborne, a defensive back from LSU, it felt like I needed a soothing balm. This set of circumstances combined so many elements which get my motor running: home town guy made good, The Cowboys, LSU, and a bunch of people thrilled at the news. So, presented with an opportunity to be a part of the media reception for Claiborne at Valley Ranch the day after the draft, I just had to jump.

I've been down the sports road many times, so I don't get excited very often. The opportunity to spend a day at the Cowboys' sprawling headquarters in Irving, though, got my heart rate up a little. Claiborne brought his family along. His parents were there, so was his grandmother, a couple of his young children, his girlfriend and others. His mother apparently is a New Orleans Saints fan, but as Shreveport people almost everybody else there declared themselves long-time Dallas diehards. You could see the thrill on their faces.

You could tell that Claiborne was happy about all this, too...especially since the Cowboys had not contacted him at any point during the evaluation process and this news came to him like a bolt from the blue. (A blue star on a silver helmet, as it turns out.) As the day wore on, I had an opportunity to walk down a hallway and speak for a time with the Cowboys' defensive coordinator, Rob Ryan. I spoke with head coach Jason Garrett in a group setting, and along the way I dished off a quip that made Living Cowboys Legend Calvin Hill laugh. It was a good day.

I was helping my friend The Local Sportcaster. All of this came up so suddenly, he had made no plans to travel to Dallas on Friday. But, hey, that's the news business. In its modern form, there's simply not a pool of TV cameramen hanging around the TV station waiting to dash out of town for a day. As an experienced hand, I was able to earn my way by shooting interviews and stand-ups for him.

I also snapped photos with the iPhone as we went along and enthusiastically posted to Twitter and Facebook. That included a photo of Claiborne holding his new helmet while standing by his locker.

There was an impressive media throng there to acquaint themselves with the Cowboys' budding defensive star, and it was hard to stay out of their way. So, it should not have come as a surprise that our mugs wound up on a DFW TV newscast...just scratching that itch.

And what do you know, I finally got on TV in Big D!

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A Beautiful Little Concert

(The Woodlands, TX) - A five hour drive through heavy rain, thunderstorms and a little bit of hail to hear one of your favorite singers can lead to some pretty high expectations. Claire and I hurtled undaunted through a turbulent Texas afternoon for an opportunity to spend a little quality time with our good friend Karla Bonoff, whom we had never actually seen in person, let alone met. Happily, both of those circumstances changed Friday night.

Let's go back to 1985. I had started dating a young nurse named Claire Cooper. Things were progressing nicely and inevitably we began "dating" less and less and were simply spending time together. This meant visiting one another's apartments, of course. On her first visit to mine, she was casually looking through by albums (1985, remember?) and saw "Restless Nights" by Karla Bonoff.

She got a little wide-eyed because, as it turns out, she had fallen in love with Bonoff's music while she was a student at Vanderbilt. I would find out much later that she already kind of liked me, and this happy little coincidence sort of sealed the deal for her. Shortly thereafter, we began seeing one another exclusively; and in a little more than a year, we were married. It stuck. We will celebrate our 25th anniversary next month. Countless nights, we would lie in the dark listening to music and Karla Bonoff invariably was prominent on the playlist. For a quarter century, we've kept her music in our lives on vinyl, cassette, CD and now on our iPods. So, as I was thinking ahead for ways to celebrate our silver anniversary, I randomly thought, "I wonder if Karla Bonoff is playing any live dates at all?" I checked, and six weeks before our anniversary she was scheduled to appear at a great little Texas venue called Dosey Doe. I couldn't buy tickets fast enough.

Claire was joking around as the date approached, saying "I hope she can still sing." Well, rest assured, she's still got it. Her voice was pure and perfect and she sounded just like she does on her albums (er, tapes, um, CD's...downloads...whatever!)

She's a Grammy-award winning songwriter who had some minor hits as a performer, as well as one Really Big Hit Song. She joked about that during the show, saying she stumbled upon a program on VH-1 called "One Hit Wonders" and said "Yep. There I was." She lamented that the ONE song everybody seems to remember her for, titled "Personally," is one she didn't write. She said several radio DJ's thought it was a novelty song. She dutifully performed it, anyway somewhere near the end of her set. Mostly, though, she delighted those in attendance with the songs and style we have all come to love over the years. There were 130 people in the audience. Yep, 130. (It was an expensive ticket). We enjoyed every second of it, though. We agree it was worth the cost and the treacherous drive.

Because the setting was so intimate, she just kind of hung around after the show. We got to talk to her and tell her how she impacted our relationship. That got a smile out of her. I said "Yeah, you've kind of had a mystical place in our marriage, so it's really special for us to meet you." She took it well. There were 128 other people who wanted a moment of her time, so we moved on...but not before she graciously agreed to have her photo made with Claire.

The run-up to our 25th anniversary will continue, but I promise you this...on the actual anniversary day, I know whose music we'll be listening to.

Cheers, Karla Bonoff. Thanks for all the great years.

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The Sick, The Saved and the Shorn

It’s been a while since we checked in for a story, so let’s just go stream of consciousness and get up to date, shall we? Let’s start with an update on The Sick Person. Since February 4th, our days have been dominated by the necessity to manage the affairs of a person in the family who has been injured/ ill. Because he has no concept that he’s being written about in this forum, I’ve not identified him.

He’s been out of the nursing home for almost two weeks now, and our goal is still to get him back into his house. For now, and for an indeterminate interval, he’s staying at my father’s house and is living in my old bedroom. He’s been significantly impacted by a closed-head injury and we’re not so sure anymore that he will recover sufficiently to live on his own. My father, who will turn 86 in a couple of months, is determined to give him a fighting chance; and you have to respect that. With reluctance to reveal a lot of details, let’s just say there have been a few good days but many more days which nudge us toward surrendering hope.

What’s next? Who knows, but I fear the responsibility of decision-making will be daunting. It’s something to dread, rest assured.

Many times over the last few days, people have asked if our daughter came home for Easter. No, she didn’t. I did get a text message from her Sunday afternoon that said, “I celebrated Easter with monks, Dad! Monks!” Yes, she dressed up and went to Mass with a Roman Catholic friend, which pleases me immensely.

The family took her to brunch at a Fancy Dallas Hotel, which certainly was more exciting than kabobs at the house with Mommy and Daddy. We’re happy for her, but we missed her.

Her brother showed up and somewhere along the way announced his intention to “clean up a little.” As close observers no doubt realize, he has alternated for years between something like scruffy, hippie, unkempt, fuzzy, etc. I’m not great with it, but I’m okay with it. He’s young and has the rest of his life to be button-down. Or not. In fact, I’ve said to him many times, “grow it while you’ve got it, because you won’t have it that much longer. He made good on his pledge, thought, so here he is. That’s a nice looking kid, wouldn’t you agree?

There are no real adventures to report. Aside from spending part of essentially every day tending to the needs of the aged and infirm, the most exciting thing to happen over the last couple of weeks has been the annual planting of my tomatoes. I’m watering them and watching them grow. I gotta bust loose. I’m going a little crazy over here.

One more random story which illustrates the kind of thing that’s occupying us involving The Sick Person, which also illuminates my wife’s sainthood: One afternoon, I asked her to run a quick errand at The Sick person’s house. It should have taken five minutes. She walked in and discovered an overwhelming, sickening odor. His freezer, which was full of meat, had stopped working. Everything was thawed and ruined. She spent hours doing disgusting duty…bagging up rancid meat. I don’t know how she did it. But it’s always something around here these days and sadly…rarely is it something fun.

We’re being like bull riders, though…just trying to hang on eight seconds at a time.

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Iguana Meat and the Mayans

Our daughter has returned safely to U.S. soil after a trip to Belize which undeniably had vacation elements.



While there was time set aside to lie on the beach and gaze into the Caribbean, the primary activity of her traveling party was mission-oriented. So, their inland water views looked something like this.



She has come home for one night and has been given us abbreviated stories as time and movement about town allow. She spent the majority of her time playing, rough housing, singing and eating with beautiful Mayan children.



She is a person of many strengths, but has been notoriously deficient in being comfortable around young kids, so this seems to have been a growth experience for her.



She and the others worked in and around a school, as well as in a farming community, where she got up close and personal with an iguana.



The thing is, the big lizard she was holding was somebody’s future lunch. The missionaries made a stab at immersing themselves into the culture by eating iguana, iguana eggs and other indigenous food. At least they can say they did it.



As long as they were handling potential food, why not pick up something more familiar, like bacon or ham?



Being exposed to another way of life will serve her well in the long run. The people she encountered weren’t impoverished, oppressed or victims of natural disaster; but that doesn’t make the trip any less worthwhile. On top of all that, she got that “Belize” stamp on her passport.



She hustled back a day earlier than the others because she attended a wedding here in the hometown.



After about 26 hours using the family home as a base of operations, it’s back to Texas and her real life. It was certainly nice to see her.

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A Brief Dispatch From Belize

Our daughter is out of the country on a mission trip. We didn’t add any kind of international plan to her phone, so the information we’re getting about the mission is coming in the form of late night e-mails from the church staffer who coordinates college ministry. This is a young woman who is fond of using exclamation points!

We’ve seen one photo of our daughter so far, and if you know her it’s kind of funny. She is notoriously uncomfortable around young children, so maybe this will be a growth experience for her, not to mention a boost to our hopes of someday being grandparents.

Their work at a school continues, as does their beachside worship experience. Here’s what we heard about that: “In our small groups tonight, our lesson focused on the differences between false and true repentance. We split up into even smaller groups of guys and girls to spend some time being open and sharing about things we need to be repenting of in our lives right now and ways we've been avoiding that. I can't speak for the guy groups, but from my group and hearing from the other girls; I can say that it was definitely a great time of growing closer together and encouraging each other!”

I’d like to encourage them to send more photos from Belize. I’m starting to think that one fabulous dock with the grass hut at the end is the only landmark they’re seeing.

Maybe it is. I mean, after all, the primary purpose of the trip is the mission, not sight-seeing.

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A Worthy Spring Break Destination

On this, the first day of Spring 2012, our daughter finds herself on Spring Break. When you think of a college student this time of year, what comes to mind? Panama City? Ft. Lauderdale? Destin? Or, maybe a different climate? I know a lot of young adults have gone skiing (many people in the South feel compelled to modify this and say “snow skiing,” to differentiate it from “water skiing.” This is an important distinction between a place like Vail and somewhere like Lake Bistineau).
None of those apply to our student, who left Monday with several friends for Central America on a mission trip.



She’s in a pretty large group, which split up into four teams on day one. Nursing students saw 63 children at a school clinic under the supervision of the school nurse. Others prepared meals for malnourished children. Another group was on construction duty, working to build a pavilion at the school “where they can have large groups meet for assemblies and things like that.” They put in a full work day and plan to do so every day this week. We are told there was “a decent amount of exhaustion.”
No doubt they were tired. They’re doing good work, to be sure; but let me be more specific about this “Central America” thing. It’s Belize, which isn’t bad. In fact, here’s where they’re staying.



They had dinner on the dock after the workday. This is a church group; so much of their free time was spent on a worship experience, including singing songs of praise on the beach for an hour and a half or so. If you want to feel the Glory of the Lord, this is a pretty good place to do it.



I’m happy they’re able to enjoy a spectacular setting to start and end their days. As a parent, I’d certainly rather know they’re having a positive impact on young children as opposed to binge drinking and puking off a hotel balcony on the Redneck Riviera. Because you know that’s actually happening, to many of their friends. Go, Belize!

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Good News But With Continued Frustration

There is significant progress to report in the rehabilitation of The Sick Person in my family. Two weeks ago, he was flat on his back in a bed. He worked his way through a wheelchair phase and now is showing a moderate level of ambulatory competence on a walker. (Um, he can walk pretty well with that thing but he still needs help).

We went to his doctor for a check-up; but other than getting a little fresh air in the process, the visit was unremarkable.
What is remarkable, however, is how challenging it is to get things accomplished. How about a couple of examples? Let’s start with this doctor’s appointment:


• I call to set up the appointment, but the lady who answers the phone can’t do it. She transfers me to someone else.
• The next person starts to set things up, but I mention he’s living in a nursing home. She says I have to talk to the Nursing Home Coordinator. I am transferred to her.
• The Nursing Home Coordinator answers a couple of questions, but tells me she can’t set up an appointment because “I don’t have a computer.” She transfers me to someone else.
• Fourth call transfer, finally someone set up the appointment.

When we moved into the nursing home, it was made clear that they will transport residents to doctors’ appointments. Whew. That’s a convenience and a time saver. So, I call the morning of his appointment to verify his transportation. The receptionist says “I’m very sorry, sir. Usually we can do it, but the van is being repaired today.” I said, “When you say ‘the van,’ this means you only have ONE?” She said “yes, sir.” I couldn't help myself. I laughed out loud. So, I called my boss's executive assistant, explained my circumstance and said I’d be out of pocket for a while, taking a guy from a nursing home to a doctor's appointment.

The nursing home provides a nice service. They send their residents to appointments with a packet of papers which includes the face sheet of their chart, recent medical history and a medicine list. This is huge, if you think about it. So, we get to the doctor’s office. I sign in The Sick Person and ask the lady at the front desk what I should do with the packet. Blank stare. “What is that?” I said it was the packet of papers the nursing home sent. She said “You have to talk to the Nursing Home Coordinator.” Finally, an office nurse overheard this and said “those papers go on his chart.” She shot me a sympathetic glance and said “I’ll take care of it, sir. Thank you.” Finally, somebody who understood what was going on.

(But hold on, there’s more. Why don’t you grab a cup of coffee or something?)

Next example: The quest to find someone to renovate The Sick Person’s house:

We are hoping he can go home. If/ when he does, he will very likely need a walker, wheelchair and/or scooter. There’s no way his house in its present configuration can effectively accommodate those things, so we need to talk about renovations: door widening, handrails, etc. You would think it would be a snap to find someone who is knowledgeable and proficient at this kind of work. Not so, at least not for me. I began talks with a contractor who has billboards around town, but my appointment with him has been pushed back a couple of times. I think he works at too high a level for this, anyway. I was thinking that healthcare entities which deal with newly handicapped/ impaired people would have a variety of resources along these lines. So, I called the home health agency with which The Sick Person has an established relationship:

• The first person I spoke with wanted to help, said he didn’t know a lot about it but “our social workers do this kind of thing all the time. Let me set up a time when you can talk to one. I think Linda would be great.” Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.
• He sent an e-mail to Linda, copied it to me, in which he outlined all the details: Sick Person’s name, the fact that he’s a patient of the agency, my name and relationship to The Sick Person, and that we were looking for recommendations about renovating the house.
• Linda responded, proposed a meeting time and place which was agreeable to me. I responded and the meeting was set.
• I went to the meeting, where I was greeted by the first guy I talked to. He took me to Linda, introduced us and left.
• Linda looked at me with the “how can I help you?” face. I explained what I was looking for, making the mistake of assuming she knew since she read the e-mail and agreed to the meeting.
• In response to my explanation, she actually shrugged, glanced sort of off to the side and up toward the ceiling at the same time and helpfully said “I guess you’ll need to hire a contractor.”

I couldn’t leave fast enough.

I could go on, but this would turn into a novel. I will say that we’ve come across some competent, helpful, compassionate people. Rock Star physician, referred to in an earlier post, has gone out of his way to be of service…strongly affirming my perception of him. Two ladies at the local Social Security office were engaging, instructive and helpful. God Bless them. But I’m still amazed and a little discouraged at the nincompoopery I encounter on a daily basis as I’m just trying to help a Sick and Hurt Relative. I guess you can get good help these days, but you really have to search for it.

The Sick Person has a positive frame of mind these days. He’s working hard to get back on his feet. He might even kind of like the nursing home a little. Hard to believe, but it’s true. I know that will be short-lived, though. Everybody wants him to get home.

I did find a contractor, by the way. One phone call to the local Council on Aging got me pointed in the right direction. Somebody out there knows what they’re doing.

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Love Goes A Long Way Sometimes

Four weeks ago, if you had told me I would be thrilled to see somebody stand up and pee, I’d have looked at you like you were crazy. The idea that I would be happy to stand around while it happened just to make sure nothing went wrong would have been incomprehensible. But here we are, celebrating milestones in the recovery of The Sick Person in my family. Since February 4th, the poor guy has been flat on his back most of the time and has suffered the necessity of a catheter until just a couple of days ago.
There's encouraging progress to report. This weekend, we loaded up the wheelchair and got him out into the real world.

That helped his outlook, but a grand gesture of love and kindness was like a bolus of adrenaline to his confidence. The man has been divorced for more than a decade and a half. His former wife and most of her people have moved away. Saturday, one of his stepdaughters brought her family to town from Texas specifically to visit him. While the trip had been planned for a couple of weeks, we decided to surprise him. I briefly checked on him during their visit, and let me say this: I’ve known him every day of my life and I have never seen him look so happy. He was ebullient, over the moon.
It’s not an exaggeration to say their showing up has been a major turning point. His primary care provider at the nursing home said that instantly he became a new person and I agree. With the snap of a finger, he was motivated to get out of the bed and into a wheelchair. He found out he is stronger than he thought. I fear he may begin terrorizing the halls where all the other sick people are trying to get some rest.
We brought him to the house for several hours later that day and he was just a chatterbox.
Mostly, he talked about how happy he was to see the people with whom he once shared a home.

He has begun to take pride in his appearance. So, today we plopped him back into the chair and took him to Target for supplies. It was like he had gone to the state fair or something.



His sense of humor is coming back, too. Always kind of salty guy, he’s taken to calling the nursing home “the chicken farm” because, he says “we’re all cooped up and all we do is eat and shit.” Disgusting and a little mean, but clever. When it was time to take him back, I said “Okay, Rooster. Let’s go back to the coop.” He laughed like I was David Letterman or something, which is a heck of a lot better than lying in the bed and staring out the window. That’s pretty much all he did before his surprise visitors arrived. While he still has a long, challenging road ahead, thanks to the affirmation that his well-being matters to someone; he seems eager to face it.
I got a note from one of them moments after they left. She said “I had no idea he missed us so much. I’ll be back.” I hope with all my heart she follows through. Sometimes, love is the best medicine.

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A Tap on the Shoulder From Above

Maybe I'm feeling especially vulnerable after weeks of feebly managing the affairs of a stricken family member, but the tingle I felt roll down my spine earlier today was very real.
I grew up in the Church and I remain active. I might even be a little unconventional because of frequent visits to a nearby place of worship while I'm actually a member of another congregation. While my religion, and maybe even my faith, are simply part of me...apparently the "gee whiz" God moments have gone largely unacknowledged. There have been one or two "God is real" affirming occurrences when I became convinced I was getting a message. Today's got my attention.

For several weeks before The Sick Person was struck down and sent to long-term care, he had been struggling significantly with a chronic illness. The specialists have been at a loss to help him. We tried many times without success to get him involved in a program at a Nearby Healthcare Facility dedicated to studying his particular ailment. That failure has been a source of frustration and discouragement.

For a couple of weeks now, I've felt like a dog barking into the wind. I was making a lot of noise, maybe even annoying some people; but I wasn't really accomplishing a damn thing. The place where we landed is fine, but to be honest it felt like the least objectionable of the absurd options placed before us.
That might be my outlook, though. I'm certain The Sick Person is despondent and I know I'm just damn depressed. To borrow lyrics from a 70''s song: I set my sights on Monday and got myself undressed. But that was after the little pat on the back from The Almighty, which certainly improved my frame of mind if not my outlook.

As moving day loomed, I made one move that was either desperate or inspired. I know and like a highly respected physician who is kind of a medical rock star at Nearby Healthcare Facility. We aren't friends, per se. He's way above me on the food chain; but he seems like a compassionate man and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is brilliant. We don't have the kind of relationship (I don't think) that would lend itself to this...but I dropped him an e-mail asking him for recommendations. He wrote back and said he would do what he can. He said he'd call. I wrote him back to thank him and left it there.

First full day in the new facility...Okay, I'm going to stop dancing around it. it's a damn nursing home. That's what it is and there's no denying it.
God, please, let it be temporary. Anyway, The Sick Person had a pretty good day. He was as alert as he has been in weeks. We were able to carry on a regular conversation and discuss what lies ahead. He's been away from home for so long, we have the postal service holding his mail. On a whim, I stopped by to pick up the big bundle of letters and bills early in the day.

When I discovered that he was encouragingly alert, I asked The Sick Person if he would like to look through his mail. He said okay. So, I starting thumbing through it...bill, bill, bank statement, AARP magazine, then BOOM! An envelope from Nearby Healthcare Facility. I opened it and saw a letter. He has an appointment with the program he's been trying to get into for almost a year! To be clear, the letter was postmarked BEFORE my e-mail to Medical Rock Star. Sick Person was elated. Hope. He smiled, the first time that's happened in weeks. Thirty seconds after I opened that letter, which was still in my hand, my phone rang. It was Rock Star returning the call as promised. He said he would look at Sick Person's images and records, do an evaluation and see if there's anything he can do to help.

These were two potentially enormous developments in the care of a person suffering from a significant debility and they happened simultaneously. Given everything we've been through over the past several months, it seemed like a little miracle to me. Here's what I heard: "Darrell, it's me, God. You know how you've been asking me to reveal myself to you? Well, Hi. I know this is hard, but I'm here. I'm helping. I have a plan. You might not understand it, but trust Me."

Okay. You have my attention.

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Mad At The World and Sick About It

I know how Sisyphus might have felt….rolling that giant boulder to the top of the mountain, getting just to the top…and then having it fall back on you. Then, you start the process all over again.
It took us days to finalize the next destination for our stricken family member.

Before the whine continues, here are a few declarations: Obviously, references to the Sick Person are cryptic. I’m not identifying him specifically because he has no idea I’m venting on the internet. The people who know who he is know who he is. In response to several questions and many assumptions, I will reveal that it is NOT my father, who at age 85 is just fine these days.

I’ve been saying the Sick Person is very sick and will probably stay that way, so let me clear that up a little. He fell. He fell hard, apparently more than once. He has a brain injury. It has affected his eyesight, speech, short-term memory and mobility. It’s bad.

Today, he left the hospital where he had been since February 4th and was transported in a van to a skilled nursing facility.



Who knows how long he will be there? To ride in the van, he was in a wheelchair. He was also wearing clothes, which was nice to see after a month of looking at nothing but a hospital gown. But, it was all window dressing. The ride and the emotional toll took it out of him. Last time I saw him, he was in his new surroundings, still wearing clothes, but flat on his back in a bed in a room in a building completely foreign to him.



Phone calls, e-mails, text messages, site visits, difficult conversations. The process of choosing this place dragged on and on. We plowed through at least five facilities which either determined that they could not provide appropriate care for his injuries/ illnesses or didn’t like his insurance. I thought the top of my head was going to blow off. I think it didn’t only because the pressure was relieved in an unpleasant fashion from another part of my body.

When I find myself under this kind of pressure, I don’t like myself very much; and I’m pretty sure the people around me don’t like me, either. I just can’t help myself. Under stress, my voice gets loud and people think I’m yelling. Asking me not to raise my voice is like asking me not to breathe. It just happens.
It’s also intensely frustrating to be unable to efficiently find solutions to the problems presented to us.

I am grateful to the many co-workers who have endured my ranting over the past several days. As always, My Spectacular Wife goes out of her way to help. She knows when to rein me in and also knows when to step back and stoically let me yell a little.

The sad reality is, this current stop just buys us a little time. In three to four weeks, we’ll very likely need to make more difficult decisions. If you see me waving my arms around like a wild man and/ or speaking with a raised voice; please don’t be offended. Don’t be frightened. I’m just struggling. A pat on the back or a little hug may go a long way to getting me to be a little less loud.

Sometimes, it seems like I’m mad at everybody. I know it’s me. I keep talking to myself. Too loudly on occasion, of course.
I wish I could cry, but I can’t.

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Mounting Frustrations and Stomach Aches

I keep looking for the good news in this set of circumstances which has been thrust upon me.
Let’s see: I have had four days of gastrointestinal distress, and it’s getting worse. Maybe I’ll lose weight.
I am discovering the kindness in people. A couple of bankers and an attorney of my acquaintance have shown mercy to me and provided services which typically would have a fee attached.

Here’s the thing, just to catch you up: A member of my family has abruptly fallen ill, doesn’t seem to be getting any better and the prognosis is poor. This doesn’t mean he’s dying. It appears he will just stay sick for a long, long time. Sick enough that he needs a lot of help making decisions. Sick enough that he can’t really leave his hospital room.

Oh, but he MUST leave his hospital room because his benefits are running out. So, somebody (me) has to find a place for him to go where his insurance will pay. The kinds of places we’re talking about are not the kinds of places people want to go. They’re the kinds of places where, if you go there, you will immediately think “holy crap, this is my last stop?(!)” It might not be. It could be, but if it were me, I’d be down for the count.

Knowing how emotionally difficult this move will be, I’m dreading even talking about it. But I must.
For some reason, I’m having a hard time truly accepting that people want to help. It turns out, I’m in conflict because at my core I’m a desperately needy person; but I really don’t want to bother anybody with my troubles. The exception is my wife, who continues to affirm my belief that she is just a gift from heaven itself.

I recently had the opportunity to spill my troubles onto the plate of an intelligent and insightful person I know. He said, “You seem to believe that your wife is the only person who accepts the imperfect you.” That is a disquietingly accurate observation.

I mean, this isn’t about ME, this is about the sick person…but the sick person’s troubles are dominating me and I can’t seem to shake loose of it all. For instance, I finally got the Power of Attorney I need to get some things rolling. Or so I thought. I went to Sick person’s bank and while the “personal banker” was very helpful, the legal department at Big Bank’s corporate office was not satisfied with the POA. This despite that I used one of the largest and most respected law firms in town to draw it up. It’s good enough for every other bank, but not for the legal geniuses of big Bank, wherever they are.
So, what has to happen? For the second time, we have to assemble in Sick Person’s room a Notary Public and two witnesses, get Sick person to sign another POA…reassemble all the papers again and try to satisfy Big Bank.

And this guy has some kind of unusual insurance mix. So, one or two doctors’ offices have declined the opportunity to see him because they can’t figure out how to get paid. But, if they just worked a little harder, they WOULD get paid. But, why work harder? So, to arrange for care & feeding, etc…I’m having to take three or four steps each instead of one. It’s killin’ me.

So now, I’m doing coping skills…trying to discipline myself to deal with the circumstances that are placed before me today and today only. Worry about tomorrow tomorrow, and all that. It’s not easy. Now, if you’ll excuse me…I gotta go to the bathroom.

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This Shouldn't Be So Hard

On behalf of anyone and everyone who might someday have the management and care of an incapacitated person thrust upon them, please heed what I say. As inconceivable as it might be to you, one day YOU may be unable to make decisions for yourself. Please, right away, go to a lawyer or LegalZoom or something and designate someone to make decisions for you: medical, legal, financial, whatever. Then tell people about it. Leave a note. Engrave a medallion. Scrawl it in Sharpie on the inside of a closet door. Do something so that people will know about it.

Our efforts to look out for the physical and financial well-being of a relative who has recently fallen ill have been thwarted by the fact that he neglected (refused) to make any such designation. Notoriously stubborn, he consented to the creation of a document which allows someone (me) to pull the plug on his life support should the need arise. But is there permission to make changes to his health insurance status or to pay his bills while he’s out of commission? No.

So, as I’ve waded through the alphabet soup-saturated (SSA, CMS, GEHA, HIPPA, IRS, etc.) murky bureaucratic waters trying to get his business straight, I find myself being dragged down by tentacles disguised as red tape and rules.
Time and again, I’ve asked a question something like this: “Okay, so I can’t speak for him or ask questions about him. He’s unmarried and has no children. I am his only living relative. If I can’t speak for him and he can’t speak for himself, what’s supposed to happen?” Each time, the response has been some version of “Sir, I hear what you’re saying but my hands are tied.” Tentacles.
Who can untie their hands? This pursuit is dominating me.

Somehow, my cell phone number has made it into his medical records. So, I have case managers, intake coordinators, billing clerks, insurance coordinators and God knows who else from various healthcare entities calling me asking me questions to which A) I don’t have the answers and B) I am not authorized to pursue.

Meantime, the clock is ticking on his current benefits in the facility where he is presently being cared for AND I CAN’T MAKE SUBSTANTIVE PROGRESS ON FIGURING OUT WHAT THE HELL IS NEXT. If he had just created the Power of Attorney like we asked….things would be so much easier.

So, I’m begging you: for the people you love…or even for the people you might not like so much who may have to deal with your stuff while you’re not able to do so: get that document done right away.

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A Constant Tension Headache

My head is heavy. I am tired. I am frustrated. This is really none of my business, but it turns out the business is being heaped upon me. I have a relative who by most measures is a senior citizen. In fact, he recently retired. In a cruel twist of fate, days before his retirement was official; he became significantly ill and has been confined to a hospital bed for more than three weeks.



Physically, his strength is on the decline. Cognitively and emotionally, he’s a fraction of the man he was less than a month ago. I don’t know when or if it will get better.



A set of circumstances which has evolved over decades has led us to a place where I have become the primary decision maker and fact-finder about his medical treatment and, of commensurate importance, how to pay for it all.
I’ve been on the phone with various government agencies. I’ve faxed, e-mailed, pleaded, sighed and have gotten basically nowhere. This could drive a guy to drink.
Meantime, I’m a frequent visitor to a hospital room in a facility that is not managed by the health system where I’m employed. This is inconvenient and often awkward.
All the while, the hospitalized one is frustrated on so many levels. He’s much too young to be this damn sick. He doesn’t know what’s next, because nobody does. He’s a prisoner in a bed with railings, as well as to a lesser degree in his own body. If he’s not sinking into the depths of depression, it’s nothing short of a miracle. This is yet another cruel twist of fate, because he has to have his head screwed on straight to be motivated to work hard enough to work himself back into shape.
The only ray of sunshine I can find in all of this is that we’re reconnecting with long-lost friends and a few relatives. This is because I’ve basically had to call in reinforcements. Fortunately, people are kind and loving and even some who haven’t seen him in years are stopping by to visit. Someone even drove in from Georgia and spent lots of time in that hospital room over a three-day weekend.
I’ve been calling people I remember but likely wouldn’t recognize if I passed them on the street, it’s been so long since I‘ve seen them.
And that was before I went to a Chinese buffet and got a fortune cookie with this inside:

I have nothing clever to say. I’m far too distracted for that right now. I just told my wife I’m trying to figure out what God’s plan is with all this. Maybe I’m supposed to reconnect with old friends. Maybe I will if I can ever come up for air.

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A Quiet Afternoon

(Makena, HI) – If you would like to pretend for a while that you are some kind of explorer who discovered a spectacular island somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, drop by Makena State Park.



To get there, you pass through Wailea, which features luxury accommodations, fine homes, upscale shops and several high-end golf courses. When you arrive, you find the largest undeveloped white sand beach on Maui.



We spent most of an afternoon there, walking the beach, sitting on some rocks and just staring out at the ocean. As the sun began to set, we found our way back to civilization. But this was a great little stop because for a few moments late in the day, it seemed like we had the world to ourselves for a few stolen moments.

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What a Blowhard!

(Nakalele Point, HI) – It started off as benign idea, something like “Hey, let’s drive up there to see the blowhole.” As so many have discovered on Maui, the destination isn’t always as significant as the journey. When I woke up, I didn’t imagine we’d be standing on the edge of a cliff looking out at this.



To get to this vantage point, we had to pass by this ominous warning.



Being the noted adventurists we are, there we stood on the edge of nowhere.



You had to be going somewhere, though, and we were determined to find that blowhole, more dire warnings be damned.



Nakalele Blowhole is the result of the ocean wearing away the shore below the lava shelf. With each wave, water is forced through a hole in the lava shelf resulting in the "eruption" of water similar to a geyser. You have to get a photo or two of that, don’t you?





The hike down to the blowhole requires a little exertion. Claire, inappropriately attired in a skirt and sandals, went about as far as she dared.



That’s her, the tiny blue speck sitting under a rock.



Despite a steep climb and the specter of mortal danger, We emerged from the blowhole a little sore,but safe and sound, smiling.

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