ABC’s and D’s of Medicare

Retirement is supposed to be a big adjustment in life. So far, the worse part has been losing my employee insurance and trying to figure out and get Medicare started. I think I have finally conquered the beast, but not without a few bruises and lumps.

“What now?” I thought. seeing that I had I received a letter from Social Security in the mail. Usually when I hear from them it is because they have made an error and either gave me too much money and I have to pay it back, or not enough money, and they have to pay me back. You would think with all the computers the government has, they could do better.

This time, however, they were only writing to tell me my Medicare Part B was in effect and they would be deducting it from my check. Yes, I knew that when I signed up. Besides, I had already received a new Medicare card in the mail, pretty much a dead giveaway.

They also wanted to tell me I was eligible to sign up for Medicare Part D. Medicare has more letters of the alphabet than a first-grade classroom. I already knew about Medicare Part D, which is a good thing. If I waited for Social Security to tell me about it, I would not have any prescription coverage at all.

Picking a Part D provider is like playing the lottery. You pick what seems like the best set of numbers and take your changes. Firstly, Part D is not available from the government. Part D has to be purchased from a private provider, similar to Part C. It may include A, B, D, Medigap and a free puppy. Okay, I was kidding about the puppy, but they would probably figure a way to do it if it would make you sign up with them.

When someone first becomes eligible for Medicare, the mailbox is stuffed every day with insurance company mail trying to entice them to join their plan instead of taking “plain old Medicare.” I decided plain old Medicare was just fine. I have no basis for comparison until I see what regular Medicare pays.

After studying the website to sign up, I was more confused than ever. Some companies had high premiums, some had a high deductable, and some had both. I liked the one with no deductable and a low premium. It made me wonder what was wrong with it; however, I decided to take my chances and give it a whirl. If I don’t like it, I can change during open season. Of course, that is sort of like getting married with the idea of getting a divorce later.

I’ve learned a lot of new vocabulary words figuring out Medicare. Before I could sign up, I had to be sure my old insurance was “credible” insurance. Credible means they pay as much as Medicare, or 80%. Another of the favorite words for Medicare D providers is “formulary.” That means a list of the drugs they will cover. Why can’t they use plain English and quit using five-dollar words that no one outside of the insurance industry ever heard of?

Meanwhile, I got a letter back from the Medicare D provider I had chosen saying I would have to pay a penalty as long as I have Medicare for signing up late and not having insurance for a period of 63 days. What? I signed up late because I retired late and have a special enrollment period. I not only had prescription coverage, I had it with the same company. I guess they do not speak to each other there.

After returning the form they sent and a copy of my insurance card, they called me. I missed the call so they left a message to call them. I couldn’t imagine what more they wanted. As it turned out, they just wanted to say I would not have to pay a penalty. I’m glad they figured that out.

Now I know why everyone gets so frustrated with Medicare. Guess I win this round. I will bandage my wounds and wait to see what’s next in the healthcare battle.

Copyright 2014 Sheila Moss

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Murphy’s Laws for Little League

Murphy’s original law is an old adage, ‘”If anything can go wrong, it will.”

Here are some of the truisms of little league baseball that can be observed in action at almost every game and attested to by anyone who’s ever been involved in baseball for kids as a player or spectator. These things seem to happen too often to be mere coincidence; therefore, we feel absolutely certain that Murphy was at bat and playing for both teams.

If your batter has three balls and no strikes, the next pitch will be a strike.

If your batter hits a high fly ball hit and the bases are loaded, it will be caught.

If your batter hits a high fly ball and the bases are empty, it will drop.

If there is a runner on third, your batter will strike out.

If your catcher drops the ball, the winning run will steal home.

If the batter hits the ball directly to your first baseman, he will drop it.

If the other team’s ball is popped up in the infield, no one will catch it.

If your team has the bases loaded, all the remaining batters will strike out.

If the opposing team hits a home run, it will be with the bases loaded.

If your pitcher walks the batter, it will be when the bases are loaded.

If a ball is hit to left field, it will get by both your shortstop and the left fielder.

If the ball is hit to right field, the second baseman will chase it instead of covering the base.

If the ball is hit to the third baseman, he will forget to step on the bag before throwing to first.

If the second baseman forgets to step on the bag, there will be a runner coming from first.

If your very best pitcher is pitching, he will walk four batters in a row.

If you really need a run, your team will have three up and three down — every time.

If your team gets a spectacular hit to outfield, it will be caught.

If their team hits a fly ball, it will drop between players and two runs will score.

If your infield plays on a runner stealing third, the third baseman will miss the ball.

If their batter pops up three foul balls, your catcher will miss them all.

If your pitcher plays on a runner who is off base at first, he will steal second.

If your pitcher doesn’t play on the runner at first, he will steal second anyhow.

If your outfielder misses the ball, three runs will score while he chases it.

While the play is being attempted on a steal at second, their runner will steal third.

If the play is at third, your third baseman will tag the base instead of the runner.

If your team is ahead, the opposing team will get a home run and clear the bases.

If the other team is ahead by one, you cannot score a run no matter how hard you try.

If your player hits a foul ball, it is always on the first or second strike, not the third strike.

If the hit should be an easy out, your first baseman will drop the throw.

If the batter bunts with a runner on third, your catcher will forget to cover home.

If a runner is stretching a single into a double, your fielder will throw a wild ball.

If your team hits a line drive, it will be snagged by the opposing pitcher.

It the other team hits a line drive, the ball will hit your pitcher.

If your best hitter is batting, they will strike him out.

If their team hits a pop up, your team will never catch it.

If your player is safe at first, he will get thrown out stealing second.

If your player is safe at second, he will get thrown out stealing third.

If your player tries to steal home, he will collide with the current batter.

If the opposing team steals home, your catcher will fumble the ball.

If Murphy played little league baseball, he would strike out too.

Copyright 2008 Sheila Moss

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The Office Incident

My recent broken shoulder reminded me of a prior accident that happened a few years ago. This is the story of that particular occurance.

My new chair is too high. “How can I work when my feet barely touch the floor?” I got up and tried to adjust the little lever underneath, but it wouldn’t budge. What now?

I plopped back down to think about it. That is, I meant to plop down. Suddenly, I realized the chair was not where it should be. “What is my chair doing over there?” I wondered as I felt myself falling to the floor in slow motion.

About that time, I was conked over the head by my desk. I wondered if I could get up before anyone saw me sitting on the office floor. Too late. The noise attracted attention, and people started coming to see what happened.

“Oh, you are on the floor. Let me help you up.”

“I am okay. It didn’t hurt too much,” I lied.  “My chair rolled away while I was sitting down.”

“You are bleeding!”

Bleeding? I looked down and my shirt was covered with blood. My hair was wet, and then I realized I must have hit the desk harder than I thought. I grabbed handfuls of Kleenex as the blood dripped from my hair.

People get excited when they see blood. I decided to move the medical show to the ladies room before I finished ruining the carpet. I was going to have to go home. I couldn’t stay around the office looking like the victim of an attempted homicide.

I called Honey with the good news. “I think I need to go to the ER,” I said. “Can you get off work and take me?”

“I need to see a doctor,” I told the receptionist at the hospital.

“What is your complaint?”

I thought it would be obvious since my hair was dripping blood and my shirt was soggy. Did she think I always looked like Dracula’s daughter? I was scaring the other people in the waiting room.

“I fell and hit my head.”

“Did you black out?” This would become a popular question before it was all over.

A nurse came and whisked me to a room. Apparently, you don’t have to wait if you are bloody enough. They asked me again if I had blacked out, had a headache, had blurred vision, and all the usual stuff.

“No, no, and no. I’m just bleeding.”

They decided to wash the blood away so they could see the wound, a stellar idea.

Nurses and medical people came in and out of the curtains. Finally, they told me I had an abrasion and did not need to be sewed, glued or stapled. If I became dizzy or felt worse, I should return.

The thought of staples in my head was worse than the pain from the injury, so that was good news.

Any time there is an accident at the office, we are supposed to fill out an incident report. I thought it could wait until I was out of the ER.

My helpful co-worker decided to do it for me. When saw it later, I was shocked.  “She fell and there was blood on her head, blood in her hair, blood on her hands, and blood on her shirt.” Good grief, couldn’t she just say I fell and hit my head and had a minor injury?

Apparently, the word spread fast. When I returned a day later, people who saw the incident report or got word on the office grapevine were asking how I felt. Has everyone in the building heard about it?

I heard many bloody stories about muggings, children that fell off bicycles, grandmothers that fainted and hit their head, stories of friends, relatives, anyone that ever had a bloody accident. I was up to my eyeballs in bloody stories.

What a thing to be known for, knocking yourself in the head. I need a chair with brakes on it so it can’t roll.

I may now be the only office worker in town who wears a hard hat at her desk.

Copyright 2014 Sheila Moss

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Remembering Mother

My Mother grew up on a tobacco farm in Tennessee in a family of 13 children. They grew food, made lye soap in a wash pot, and had feather beds and homemade quilts. My sister and I loved her tales about her childhood and always asked her to tell us about the “olden days.”

She was quite a storyteller. When she became older, she wrote a memoir of her stories. It was accepted for permanent retention by the Tennessee State Archives and is also published in a blog on the Internet. 

Mother met daddy while he was visiting Tennessee. They fell in love and eloped to North Carolina and married. There she found work in a cotton mill where she was a spinner and picker. Some other women thought her job of picking was easier than spinning. She had a bit of temper and took leave for a month. She told the boss to let every single woman have a turn doing her job while she was gone. He did, and when she came back to work, no one complained that her job was easy any more. 

Church was the religious and social center of the community where she grew up and also about all there was to do. As an adult, she went to church twice on Sunday and prayer meeting on Wednesday night. She taught Sunday school, studied the Bible, and loved to discuss her interpretation of the scriptures. Her point-of-view sometimes conflicted with that of others, but she was certain her way was right and could never understand why everyone did not agree with her. 

Mom once took on the Teamsters Union. Daddy was a member of the union, but they failed to give Dad health insurance when he retired. She went to see the head guy of the union who, of course, would not see her. So, she staged a one-woman protest and sat in the waiting room of his office every day for over a week until he finally saw her and gave her what she wanted. Not many people take on the Teamsters and win.

Like most mothers, she also had a soft side and many homemaking abilities. She loved cooking southern food and making pies. Mom didn’t like to make cakes, so if we wanted a cake we had to make it ourselves. She knew how to crochet and made Afghans by the dozen, which she gave away to family and friends. She always had flowers planted around the house and a row of Zinnias in the vegetable garden. She liked knick-knacks and kept every single thing anyone ever gave her on display in her house. I don’t know how she kept all that stuff dusted.

Mom always worried a lot. When she heard a siren, she would turn on dad’s police scanner to see if anyone she knew had been in a wreck. She also was scared to death of thunderstorms and thought the house would be struck by lightning, a tree limb would fall on it, or a tornado would blow it away. If she was alone, she would go to a neighbor’s house until the storm was over. 

Mom and Dad loved to travel and they took many automobile tours to the western United States always taking, kids, grandkids or some of mom’s sisters along. I’m not sure how many times they went in all. They didn’t make pictures, instead daddy bought postcards. So, we have no pictures of them at the Grand Canyon, Mt. Rushmore, or Old Faithful – only boxes of postcards.

Mom never did learn to drive in spite of our many attempts to encourage her. But she was very good at manipulating people and getting them to take her places – grocery store, hair dresser, or doctor appointments. She said she didn’t need to drive as she could always “get a way.”

Mother lived to age 94. I miss her a lot, but have a lifetime of stories and memories. 

Copyright 2014 Sheila Moss

Mom’s Memoir “Growing Up on PZ Ridge”
can be found at

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Festival, Second Time Around

I could have had a really good time at the Renaissance Festival this year, but I just couldn’t seem to get into the spirit. I’m not exactly sure why, but Barry Manilow was wrong about love being lovelier the second time around. Last year the festival was it was new and fresh, but this year it was just the same old, same old.

There were knights in shiny armor to sweep fair maidens away. Somehow the idea of being swept away by a knight seemed a bit silly for an adult, even for a fair maiden like myself. I tried to get into the mood by watching some of the shows, but somehow they all seemed more for the purpose of tips than for entertaining.

The Renaissance theme seemed to inspire people to try to talk like they were in a Shakespeare play, “Yes, me lady, ” was said with dramatic emphasis, loudly and often Some of the visitors got into the spirit, shouting Old English insults from the audience. Maybe it was because I can’t speak Old English, but I spent most of my time trying to figure out where my bottle of water had rolled under the bench.

The actors had correct dress for the period with tights and high boots for the men. I guess maybe I don’t go for guys in tights. The girdles, and long dresses that ladies wore wore looked really hot and uncomfortable. I never learned to sweat in a delicate way. There were so many weird people running around that it was hard to tell those just pretending to be weird from those who really were.

Of course, the real spoiler for me was the crafts. I had in mind a particular item similar to something I bought there last year. Alas, it was not to be. There were flashy crystals and zodiac jewelry, but not the pretty, but cheap, glass charms like the year before. I hope someone took note and will take care of this for next year.

I cornered my daughter and made her promise not to let my grandson buy another plastic sword. The good news is he didn’t get a plastic sword. The bad news is that he got a wooden one instead.

I could have had my fortune told in the psychic lady’s tent, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you five minutes later what was said. The strange bird lady was there again too telling how wonderful falcons and birds of prey are, but I thought of the buzzards I had seen in the road eating road kill. The knights rode horses and jousted. I wondered if it was for real or like professional wresting where they simply put on a show.

The tour of the castle was different. It seems that one person’s dream was to build a castle of his very own and he has worked a lifetime on the endeavor. A bit odd, to say the least, but it did give a nice anchoring point for the festival. After seeing actual castles in Europe, however, the homemade version was not too impressive. I don’t think I would like living in a castle unless it had central air and heating.

I could have bought a tall souvenir glass of beer like the other people who were wandering around, but what do you do with a foot high plastic glass when you get home? I could also have eaten a fried turkey leg, but I could find the stand and was overcome by hunger conveniently in front of the fish and chips vendor.

So, another merry month of May, another Renaissance Faire. The best thing I found about the faire was the kettle popcorn. But if it hadn’t been for Barry Manilow being so wrong, I could have had a really good time.

Copyright 2006 Sheila Moss
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Trash in the Attic

Remember all those television shows where someone finds a priceless antique in the attic? All I have in mine is junk. I have written before about all the junk in my attic. I’ve been working on cleaning out the stash of trash that sneaked up the stairs when I was either gone to work or too sick to care. Yes, I will admit it, some of it is my stuff too, but most belongs to other people.

I’ve always heard that the first step in de-cluttering is to get rid of the things that belong to other people. Easier said than done. I found it easier to get rid of my own junk. I know what is actually useful and what is unnecessary.

There are, however, a few things I can’t make a decision on and so they are still pending:

1. The iron pothook: It has sentimental value, the first thing bought for my home after moving to Nashville. Plus, I like it. It just happens that I have no place to hang it up since moving. My daughter took it once to use in an apartment, but she moved later and returned it. So… to the attic.

2. The Racasetti: I have a large sofa-size painting that I love called “Ships in Port” or something to that effect. Unfortunately, the ships are sinking and the painting became too shabby to hang. I wanted to replace it, but it seems Racasetti is an artist whose work is mostly found in thrift stores, garage sales, and junk piles. Great taste I have in art, huh? So… the picture is in the attic.

3. My wedding dress: How can you throw away your wedding dress? Even though my husband has been dead for almost 25 years, it is still in the attic, gathering dust and turning yellow with age. The trend now seems to be for brides to jump in a lake and destroy the dress after the wedding is over. Forget it. It is a size 9, way too small now.

Before you get too tough on me, be aware I bit the bullet and threw out a ton of stuff. If you want to get rid of things, you must be relentless in purging. I have it down to three plastic bins of stuff and one coffee table. And the bins are mostly quilts or afghans made by my mother. “You should be able to keep a few things,” my daughter says.

Throwing away Honey’s stuff is another matter entirely. He still has every single thing that he owned when he moved here, and more has been added since then. Some of it is easy. I know he values the set of white dishes, his trophies in various sports, and old photos. That’s a no brainer. But what about the tennis racquet he never uses, the bicycle helmet, the dozens of video tapes?

“Keep my baseball uniforms,” he says. See what I mean?

He has found excuses not to help so far, even though cleaning out the attic and turning it into space for people instead of junk was his idea. Do I just throw it all out? It is tempting, but I wouldn’t want someone throwing out my things without checking with me first.

So… I am spending half the day in the attic stomping silverfish with a bandana over my mouth and nose because I’m allergic to dust. If anyone saw me, they would call the guys in white jackets to take me away and turn me in to a TV program on hoarders.

“Did you say get rid of the waterbed?” I ask. That means I can give away the sheets too as we won’t need them. “What about the computers and cell phones that are obsolete and useless? I found a couple of places that will recycle old electronics.”

“Throw out the bicycling clothes, but save the helmet; save the baseball clothes, but throw away the shoes.”

I don’t dare ask about the mood lamp. I’m afraid he will want to keep it.

Copyright 2014 Sheila Moss

Posted in Home, Humor | Tagged , , , , , | 9 Comments

Memo from Frisky to All Cats


TO:  All Cats

FROM: Frisky, Feline Escape Artist, Extraordinaire

SUBJECT: Life on the Outside

It has come to my attention that many house cats are content with staying inside and do not know how to escape the constrictive nature of a life indoors. Therefore, as an experienced feline with many skills and years of practice, I feel it is my duty to share some of the techniques I have learned.

1.   THE CHARGE:  This method is relatively simple. You simply lurk in the vicinity of the door pretending to be totally uninterested in the outside world. Sooner or later, someone will open the door. This is your cue. Charge! Run out the door as fast as you can, around the human, between the humans legs, under the human’s feet, whatever is necessary to accomplish your goal.

2.    THE LURK:  This is similar to the charge, but more effective as humans may become wise to the charge and start watching for you whenever they go outside. With The Lurk, you stay near the window and bird watch. Actually, you are watching for the kids to come home from school, your human to come home from work, or the pizza guy to make a delivery. As soon as the door is open, you charge outside before they even see you.

3.   THE STOWAWAY:  This is an indirect way to get outside but the end result is the same. When the human goes out to the garage, sneak out quietly and hide in the garage. You must wait patiently until the garage door is opened for one reason or another. Then you simply walk out and you are free. Caution: Tuck in your tail and watch for cars backing out when garage door is open.

4.    THE PUSH: This involves taking advantage of random opportunity when a door is left cracked open or the latch does not catch. Simply push against it with the weight of your body until it opens enough for you to escape. This technique can also be used on window screens. Be sure to use it only for windows on the first floor or you may have an unpleasant surprise.

5.    THE PULL: This is used if the door opens inside into the room. Instead of a push, simply place your paw under the bottom of the door and pull it toward you until it opens enough for you to squeeze out. You must remain vigilant and watch for a push or pull opportunity. It does not come often, but when it does, it is a prime opportunity for an easy escape.

6.   THE TURN: Doors are opened by the doorknob. A clever cat can learn to jump and pull on the side of the knob until it turns and the door opens. Be sure not to do this when humans are watching. They will be totally baffled about how you got outside and think it was their own negligence. Be aware that it may be very difficult to turn the knob as cats do not have a thumb. If you are lucky enough to have a door with a handle instead of a knob, the task is much easier.

7.   THE SCREAM:  You must have strong vocal chords for this. Simply sit by the door and howl. Do not be distracted by attempts to pet you or calm you down. Continue to meow as loud as you can until you make the humans so crazy they will actually open the door and throw you outside. Use this method only as a last resort as humans may lock you in the basement instead to shut you up.

I hope these instructions will be helpful to you. If you have questions, email me and I will try to help with your individual situation. Good luck and enjoy your brief time outside before the humans catch you and drag you back inside.

Copyright 2014 Sheila Moss

Posted in Creatures, Humor | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

Bouncy, Bouncy

Life is one painful day after another, or actually one painful night after another. I am unable to sleep more than a few hours at a time and have to keep the head of the bed raised to sleep at all.

I am trying to do as much as possible for myself to avoid being a burden. I have mastered transferring to a wheelchair, which gives me mobility at home, at least. I still cannot reach things while seated, but manage by hanging on to the kitchen counter in the morning to make a cup of coffee.

I am able to get in our extra high SUV now using a little stool and hopping. This sounds small but it is huge as I have to be able to get in the car for doctor appointments. I am super cautious about everything as I could not get up if I fell.

It has not taken long for things to go south on the home front. My son is in charge of yard work that I normally do, like weeding the flowers. He did the backyard, but forgot the front.

I’ve been seeing a lot of doctors. First there were the paramedics, who don’t count even though they spent more time with me than anyone. Next in line was the trauma doctor who x-rayed me and said I had a broken shoulder. I could have told him that, but he had to diagnose me, I suppose, to justify the large fee they will charge me for the ER. Bouncy, bouncy.

He referred me to my GP who was too busy to see me unless I could wait 6 months — but I could see his intern. Bouncy, bouncy. The intern asked me tons of questions unrelated to my broken shoulder. Then my GP dropped in to say hi and tell me to see an orthopedic doctor. Bouncy, bouncy.

The ortho doctor wanted a copy of my x-rays — not a big deal unless you are in a wheelchair like me and have to go back to the hospital to get them.

The orthopedic doc (who fixed my previously broken wrist) was happy to see me again and told me how good I looked for my age, an expensive compliment. He told me that the bone that was broken was the humerus. It didn’t seem very humorous to me. He no longer does surgery on shoulders, he says, and I should see his colleague. Bouncy, bouncy.

So I went to the orthopedic shoulder surgeon, who said I had a broken shoulder. Is there an echo? I am pretty sure I have heard that before. I do not need surgery as it will heal well enough on its own. I might lose some functionality, but I am an old lady, not a baseball pitcher or violinist. Plus I need to go to physical therapy, Bouncy, bouncy.

One good thing about a broken shoulder is I don’t have to cook dinner or clean house. I do get a bit hungry for lunch, and even a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is a major undertaking with one arm. I sometimes make a messes, like spilling Splenda when making coffee. Honey says the Splenda is what attracted ants. Ants like sugar substitute? I wondered why they were so skinny.

So, I’ve been watching a lot of TV and surfing Facebook and TicToc. Fortunately, it is possible to use a computer mouse left-handed, even when you can’t do much else.

I wanted a snack and asked Alexa to make me a sandwich. She said, “Okay, you’re a sandwich.” Smart alec AI. Seri said a sandwich was beyond her abilities at the moment.

Me too, Seri, me too.

C 2023 Sheila Moss

Posted in Health, Humor, Rants | Tagged , , , , , | 9 Comments

Still sick, so what’s new?

Still in recovery from a broken shoulder, I’ve been doing a bit better for the last few days. Right now I am still weak. I haven’t been eating much, mostly soup, so that may be part of it.

The house cleaners came on Monday and I was sick in bed, but I told them to go ahead and clean around me. They couldn’t change the sheets but cleaned the rest of the house. I called and changed my service to once a week as my guy doesn’t see that the house needs cleaning.

After a few days, I wasn’t as dizzy and I found out I could make it to the bathroom by myself by holding onto the dresser, the cat tree, the door frame and the sink until I got there, so that was a major accomplishment. No more potty chair.

Honey has been doing the best that he can. The windup clocks ran down which was fine because the cuckoo was getting on my nerves anyway. I asked him yesterday to water the plants and he did — including an artificial plant on the coffee table. “It looks real to me,” he said.

He warms frozen dinners or gets carry-out food for us to eat. One day he made a pot of chili with me giving instructions. The cat is sick, the kitchen has been invaded by ants and the dishwasher has broken. I called a repair service for the dishwasher, then decided we might as well get a new one. I wonder if you can buy dishwashers online?

I’ve been learning some new skills since I’ve been incapacitated. I found a lot of things Alexa can do that I didn’t know about, like turn off the television in the living room and call Honey on his iPhone or his Alexa app when I am in the bedroom.

I’ve also found out that I can dictate things like emails and texts with Seri and don’t have to type them. I already knew that I could do that, of course, but I just typed anyhow. Seri’s spelling is good, but her punctuation is non-existent, and she doesn’t always understand slurred speech when you are taking pain meds.

The paramedics had put monitors on me with little stickers. When they unplugged me, they left the stickers on my skin, so I’ve been finding stickers all over me for about a week. I finally got that shower I’ve been needing and Honey got the hairdryer and dried my hair. I told him I would recommend him for a job at a beauty shop. He declined.

He will be gone all day tomorrow at his club so I’m kind of worried about that, but maybe I can figure out how to get in and out of a wheelchair by myself. I am trying to be more independent and less of a burden. Even if I have to stay in bed, he needs time off. Caregiving is a hard job.

My son declared war on the kitchen ants with spray and ant traps. I think they have given up. I didn’t see a white flag, but I don’t see any more ants either.

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A Broken Bone

I always thought the Amish were peaceful people, but apparently not because my Amish rocker, my beloved Amish rocker, turned over with me in the living room and body slammed me to the floor. My arm was broken.

I guess I can’t really blame the Amish, It was me that leaned over too far in the chair not realizing that it was slightly top-heavy and if you leaned too far and it slipped out from under you.

I was lying on the floor in so much pain I couldn’t move. Honey called 911. Pretty soon I had a front yard full of fire trucks and flashing lights and paramedics. I had about six first responders carrying me out to a stretcher. They took me to the closest trauma center, a hospital I don’t really like, but. I wasn’t in a position to argue about it.

When I got to the ER the doctor came and checked to see where I was broken. They took me to have a CT scan and made an x-ray. I asked if I could have something for pain. Instead of a shot, the nurse gave me two Tylenol.

She put my arm in a sling and told me to leave. She had to be kidding. There was no way. I can’t even walk when I’m not groggy and don’t have a broken arm. So, she asked me if I wanted a wheelchair and I agreed, hurting very badly by then.

Honey went to get the car and she wheeled me out into the cold. I don’t know why she didn’t wait inside. She asked where we parked and I said, “I don’t know where we’re parked — I came in an ambulance.”

When he came with the car, I couldn’t get in because my arm was broken. His car is really high, like a truck. Finally, I pulled myself up with my good arm and Honey lifted my other side by my bottom. When we got home, I told him to park close to the door because I couldn’t walk and my wheelchair was stored in the attic. It was too far to the door, but I thought, “Well, I’ll try.”

I was trying to walk holding onto Honey for support. I got about halfway there and I couldn’t make it any further. So, Honey had to drag a chair from the patio so I could sit down. After I rested for a while, I was able to make it to the door.

It was my right arm that was broken and, of course, I’m right handed. I’ve been pretty helpless since I got home, and I haven’t been able to do anything. Honey has been taking care of me because there is nobody else.

The first day I was home I felt faint every time I tried to set up. I knew broken bones are painful, but didn’t realize it made you sick. I had to stay in bed all of the time and my arm had to stay in the sling. It was really hard to sleep at night.

I’ve been staying in bed most of the time, but for the last few days I have been trying to get up and watch TV a little bit. I have to use a wheelchair because you can’t use a walker when you only have one hand. I’m going to try and figure something out.

If you wondered why my blog hasn’t been updated lately, this is it. Also, typing with only your left hand is pretty challenging.

Sheila Moss 2023

[Part 2 to follow later if my wheelchair doesn’t have a flat tire.]

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