I had a hell of a time falling asleep last night. My encounters with Progressive leave me churning. I can live with not getting what I want, i.e., a return of the money I put out because of Adam's accident. I can't live with the nonsense they're feeding me. I don't know if it is incompetence, lack of training, or fraud. Whatever, I couldn't sleep. I got up in the middle of the night to spend time on my standing vibrating machine. Someone had told me that shaking reduced the stress of trauma; we shake it off, literally. That didn't do much good. It was one of those moments when I wished Mike was here. Of course, if he had been, he probably wouldn't have been in particularly good shape, and I would hardly have felt that I could burden him with this problem. It would have only added stress to his situation.
If Mike had survived pancreatitis, he would have been very limited. The doctors made it sound like there was hope that he would regain his life – over time. However, as I learned the effects of intubation on people's nervous systems, I realized that visions of his complete recovery were a fantasy. Until these recent reports of the impact of ventilators on patients, I always associated them with surgery. People were intubated during the procedure. The time they were on them could be counted in hours, not days, weeks, or months. People come out of those surgical procedures just fine and dandy. If I had known, I would have been prepared for him to die much sooner. I don't know yet if anyone in the family was any more knowledgeable than I was. Maybe they were. Once I announced he was in the ICU, people made their way out to Hawaii to say goodbye.
I have no idea how my head worked. While he was in the hospital, I was preparing for a long recovery, even when he was in the ICU for the second time. Once I made the decision to let him go, I was dancing. The palliative care nurse who came up to 'comfort' me must have thought I was out of my mind. I was joyful. I was joyful because it wasn't all my decision.
Damon had called Yvette earlier that day and said that he was prepared to let him go. That meant it was all on me. What a decision! Take him off life support, without which he could not have survived. Could he have survived if I had waited longer? The answer is clearly no. The doctor in charge of his case said that operating was the only other option. It was unlikely that he would have survived. So it was either die in the ICU or on the operating table. After I decided, a nurse told me that there was puss coming out of every tube in his body. As I read over my updates, I found that he asked to go on the Monday before; I decided on the following Saturday, and he died on Sunday. I had forgotten his request. At the time, I assured him we were already in discussion with the palliative team, but I didn't want to 'pull the plug' until I was sure that death was his only option.
He had declared that he wanted to die shortly after we arrived in the hospital, before his first trip to the ICU. At that time, I asked him if he was serious. He made it clear he was not. He was just wailing. He had much cause to wail.
I finally fell asleep. I can call on Mike to comfort me even though he is not here. I pictured him holding me and singing to me. Mike was tone-deaf and couldn't sing to save himself. I loved his singing. It made me giggle, not because his singing was terrible, which it was, but because he made himself vulnerable when he sang. It was so sweet. I wonder now if he understood why I loved it so much. I would say, "Sing to me." It was always comforting.
I am not devastated by my loss of Mike. It feels okay, but I wonder if something is wrong with me. I adored that man. But I was also independent of him. My identity wasn't anchored in my marriage, and I had prepared for the loss. Since my dad died when I was fifteen, I understood that I could lose a loved one at any time. I mourned Mike's loss over the years. If he came home unexpectedly late, he would find me curled up in a corner, clutching my widow's weeds. When his death finally came, for real, I was more than ready. I often thought through exactly what I would do if he died. I was as prepared as I could be.
I also feel no regrets over who I was in the marriage. Were we perfect? Good God, no. We were always a work in progress. But there was a deep, deep connection. That is still there. I am a woman who was loved, deeply loved. I can't begin to tell you how transforming that was. My mother worked to convince me that nothing was right with me. Mike fulfilled a wish I had. That wish is captured in a misquote of a Yeats poem. It's not my misquote; it belongs to a roommate of mine in graduate school, Carol Barter. (Hello, Carol, if you are out there.)
Some men loved her for her fair face.
Some men loved her for her glad grace.
But one man loved her for her pilgrim soul,
And the thousand faces of her changing moods.
That's what I felt I had in Mike. Did he like everything about me? No. Did he learn to enjoy more things about me over the years? Yes. Either way, I felt loved. It fills me.
I got up at 5:30 am and headed out. Elsa came with me for the first part of the walk. Elsa has adopted a new behavior because I have been walking up and down my street, passing my house repeatedly. She pulled back to go home right after she peed, maybe 100 steps into our 5,500 step-walk. I wasn't sure what her problem was. It could have been her leg was bothering her. When we got into the house, she was clearly petitioning for an early breakfast. I told her no and walked out the door. She came running. I opened the door to put on her harness, and she ran to the kitchen. I walked out of the house. Forget it, girl. You are not getting an early breakfast. I stopped in every time I passed the house. She persisted in her behavior until the third time. She finally sat still, I put her harness on, and she accompanied me for part of the walk. I did feed her after I finished my 5,500 steps.
I had plans to deliver a book on Irish History from Mike's library to Colleen, who did my facial. She serves as a greeter at St. Michael's and remembers Mike fondly. She wanted something of his. She asked me to meet her at the bottom of Kaiminani at 10:10 on the shoulder. The plan was that she would head off to the airport to catch a flight back to Oahu, where she lives, and I would head into town to take care of getting the DMV form notarized. I waited and waited, but she never showed up. I had to leave at 10:20 to make sure I made it for the 11 am appointment. I texted her. She finally texted me back, saying she got held up and ran late.
I headed to town to deal with the notarization problem. The question was, did I have to sign that notarized form, or did Josh? The lady at the DMV was clear, "Have him notarize it." To cover all possibilities, I went to Office Depot to Xerox the form Josh had filled out with his name, whitened out his name on that form, and then Xeroxed the amended form. Form in hand, I headed over to the bank. They called his name before 11 and before he came. I said that I had to wait. Then I thought, "I bet the lady who notarizes these forms knows which one of us has to sign it." She confirmed that I was me just as Josh walked through the door. I thanked him for coming and sent him home. He was most gracious about this massive inconvenience.
While I was there, I went over to thank the bank clerk who handled my snarkiness the other day. I told her that the sign telling me which number to call to make an appointment didn't provide a connection to make one. She went over to get the sign and showed me it said, "Dial 0.' She was gentle and nonjudgmental in her effect. It was amazing. I thanked her for being such a good role model. I doubt I'll ever achieve that level of aplomb, but I have what is possible in mind now. As Yvette pointed out, I speak with a sardonic tone no matter what I'm talking about. I think it's funny. I see myself as usually making fun of myself.
Actually, it's more than that. I had a commitment to not be 'nice' when I was an undergraduate. I had two role models, my mom and my dad. My dad was always 'nice,' 'gentle,' but he was also always manipulative and controlling. While my mom was a holy terror, at least I saw her coming. I figured being 'not nice' was the more ethical path. I remember thinking that I wanted my gravestone to read, "She was a bitch." I've been looking for the middle path ever since.
Once I had completed my business at the bank, I went to the DMV to complete the process. The bank clerk told me they would issue a Title in my name, and then I would sign it over to Josh. I wondered how long this was going to take. I wanted to get it out of my name so there would be no question of liability should there be an accident.
The parking lot at the county administration complex was empty. My first thought was great—I'll move through the line in no time flat. Then I realized this was weird. Sure enough, it was closed. There was no sign announcing its closure for today. Other people also arrived and said there was no announcement online that they would be closed today. I wonder if they will be open on Monday.
I drove home to deal with insurance claims again. My experience with the employees of Geico is different than it has been with Progressive. They explain everything to me in sensible terms in courteous language. What a relief! The results were the same, which still doesn't make sense to me. Why am I being charged $200 a year for five years for a tow and a fender bender? I kept myself calm by playing with an adult coloring book while I talked to them.
The fender bender was nothing. The insurance company only found out about it because Shivani and I had reported it. Advice: Keep your mouth shut. I had asked Shivani to call Progressive to get roadside service. I gave up AAA because I had it with Progressive. OMG! That roadside service cost me $1000 in increased premiums over five years.
Progressive doesn't post a roadside service number, only a claims number. So, the claims representative asked Shivani what happened. She told them about my silly accident. (I would have done the same thing) It was so trivial, and I couldn't imagine that it would increase my rates. Guess again. Then, they have on record that they spoke to me on December 10. I gave the accident details, trying to point out that it wasn't worth a claim. It doesn't work that way. Say nothing about accidents to your insurance company. Geico said that with an accident reported, that was my fault. Even if no money was paid out, it increased my premiums. Jez Louise! It's a nightmare. I'm stuck with that increased fee for five years. The five years is a local quirk.
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