His own heart laughed

"His own heart laughed;
and that was quite enough
for him."
     --Charles Dickens
     --A Christmas Carol

Taking Inventory

They're taking inventory today in the "Bob's Books" department of Bob's Books and Adult Day Care Center. Everybody is busy in the warehouse. They brought in pizza for lunch, and got enough for the "Day Care Center" department too, which is nice because it's just me, and I'm not helping with inventory.

I guess with the end of the year and all it's a good time to take some sort of inventory, a summing-up of the year just past. That's what newspapers (remember them?) and magazines and TV and radio do this time of year; seems like there's no getting away from it. But me, I'd really rather not just now. I had a couple of really dark days right after solstice (yeah I know -- everybody did) and I feel like I'm still climbing back. For people with progressive disease, reflecting over the previous year and anticipating the coming year is something you want to be very careful about. A year ago I could do a lot of things I can no longer do. By the end of next year I'm unlikely to be able to do everything I can do now. I don't think I'm being negative or defeatist or giving up, or failing to be hopeful or positive or tough or determined or inspiring or any of that. It's a progressive disease. That's how it works. I'm just sayin'. At this point, for me, a good day is one that's not a whole lot worse than the day before. A good year would be one that's not a whole lot worse than the last. I'll plan for the future as best I can, but getting through today is about all I can manage. If I can do that, we're good. One day at a time.

So, as days go, yesterday was a pretty good one. And old friend from southern California was in town visiting her sister and brother-in-law, and they all came by for a visit. She brought Lucy the golden retriever, which Ernie and Bareit thought was a very fine thing. Tuffy kindly  baked us a batch of brownies. I think we managed to save her a couple.

Winter!

I love winter!

The solstice is past (yes, we had a lovely holiday, thanks for asking) and each day is a little longer than the day before.


Even though the coldest weather is probably still a month or so off, here in Seattle we'll start seeing the first signs of spring almost before the last of the holiday lights are put away.

I've lived here 15 years, but I still worry that the buds and shoots that start to appear in February and March are way too early.



In Michigan, they'd be goners for sure. Here, most years, their optimism is justified. We'll get some cold, maybe even some snow, but spring will be here before too long.


I'm ready. I love winter, but I'm always ready for spring.

Whatever you celebrate this time of year, I hope it is a time of joy and peace.

Photo credit: Tuffy, last winter, in the appealingly-named Swap Creek Park, across the street from our house.

Home Alone

Scarecrow just left for the grocery store. He won't be gone long. It's only a mile away, and he's only going to pick up a couple of things. So I'm here by myself.

It's scary.

I haven't been a quadriplegic for very long, so I'm still getting used to it. Being entirely by myself, nobody within hollering distance, is probably a bad idea. Since I'm very good at imagining, I can imagine all kinds of things that might happen that would require opening doors, or pulling plugs, or turning knobs, or pushing buttons, or calling 911, or, oh, I don't know, anything. None of which I can do. None of these dire circumstances are very likely, I know, but still.

I don't like this. I always liked being by myself. I got testy and unpleasant if I had to be around other people all the time. I do not like being entirely dependent on another person, to an extent I never could have imagined.

Oh never mind. He's back. I know we need to make provision for times like this, I know I know I know. I know we need to get some respite time for Scarecrow. I know we do. Tomorrow for sure. I'll think about that tomorrow.

A Different Kind of Holiday

There was a time when Christmas at our house was occasion for great bustle and festivity. House decorated inside and out, a tree big enough for the eclectic collection of ornaments we've accumulated over the years, artfully (if I do say so myself) wrapped presents piled underneath, hand-lettered cards, cookies, food, the whole nine yards. I was really big into Christmas.

Then, at some point, I got to wondering why we were making such a big deal out of a Christian holiday when we aren't even nominally Christian. Somehow devoting that much energy to a Winter Festival of Crass Commercialism and Greed was not a particularly appealing alternative. That's not to say I didn't see anything to celebrate this time of year. Living for years in gloomy, dreary Lansing, Michigan, and then in gloomy, dreary Seattle, I would always count the days to the solstice, anxious to see the sun (gloom permitting) for a little longer each day. OK, so why not just call a solstice a solstice, and celebrate that instead? We can still have the house decorated inside and out, a tree big enough for our collection of ornaments, presents, cards, cookies, food, and everything else. Most of the holiday symbols (lights, evergreens, wreaths) aren't inherently Christian anyway, although I'm not entirely sure about red-nosed reindeer. Over the years we've developed our own traditions into a celebration that we find satisfying and meaningful. It's more about what we're celebrating, and less about stuff. Although there's a little bit of stuff, too. I mean, get real.

So we usually do a different kind of holiday anyway, and this year it will be even more different than usual. Because of the Remodeling Project That Wouldn't Die, we have piles of construction stuff in our front room. Since our decorations are all in storage, we won't have the house decorated inside and out, and we don't have anyplace to put a tree. Since the solstice isn't a holiday for anybody else, we may even have a construction crew at work. I suppose we could tell them not to come, but if it gets The Project one day closer to being done, we'll celebrate around them. So we'll be doing something different this year, although I don't yet know what, exactly.

Maybe we'll just celebrate by lighting candles on the longest night of the year. We'll build a fire (Seattle air-quality permitting). We'll be together. We'll be warm, and dry, and fed. That would be enough.

Red Queen Redux

Yesterday I had an appointment with the physical therapist. I've worked with this woman for years, checking in with her every time the Red Queen challenges me to another race. She's not only very good at what she does (the therapist, I mean, not the Red Queen, who is also very good at what she does, which is why I need to see the therapist), she's a great person as well. I like her a lot.

The reason for this visit is that, once again, I'm looking for another way to control my power chair. I was in for the same problem just six months ago, but I've lost so much function in my arms and hands since then that the solution we cobbled together is already not working for me anymore. We talked about solutions that I could probably afford, which might work for a little while. And we talked about options that might provide a longer-term fix, but would probably exceed the maximum my insurance will pay for durable medical equipment. All of which assumes I can get my COBRA continuation coverage set up, which is a whole 'nother rather tiresome story. The upshot of all this is that we will talk to a DME provider, find out how this might work, and what it might cost. And I'll talk to the COBRA administrator to get the insurance thing straightened out. You know, dealing with a disability is bad enough, but doing what you have to do to be able to deal with the disability is a real pain in the butt!

I Have Been So Looking Forward to This

Today is Tuffy's last day as a teenager. Tomorrow she turns 20.

As teen years go, I have to say I think we got off pretty easy. I have no teen-zilla horror stories to relate. Aside from the occasional Sunday night emotional core meltdown, she has always been even-tempered (for a teenage girl-type person) and kinda nerdy, taking nerdy classes, playing a nerdy instrument (viola), and participating in a nerdy sport (wrestling, two-time All-American, hence the nickname). She has never felt obliged to do what everyone else does, and doesn't care about being cool. Gotta like that, in a kid.

Still, I'm relieved to no longer be the parent of a teenager. I don't understand her preference for English and philosophy and drama classes instead of chemistry and zoology, but I don't have to -- she's 20 years old. I don't understand going to the gym six days a week, doing mixed martial arts, but I don't have to -- she's 20 years old. She's learning to go her own way, and I'm learning to let her do it. It will be an adventure for both of us.

The Runaway Blog

I have a rather embarrassing question to put to you long-time bloggers: Does your blog ever run away with you?

Is it just me? Sometimes I start a blog post with a particular, if vague, topic in mind, and without realizing it wind up running off at the pencil about something entirely else; or wind up making an entirely different point than the one I set out to make. That supposes, of course, that I set out to make a point, which I frequently do not. Sometimes I get to the end of the post before I realize I did, in fact, have a point to make. Of course, there are times I intend to make a point but don't quite manage it. That happens a lot, but that's something else. This is like a horse that gets the bit in his teeth. You're going to go where he takes you, and there's not a darn thing you can do about it.

There are times when I'm partway through a blog post and realize I've changed my mind, or I've talked myself out of what I thought I was going to say. Or I suddenly figure out something I didn't understand, when I may not even have realized I didn't understand it. I admit it's not usually an insight into the inner workings of the universe -- more like what I'd have to call a Blinding Flash of the Obvious -- but an "aha" moment, however minor.

I'm new to this blogging stuff. I spent most of my working life earning a living by writing, but sitting down to write about whatever I want is a totally new adventure for me. It takes me unexpected places. I tell people I don't know things about myself I didn't even know I knew. It's kind of scary.

Is that why so many people do this?

Pinching Pennies

Today I finally get to cancel our family cell phone service. I've really been looking forward to this. (Sounds kind of pathetic, I guess, but hey, you've got to get excited about the little things.) We had a pretty cheap plan for three phones, but since I can't use a regular phone anymore I thought I'd see if we couldn't do better with a plan for just two phones. Looking back over the last couple of statements to see how much we used the darn things, I found we were averaging, maybe, 10 minutes a month for the three of us. We don't talk on the phone much. So, yeah. We switched two of the phones to pay-as-you-go, and today I get to cancel the service.

While our house has been torn apart, we've had a bunch of stuff stashed in a self-storage place. I thought it would only be for a month or two, but it's been a year. In the next week or two, our remodel should be close enough to being done that we can get that stuff out of there. I'm really looking forward to that, too.

As an aside, if you can get along without something for a year, you've got to wonder how bad you really need it. There've been surprisingly few things we wished, at some point, we had handy, and only one or two items we needed badly enough to go down and retrieve. I think there's a lesson lurking in this somewhere...

While it seems kind of Scrooge-ish to be looking for ways to pinch pennies this time of year, the transition from gainful employment to retirement benefits made some significant changes in our budget. We've had to distinguish between what we need, what we want, and what we really can do without. I'm not sure that's bad. We can do without cell phone service we don't use. We don't need to rent a storage shed for stuff we don't need. With my birthday, my dad's birthday, Tuffy's birthday, solstice, and my brother's birthday coming one after the other, it's easy to get crazy. Tuffy's tuition is due in January. Let's keep our priorities straight. We'll still buy presents. We just won't be spending money for the sake of spending money. We'll try to focus on what we're celebrating, and why.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to cancel my cell phone service...

Virtual Friday

It's funny that I still think of weekends as weekends. Even though I go in to work every day with Scarecrow, it's not like I do any. Still, Scarecrow doesn't have to work tomorrow, so today's a virtual Friday. I still like them.

The chore for today was signing up to continue health insurance coverage for Rowan and me under COBRA. With the 60% American Recovery and Reinvestment Act subsidy it's still going to cost more than I paid as an employee, but not nearly as much as I had feared. Of course, the subsidy only lasts nine months, but you can just call me Scarlett -- I'll think about that tomorrow.

The chore for tomorrow is to renew my Disabled Parking permit. The task itself is no big deal; Scarecrow will just stop in at the doctor's office for a signature. It's just odd to think that it's been five years since I got the darn thing. When I got it I could still walk, a little, using Scarecrow's arm for support. I could still drive, getting my manual wheelchair in and out of the car myself. I still had a day job, and went in to work every day. I brought home a paycheck that I'd earned with my own little hands. I could still play music. Recreationally. At least, it was recreation for me. My family would probably have called annoying noise -- it was a banjo, after all -- but they were kind enough to put up with it. (I might also mention that I have accumulated a serious pile of annoyance credits. Scarecrow plays accordion.)

It's realizations like this that sneak up and smack you upside the head, sometimes. You're going along, doing an everyday chore, minding your own business, and whap.

I need to stop and think about that for awhile.

Instant Gratification

I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.

-Jorge Luis Borges

I love libraries. I remember going to the old Santa Monica Public Library when I was a kid. The childrens books were downstairs, around the corner from the main entrance. We could only go to the library when my mom was in town running errands. Most of the time it was the bookmobile, at the end of our street on Saturday afternoons.

There was the chemistry library and the biomed library at UCLA.

There were afternoons sitting on the floor of the kids' section of the Lansing Public Library, browsing through books to take home to read to Tuffy.

For a while, I even had a job where I spent much of my time digging up information in the Library of Michigan and the Michigan State University Library. How cool is that? (Unfortunately, not cool enough to put up with a sociopathic boss. But it was a pretty cool job.)

In Seattle, of course, librarians are revered -- one even has her own action figure. Living out in the 'burbs, our local libraries are part of the King County Library System (KCLS). When we moved to town, we got library cards before we unpacked our stuff. Browsing for books is one of the best possible ways one can spend an afternoon.

Book browsing is, however, a hands-on activity. It's just not as much fun when you have to ask somebody to take the book off the shelf, open it for you, and turn the pages so you can read bits and decide if you want to check it out. Scarecrow is willing to help me, but I don't do much in-library browsing anymore.

For me, the coolest thing about the library these days is online access to e-books. I can check books out, download them, and read them on my laptop -- no hands! It's all about instant gratification. On Thanksgiving day I ran across a reference to a book that sounded interesting. The library was closed, but the web site was open. They had the hardcover, the audio book, and a digital version. Five minutes later I was reading it.

Reading a book on my laptop is not as satisfying an experience as holding a physical book in my hands, I admit. But it's a lot better than whining about how I have nothing to read!

Downloading audio books has the same instant gratification factor and no-hands accessibility, and depending on who reads them, they can be pretty good (or really terrible). The thing is, if you fall asleep when you're reading a physical book or an e-book, it stops turning pages so you can pick up where you left off. An audio book just keeps on reading.

KCLS even participates in an adaptive technology loan program. I got to borrow a trackball, to see if it would work for me, before I went out and bought one. How cool is that?

I love libraries.

Our whole American way of life is a great war of ideas, and librarians are the arms dealers selling weapons to both sides.
-James Quinn

In the nonstop tsunami of global information, librarians provide us with floaties and teach us how to swim.
-Linton Weeks

Why Doesn't My Life Have a "Ctrl" Key?

I admit it. I have always been a control freak. If you're not doing it my way, you're doing it wrong. I know this is not an attractive aspect of my personality. I would have been a nightmare micromanager, had I ever really been a manager, which, fortunately, I was not. Even now, calendars and planners and to-do lists are my life, although the plans and tasks are for someone else to carry out. For people like me, MS is a total poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

It's not just the unpredictability of the disease, the symptoms that flare up unexpectedly, the complete inability to anticipate what I will, or will not, be able to do, even a few hours in advance. That's bad, but, for me, that's not the worst.

It's not even having someone else turn me over in bed, or adjust my clothes, or choose a bite of food for me. I am grateful that I have someone to do this for me -- I am I am I am! -- and I try not to complain unless it's causing physical pain. I try not to complain, even if it's not the way I would do it. And it never is. Even that is not the worst.

The worst is watching Scarecrow prepare Thanksgiving dinner.

I am an ungrateful wretch, I know, to even think it. Scarecrow has taken over cooking responsibilities like everything else he does for me: cheerfully and without complaint. If he resents the imposition, or the interruption, he never, ever, lets on. Unlike housework, which he doesn't like any better than I ever did, he finds cooking entertaining. He is looking forward to this.

Truth be told, it will be OK. It's just for the three of us -- no guests, no family, no distractions, no pressure. Although Scarecrow cooks with more enthusiasm than skill, he will manage well enough. I'm sure he won't leave the water running in the sink and flood the kitchen and dining room and laundry room again this year. He cooked Thanksgiving dinner last year, and it turned out fine. It's just one meal. We are fortunate to have it. Let's keep some perspective here. If he needs help, he will ask for it. If he doesn't ask, I will remain respectfully, gratefully, silent.

Even if he doesn't do it the way I would. He's doing it. That's good enough. That's plenty good enough.

It's Amazing What a Deadline Can Do

This is an anniversary, of sorts. The construction permit for the Remodeling Project That Wouldn't Die expires today. They tore into our house last December. It's been almost a year. Granted, we had a long list of things to fix, and they had to work around us, but still. I'm ready to be done. I'm tired of plaster dust. I'm tired of having plastic and cardboard taped to the floors. I'm tired of having our clothes on shelves in the dining room. I'm tired of the kind of utility bills you get when you have a sheet of plastic over a big hole in the wall in the dead of winter. And we're out of money. I'm so ready to be done.

The permit's imminent expiration seems to have elicited a flurry of activity. Sheetrock last Friday, mud on Saturday, paint on Monday. The electrician was at the house early this morning. We should have the inspector's signature on the permit by the end of the day. Then we're done, right?

Um. No.

There is still a bunch of stuff the inspector doesn't care about; finishing the trim and paint inside, getting the icky stuff off the floor of the office and finishing whatever we find underneath, painting the new siding outside, and, what may turn out to be the most challenging aspect of the whole project, coming up with a fence that will keep the whippet in. With the permit signed, there's a chance we'll revert to our previous leisurely pace of progress. In fact, realistically speaking, with the holidays and all, it's more than a chance. But we'll get there. Eventually. We're close. We're so close.

Cake, or Death?

When you were five or six, could you ever, ever, have imagined it would be possible to forget your own birthday? Back then, I started looking forward to it in February! We didn't usually have a party, but you got to choose what we had for dinner, and you were another year older, and it was a big deal!

It's my dad's birthday next week. Turning 89 is a big deal, especially since it didn't look like he was going to make it to 88.

It's not that I mind birthdays. I'm not birthday-phobic, or anything, and they're a lot better than the alternative. I just forgot.

Yesterday I had an appointment with the occupational therapist. It was mostly to figure out if I could get my insurance to pick up part of the cost of a shower chair, which they may or may not do. Since we were there, it was a chance to ask about some of the other questions the Red Queen has posed to us lately. I guess it's reassuring that there aren't any magic answers, that the solutions we've cobbled together are likely to be as good as anything the therapist can suggest. That's usually been the case. Still, it's worth asking. You never know. As bizarre as these problems are, we can't be the first ones to have them.

So I wasn't thinking about birthdays. It wasn't until I went to Facebook, and saw that Facebook had very thoughtfully reminded all my friends about my birthday. You'd think it could have reminded me as well, wouldn't you? So I could brace myself for it, sort of thing?

When we get home tonight, they should have the last of the sheetrock hung in the office and living room. A little mud and some paint, and it will start looking like a house again, instead of the inside of a barn. Not a moment too soon. Our building permit expires on Tuesday. I remember being incredulous when the contractor initially estimated that the construction phase of this project would take about six months. It's been almost a year. I'm ready to be done. As birthday presents go, this is a pretty good one.

Cake, or death? I think I'll go with the cake, thanks.

Why?

A theme that seems to turn up, sooner or later, in a lot of MS blogs is, "Why?"

Not "Why me?" as in, "Why not somebody else?", more like "What was it that caused me to get this stupid disease?" or, "Why has my disease course been so benign (or aggressive), and somebody else's so aggressive (or benign)?"

Since nobody knows what causes MS, it's hard not to wonder. Maybe it's just my talent for self-flagellation, but... was there something I did? or didn't do? Not that I purposely brought it on myself (really, let's not be stupid!), but did I somehow, inadvertently, do something wrong; make the wrong choice? Could I have spared myself some of this grief?

Some of the people who write about MS point to something in their past that they suspect kicked off their battle with the disease -- an event, an injury, an illness. I don't remember anything like that.

A genetic predisposition? Not much I can do about that.

Growing up the wrong gender, at the wrong latitude? Not much I can do about that, either.

Exposure to something in the environment? Probably. Who knows?

Would it have been different if they were putting people on disease-modifying drugs when I was first diagnosed? Would Betaseron, or Novantrone, or Tysabri have been more effective if I had started on them earlier? Did I choose the wrong drugs? Would Avonex or Rebif or Copaxone have worked better for me? Or did I just spare myself a lot of hassle and a lot of money?

I try not to go off on this wild goose chase. There aren't any answers. There maybe answers some day, and there will be plenty of time to beat myself up then, if it turns out beatings are in order. For now, it just makes me crazy. No need for that. I'm crazy enough.

Stormy in Seattle

Blustery, wet, gloomy, dark. When it's muddy outside, the dogs grow extra feet. I don't know how they do that.

It's not windy all that often in Seattle, so when it is, all the tree limbs that have been hanging on by a thread take the opportunity to land heavily on something inconvenient. Like our roof.

We awoke to a loud THUMP in the middle of the night last night, followed by another a short while later. Our old greyhound slept through it all. At 11 1/2, Ernie is getting a little hard of hearing. The ever-vigilant whippet heard it all right. He started shaking, and burrowed deeper under the covers. He's vigilant, but something of a coward. He doesn't like loud noises.

When, without canine backup, Scarecrow went to investigate, he didn't find any signs of mayhem inside the house. Since it was windy, we figured that one of the cottonwoods along the side of the house had dumped a limb onto our roof. Again. They're bad that way.

This morning Scarecrow did indeed find a limb on our roof. A really big one, several medium-big ones, and a whole bunch of little ones. Most of a fair-sized tree, looked like. And the hole they made when they landed. It's a small hole, and a couple of split shakes. They didn't do as much damage as they might have, but we'll still have to get it fixed.

They're saying it will be even windier tonight; gusts up to 50 miles an hour, they say. I think I'll hide under the blankets with the cowardly whippet.

Bob's Books and Adult Day Care Center

If I'm retired, why do I still go to work 8:30-5:30 M-F?

It's a little hard to explain, even to myself. It's the result of a twisted combination of unusual circumstances. The short it answer is: You do what you gotta do.

Here's the deal. Scarecrow works for a book distributor. It's a company of, maybe, six people, working in a warehouse full of books, with some offices along one wall. There are more offices than there are people. There is also an accessible bathroom. Scarecrow's employer (Bob) lets me use one of the empty offices, and his Internet connection, during the day. So I go in to work with Scarecrow. I read, pay bills, blog, watch movies, whatever. Scarecrow has an office upstairs. If I need anything (like help getting in and out of the bathroom), I send him an IM. When Scarecrow is finished for the day, we go home. So I go to work every day, even though it's not my work, and I don't actually do any.

Trying to untangle the unlikely chain of circumstances that evolved into this routine makes my head hurt.

It started when I stopped driving. Getting to work -- my work -- by public transportation was such a pain in the butt that I started working from home. I worked for a network software company, for Pete's sake. If I couldn't work from home, who could? That was OK as long as I could still get in and out of our tiny, disability-hostile bathroom by myself.

Then, couple of winters ago, our part of town lost power for about a week. (It was nine days, actually, but seemed longer.) I couldn't work from home. Since it was way too cold to sit around in a dark, unheated house, I went in to work with Scarecrow. I took my laptop, camped out in an empty office, and found that I could work as well from the warehouse as I could from home. Better, even, because of the accessible bathroom. Our power eventually came back on, but I kept going in to work with Scarecrow.

Since I retired, I still go in to work with Scarecrow. I just don't do any work.

My employer was amazing for letting me do this for as long as I did. I was lucky to have a job where it was possible. I was lucky Scarecrow had a job where it was possible. Scarecrow's employer was amazing for letting me do this, and for allowing Scarecrow the flexibility to help me out during the day. Each of these circumstances, taken alone, is kind of unlikely. Having them all occur together still has me shaking my head in amazement. It's not a solution you could ever plan. But you do what you gotta do, and that's what we did.

So it's Saturday. It still seems like a weekend to me!

Taily Ends

I spent the last few days dealing with what I hope will be the taily ends of several ongoing projects.

The nice lady from the insurance company called on Friday to tell me that my claim for long-term disability was approved. I'm so relieved. I need to remember to fax them my SSDI approval letter.

I finally signed up for a Skype phone number. I used to have a VoIP soft phone for work, which let me use my headset to call regular landline or mobile phones from my computer. Since I don't have my work phone anymore, and can't pick up a regular telephone handset or cell phone, I was pretty much incommunicado, phone-wise. It was nice while it lasted. Skype and Dragon Naturally Speaking don't play all that well together, but for the price I'm willing to put up with a little inconvenience.

We finally got the van in for service on Monday. For the first time since we bought it. Two and a half years ago. Considering we need this van to run pretty much forever, this is not the way to make that happen. It took us a while to figure out the logistics. The mechanic we've taken our cars to in the past is very good and relatively cheap, but very slow. We'd just drop the car off and let them keep it until they got done with it. Can't do it that way anymore. Most cars can't manage my power chair. Without that van, I'm stuck wherever I'm at. Fortunately, this time, it was a pretty quick service job. The van is still on warranty, so they're not motivated to find a lot wrong with it. They did the work while we waited. As car dealership waiting rooms go, it wasn't bad.

Yesterday we met with our contractor. Our construction permit, which was good for a year (!), expires before Thanksgiving, so we are motivated to get this project wrapped up. Also, we're running out of money. The good news is it looks like we'll be able to reuse the built-in bookshelves and desk we ripped out of the old office. It's much nicer than what we could afford to replace it, in addition to which I really hate throwing away perfectly good stuff. The material from the fence we had to rip out should be reusable as well. Not that the escape artist whippet pays much attention to the fence anyway.

Out of the Loop

They sprung mom from the hospital yesterday afternoon. As usual, it was my brother who took off work to do the fetching and carrying and running around. He's a great guy, my younger sibling. We're all lucky he lives close enough to help, and that he does it without complaint. It's not like I could be any help if I were there --  I'd be underfoot, more like -- but I'm sure as heck no help from 1200 miles away. In fact I'm just one more chore, because he's got to call me and tell me what's going on. This is not an MS thing. It's an Aging Parents Living Far Away thing. It's a problem for which I wish I  had a solution.

Anyway, she's doing OK. For now.

Since I can't do anything useful, I might as well do something fun. We're off to a UW volleyball game against Stanford. I'm still getting used to this whole spectator sport thing. It seems odd to critique the game played by these tall, slender, athletic people, when I myself could never play volleyball worth a darn. But for Pete's sake, what's up with all the service errors?

The Bright Side of Getting Laid Off

Technically, tomorrow is my last day of gainful employment. I've been using up unused sick time, accumulated vacation time, and short-term disability since the middle of June, but I was still technically an employee. After tomorrow, I won't be.

The benefits lady called to prepare me for the termination letter, so I wouldn't feel bad when I got it. She's nice that way. In talking about some of the paper that would need to be shuffled during this transition, she mentioned the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act subsidy for COBRA expenses. I told her I didn't think I was eligible. The deal is that ARRA subsidizes 60% of the cost of health insurance under COBRA if you're laid off. When the stimulus package was first passed, I checked with the MS Society to see if I would be eligible if I retired on disability. Reading the language in the act, it didn't look like I would be. The MS Society concurred.

The benefits lady said it was all rather confusing. She went off to check with a couple of people.

Well.

According to my employer, this is not a voluntary termination. I would continue to work if I could. They're laying me off because I can't. And since they're laying me off, I'm eligible for the COBRA subsidy.

Now, if I were a pissy kind of person, I might mention how it would have been nice to know this before I paid for Tuffy's insurance for fall quarter through UW, since it was less expensive than covering her on the unsubsidized COBRA. With the subsidy, COBRA would have been the better way to go. Fortunately, I'm sufficiently ecstatic about finding out that health insurance will cost 60% less than I had expected that I'm willing to let it go.

Takes a good bit of the sting out of getting laid off.