Nothing is happening on the Medicaid front. Or rather, things are creeping along. Will her money outlast this dawdling? I have no idea. Money is still hemorrhaging out paying for the private aide. The nursing home screwed up the paperwork yet again. The Medicaid Group that is helping us wants more money. The money that was supposed to come from Texas on the 24th did not come. (I called the bank manager and she is looking into it; the money comes from rents from a farm that my partner and some of her relatives own). I told the CEO of the Medicaid group that I would make a partial payment but not a complete final payment. She is very nice and seemed to be OK with that. My partner is confused. OK, so she meets the textbook definition of compos mentis but she certainly can't wrap her head around all these financial intricacies and what's possible and what isn't. (We are going to try to get her free help from the city until the application is approved.)
And then there's Trump. Everything he has done is so fascistic there are no words. Other people seem to be able to discourse about these things better than I can, even though everyone always thought I was smart and I am good with words. Most of my friends across the country went to the women's march. I didn't. I thought my place was with my partner, taking care of her. Particularly if there was even a .02 percent chance I might be in harm's way. I have no idea if these marches will accomplish anything. What frightens me the most about Trump isn't even his assault on healthcare, but his assault on journalists and scientists. If truth-tellers are muzzled, what kind of country are we living in? I can't believe that Congress, even a Republican Congress, can support these things.
So am I singing. Yes, I try to practice every day. My upper register keeps getting more secure although when I went over the Amneris/Radames duet at my lesson on Tuesday the first high B flat sounded straight and strident. Subsequent ones sounded better but of course the acid test is how the phrase sounds after singing the entire scene. I don't think I want to sing it in public right now, which is fine.
I spoke to my teacher about planning a concert at the nursing home where my partner was. I should certainly be out of the woods with all this by May. I think I will do a variant of my birthday concert, taking out some of the numbers I didn't care for all that much and substituting them with some solos for my teacher and maybe one duet from an opera. I do want to sing "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" and "Home Sweet Home", two simple songs that I have a very powerful emotional connection with.
Choir rehearsal last night was a dud. We were working on a spiritual with a high soprano part. I certainly could have sung it - or not. The choir director asked most of the second sopranos to sing the alto part instead and asked the altos to sing the tenor part. There are very few men, and there was a split bass part, so he split that between the tenors and basses. I don't care what part I sing, really, if it's in the interests of the piece as a whole, but I really resent being told which part I would find more "comfortable". No, I do not find it more comfortable to sing a part that sits around the E at the bottom of the staff. That takes a lot of finesse, moving in and out of chest voice. This is an important skill for this mezzo to have, so that's fine. It was his use of the word "comfortable" that really teed me off. How does he know what is or isn't comfortable for me to sing? Like most dramatic mezzos, when I sound like I'm pushing my voice and screaming is when I am singing with the least tension and get the least tired. I would have had no problem if the choir director had said that he wanted X vocal color on the top line, not Y vocal color. That's an artistic decision which is fine. Also I think I would have been less angry if there had been some of the trained high sopranos there. But what he did was have one second soprano (who does have high notes, just a bit straight-toney) sing up there and then one of the other second sopranos (the only person I can think of in the choir who can barely carry a tune and can't even make it up to a G!) asked if she could "try" to sing the top part and he said yes. As I said, I don't mind being told that my vocal palette is not right for a particular piece of music or part, but I really resent being told I need to take the easy route, like someone who is less skilled.
Maybe it's time for me to start planning another concert.
Friday, January 27, 2017
Monday, January 2, 2017
Miles to Go Still
I know this seems an odd title for a New Year's post, but there you have it.
My partner is home after almost three months in a nursing home/rehab.
Money is hemorrhaging out of her bank accounts to pay for a private aide. A Medicaid application has been prepared, to be sent tomorrow, that is, if I did the "Docusign" signature on my phone correctly (when I had to sign the document, I was not home at my laptop). I signed my own name which I think is OK because I have a Power of Attorney.
There is still more work than I can cope with and a few weeks ago I had a meltdown of massive proportions. I am trapped in a situation with two choices that are equally damaging to my mental health. Although only one is damaging to my moral sense, which means I know my choice. I could not live with myself if I walked out on all this. As it is, I am under constant stress, and as for my own life, well, let's forget that, although I did manage to sing "Rejoice Greatly" yesterday morning, probably a personal best, to an "audience" of less than 20 people.
I spent five days supervising a cleanup crew taking 60 years of clutter out of her apartment. This included 20 bags of papers and documents (some almost 60 years old) to take to an industrial shredder. I paid myself $100 a day, which was far less than the task was worth, but at least compensated me for the lost work hours (to pay my bills, now that I get Social Security, I need to work 20 hours a week copyediting, which I can do any time, usually early in the morning or late at night because the more tired I am, the better, as the work is mostly so boring). Mostly the payment to myself was symbolic, signaling to my partner the massive nuisance that I considered all this to be.
After that I was tasked with reorganizing all her bank accounts. I got an email full of numbers and was told I had to do about five things in 48 hours with, of course, no help, because everyone was going on vacation. I ended up making an enemy of the case worker because I screamed at her over the phone. Any social worker who can't deal with a distraught client shouldn't be in that business, IMHO.
There are still a few monetary tasks left, mostly setting up a trust, of which I will be the trustee, so that I can pay her rent.
If she has Medicaid she can have 24/7 aides. She can't sit up unassisted or get out of bed unassisted. She can walk (barely) from one room to the next with a walker and the aide behind her. She is looking better because the aide is cooking her three meals a day of her own choosing (the nursing home food was ghastly although she ate more there than she had been doing at home).
She will get physical and occupational therapy at home.
I hope Medicaid kicks in soon or all her money will be gone paying for the private aides.
The bitter irony is that now I have the vocal technique I always dreamed of but have no time to make long-term plans. I do practice every day, but I had hoped to do more. I can't really make any "BabyD-centric" long-term plans about anything. There are days when I feel lucky to snatch some quiet time in front of the tv with my cat, although one blessing to having her in her home is I can sleep over and we can snuggle. Maybe Heaven is how I feel drifting off to sleep holding her hand. On the other hand, Heaven is feeling the way I do singing "Rejoice". Couldn't I have both?
I didn't make any New Years resolutions other than trying to love the situation I'm in. Overseeing all these moving pieces so that my partner's last years are as comfortable and pleasant as possible. Some people would love that, being a big mover and shaker, even in a family situation. The problem is that's not my calling. I do it because I love her, not because I want to be Big Momma.
Years ago (or so it seems) I was chastised for envying the young singers I meet who don't seem to have much to worry about other than choosing material for a recital or an audition, buying gowns, and having head shots taken. (I actually got one for free at the church, which I will post here). They have fun with their musician friends, and probably the worst thing they have to endure is an icky day job, which at least they can leave at the end of the day. But really, is it any wonder I wish I could click my heels together three times and be 30 (and sing the way I do now)?
My partner is home after almost three months in a nursing home/rehab.
Money is hemorrhaging out of her bank accounts to pay for a private aide. A Medicaid application has been prepared, to be sent tomorrow, that is, if I did the "Docusign" signature on my phone correctly (when I had to sign the document, I was not home at my laptop). I signed my own name which I think is OK because I have a Power of Attorney.
There is still more work than I can cope with and a few weeks ago I had a meltdown of massive proportions. I am trapped in a situation with two choices that are equally damaging to my mental health. Although only one is damaging to my moral sense, which means I know my choice. I could not live with myself if I walked out on all this. As it is, I am under constant stress, and as for my own life, well, let's forget that, although I did manage to sing "Rejoice Greatly" yesterday morning, probably a personal best, to an "audience" of less than 20 people.
I spent five days supervising a cleanup crew taking 60 years of clutter out of her apartment. This included 20 bags of papers and documents (some almost 60 years old) to take to an industrial shredder. I paid myself $100 a day, which was far less than the task was worth, but at least compensated me for the lost work hours (to pay my bills, now that I get Social Security, I need to work 20 hours a week copyediting, which I can do any time, usually early in the morning or late at night because the more tired I am, the better, as the work is mostly so boring). Mostly the payment to myself was symbolic, signaling to my partner the massive nuisance that I considered all this to be.
After that I was tasked with reorganizing all her bank accounts. I got an email full of numbers and was told I had to do about five things in 48 hours with, of course, no help, because everyone was going on vacation. I ended up making an enemy of the case worker because I screamed at her over the phone. Any social worker who can't deal with a distraught client shouldn't be in that business, IMHO.
There are still a few monetary tasks left, mostly setting up a trust, of which I will be the trustee, so that I can pay her rent.
If she has Medicaid she can have 24/7 aides. She can't sit up unassisted or get out of bed unassisted. She can walk (barely) from one room to the next with a walker and the aide behind her. She is looking better because the aide is cooking her three meals a day of her own choosing (the nursing home food was ghastly although she ate more there than she had been doing at home).
She will get physical and occupational therapy at home.
I hope Medicaid kicks in soon or all her money will be gone paying for the private aides.
The bitter irony is that now I have the vocal technique I always dreamed of but have no time to make long-term plans. I do practice every day, but I had hoped to do more. I can't really make any "BabyD-centric" long-term plans about anything. There are days when I feel lucky to snatch some quiet time in front of the tv with my cat, although one blessing to having her in her home is I can sleep over and we can snuggle. Maybe Heaven is how I feel drifting off to sleep holding her hand. On the other hand, Heaven is feeling the way I do singing "Rejoice". Couldn't I have both?
I didn't make any New Years resolutions other than trying to love the situation I'm in. Overseeing all these moving pieces so that my partner's last years are as comfortable and pleasant as possible. Some people would love that, being a big mover and shaker, even in a family situation. The problem is that's not my calling. I do it because I love her, not because I want to be Big Momma.
Years ago (or so it seems) I was chastised for envying the young singers I meet who don't seem to have much to worry about other than choosing material for a recital or an audition, buying gowns, and having head shots taken. (I actually got one for free at the church, which I will post here). They have fun with their musician friends, and probably the worst thing they have to endure is an icky day job, which at least they can leave at the end of the day. But really, is it any wonder I wish I could click my heels together three times and be 30 (and sing the way I do now)?
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