Yesterday, Mrs. Harris from the long-term care insurance agency stopped by to assess Mom.
Mom said she wasn’t feeling well and refused to get out of bed, which was a gift from her to me, but I didn’t realize it at the time. At 9:00 sharp, Alan called up to announce that Mrs. Harris had arrived. Mrs. Harris. That’s how she introduced herself, even after I greeted her at the door by saying, “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you, I’m Elise.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Elise, I’m Mrs. Harris.”
I offered Mrs. Harris coffee. “No, thank you.” Tea. “No, thank you.” Water. “No, thank you.” Mrs. Harris needed nothing. I am the one in need. I need Mrs. Harris to approve our request to have Mom’s long-term care insurance pay for her to move into an assisted living home.
Mom was wearing her stained sky-blue nightgown. Her hair was unwashed and unbrushed. Mrs. Harris was wearing a royal blue suit, and I hoped Mom would be gracious. I was wrong.
“I’m not feeling terribly well, so I’m not getting up to greet you,” Mom said.
“That’s not a problem at all, Mrs. Hellman,” said Mrs. Harris. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well today. I promise I won’t take up too much of your time. I just want to ask you a few questions. Would you mind if I sit down next to you?”
“You can sit over there.” Mom pointed to a chair on the other side of the room. I picked it up and brought it over closer to Mom.
“Not there. I said over there.” Mom was pointing to where the chair used to be.
Mrs. Harris sat in the chair next to Mom. I went to the corner of the room and tried to push myself into the wall.
“How are you feeling today, Mrs. Hellman?” Mrs. Harris asked.
“Why should I tell you?” Mom replied.
“Can you tell me what year it is, Mrs. Hellman?”
“I think it’s around 2005. No, wait, maybe it’s 2010? I really can’t remember.”
“Do you know what day of the week it is?”
“Elise, what day is today?”
“Mrs. Hellman, I need you to answer these questions.”
“Okay, what was the question?”
“What day is today?”
“It’s Saturday. I was watching a movie. Is this going to take long?”
“Do you know what state we’re in?”
“New York.”
“I’m going to say three words and I want you to repeat them back to me as many times as you can. The words are: cup, house, ball.”
“What are the words?”
“Cup, house, ball.”
“I don’t want to do this.”
“Mrs. Hellman, please repeat the words cup, house, ball.”
“Cup, house, ball. Cup, house, ball. Cup, house, ball. Cup, house, ball. Cup, house, ball. Can I be done?”
“Mrs. Hellman, can you count backward from one hundred by fives?”
“I’m not good at math.”
“Okay, then spell the word ‘world’ backward.”
“D…L…O…R…L…D.”
“Can you remember the three words that I asked you to repeat before?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Will you tell them to me?”
“No, I don’t want to.”
“Mrs. Hellman, I’m going to give you a piece of paper and I’d like you to write a full sentence on it. You can write whatever you want, but your sentence must include a noun and a verb.”
Mom propped herself up and placed the piece of paper on her bed table. She took the pen and hunched over the paper. When she was done writing, she picked up the piece of paper and waved it at Mrs. Harris.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hellman. I appreciate your time. Elise, would you like to join me in the other room for a minute to chat?”
We went into the other room and Mrs. Harris told me that she would recommend coverage for Mom and handed me the results of the assessment for me to look over. The sentence Mom wrote was a mere two words. One noun. Bull. And I suppose one verb. Shit.
Bull shit.