07 September 2010
 
Plan B

 
Mom’s car is something else to deal with this morning, or at least the dealer. I already disconnected the battery, and have the only key. The other matters are straightforward enough. The tax office, the bank and call Jeff at Brown’s Ford and plead with him to not cooperate with Mom.
 
I should put a note inside the engine compartment to say that the battery is disconnected for a reason. I am really conflicted about leaving.
 
No, let me correct that. I am not. I want out of here.
 
What Mom wants is reasonable- the capability to do her projects in her library, wash Raven’s incontinent mistakes in her own laundry, and drive her own car. If things were not the way they are, that would be fine. He needs to be in Depends, and I cannot understand why this is an issue except he doesn't want it and Mom is oblivious. She puts the dirty bedding and clothes in the closet.
 
I don't know how staff is supposed to pick the stuff up- Mom forgets again.
 
There is deep denial in progress, and I don't know what to do.
 
My sister has done so much to get this on autopilot, but absent the presence of one of us here all the time, there is no way around the prospect that she will stage a jailbreak of her own. That might happen as soon as this week.
 
There has been a lot of planning going on, ours and hers. I have an idea of what her plan is going to be, but don’t know about how she will execute it.  She can hardly tuck Raven under her arm and whisk herself away. The Potemkin Village bus- which starts to run again after the holiday this morning at 0900- could be a means of getting to the house. She could enlist her friend to drive her here, but that would require Raven to have a baby-sitter at the Village.
 
I don't know precisely what she is thinking, or how many plans she has.
 
Anook called from Alaska late yesterday with a glimmer. One of Mom's friends from the Coterie group had called her, concerned. She said that she had talked to Mom to remind her of the group meeting on Thursday, and told her she would pick her up at Potemkin Village. Mom told her she had a "Secret Plan" to get her car back, and asked her to swing by the house before and see if the car was there.
 
She wanted to know what we wanted, and we asked her to say that the car was gone.
 
So I was thinking about "plan B" for a variety of situations. I don't know how long Potemkin Village will put up with Raven's wandering. If they get bounced out of there, the option of moving home is not on the table, except perhaps in Mom's mind.
 
I could see her living in the house, but it would have to be alone, since Raven will either kill her or himself this coming winter. He would have to be institutionalized, and there is the problem with the hypothetical situation where he survives her.
 
I checked the two facilities in the area that can handle Raven on a lock-down basis. The first is at the top of the bluff here in town and is appropriately called "Bortz Senior Care." It is a piece of work. I walked into the lobby to get a sense of things. I was not challenged. Families and residents were clustered in chairs around the door. The inmates- detainees?-  were washed out copies of the people they had been.
 
I walked down the corridor to the day room, which featured a large cage with songbirds that darted and flitted about. Stimulus for the eye, but too much a metaphor to handle in the morning. Several residents in wheelchairs were seated in the area, their heads hanging down in something like sleep.
 
There was a copy of the most recent inspection report in the lobby, apparently as mandated in law. The words were bureaucratic. Apparently "Patient 8" had a problem with weight loss, much as I noted in Raven under Mom's exclusive care. There were five cases of expired medication, though in fairness the inspector noted that the vials had been brought from home.
 
I put the report back in the rack and left. I sat in the Bluesmobile and looked down at the Bay. I called some pals who still live in the area and we arranged to have lunch at the Traverse Bay Pie Company in town. They live on one of the lovely lakes to the south, and have for more than 30 years. When we were seated at the round table in the front of the restaurant, we talked about the dozens of things that have happened since we last talked. In addition to happier matters, they mentioned another custodial facility over on the Harbor Springs side of the Bay.
 
"The Bluffs is a County facility, not for profit, like Bortz," said my pal, and he is in a position to know. He went back to school and got his RN when he realized that was the future of economic activity here in the Northland. "They just remodeled it. Your folks have been paying taxes here for years, so that is a possibility."
 
I nodded, though how Mom would get there without a car would be a problem. The place just up the Hill would be much easier.

(The view from the North Side of the Bay. Photo Socotra)
 
After lunch I drove over to the other side of the Bay. Just at the top of the hill that slopes down to the village is Bay Bluffs. My friend was right. An extensive modernization had been recently completed. The lobby area was bright with light. Corridors named for the flowers of the Northland led off in an H-shaped arrangement with a social and dining area in the middle. An enclosed courtyard had chairs and fresh air for the months when things are not savage outside.
 
It was heavy-duty care- hospital style beds. It was nice, but this was clearly the end of the road. It was by far the better option to the Bortz dungeon, and clearly, this place was the preference for Plan B.
 
I talked about Plan C and Plan D with Anook. If Mom departs first, I will take Dad down to Virginia. If he goes first, she will take Mom to Alaska.
 
So I have an idea of what we might have in the way of options if Potemkin Village does not work out. The problem is going to be the same one it has all along, when Mom's cognition began to fray. "No plan survives first contact with the enemy" is the adage that has served me well all my military life.
 
The problem is that now the enemy is Mom. I am still out of here this morning, but all the miles I put behind me are not going to make me feel any better about it.

Copyright 2010 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
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