Morning Call

Gone, the days of simple calls
answered by people trained in
etiquette. HIPAA rules the
air waves now, not common sense.
Power Of Attorney
with documents in hand, DURABLE,
for that matter, sounds solid enough,
should count for something. All
the numbers that my parents
have become, policy, social,
at the ready. Numbers aren't
enough, a somewhat
testy voice assures me. I should've
told him I WAS my mother. According
to the attorney, in matters of decision,
I am. I am my father, which would sound
more convincing if I had Darth Vader's
mask. This guy's not buying the P.O.A.
Maybe he had a fight with the wife last night.
Maybe he has no wife.
Or, to be more politically correct,
maybe he has no husband. Whatever.
I'm in search of an amount, that's all,
money to to send this guy so their
lives will still be insured. He can't tell
me a thing. Not without my documents
in HIS hand. Faxed or mailed.
"I'm surprised," I say, "that you
don't have email capability."
I can be testy too.
If a fax is fine, why not an emailed scan?
That would be easy. That
would be convenient. That
would not require driving
to another location. So screw it.
I'll make copies and
trust the U.S. Mail to take it from there.
They can wait. It's just money
I'm trying to send. TO THEM.
I should have waited to call
until after I made the coffee.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012