A lot of charities work that way too. That’s why I don’t donate to charities. Taking care of the unfortunate and the destitute is the government’s job.

If they helped some people along the way, maybe even saved a few lives–hey, that was great. But never for one second did anyone lose sight of the bottom line. I worked for the finance department, and they ruled that place with an iron fist.

When you’re in a hospital, you’re a client and they’re in the business of selling stuff to you–and moreover, selling you that stuff at obscenely inflated prices.

Sometimes I think the reason they aren’t always straight with people is that they’re still hoping to put more items in your “shopping cart,” and don’t want to risk spoiling a sale by delivering bad news. The people calling the shots in healthcare are financial managers, not doctors.

Anyway, I do have a power of attorney for health care, but that’s reserved for when I’m incapacitated. When I’m not incapacitated I’m the one making the decisions.

During my recent illness I must have been asked 10 times about the power of attorney, another 10 times about close relatives, 20 times about living alone. It went on ad nauseum. I thought it odd, but didn’t pursue the matter.

Several times the docs alluded to my having been pretty sick. In passing, no concern. Now I find out how sick I was.

Roughly 3/4 of older folks with what I had lose a kidney or two, maybe a liver. Roughly 1/2 die. And then there are strokes, heart failure and an assortment of other ailments which occur.

And no one told me how sick I was. Not a soul. Early on I was too confused to have understood, that’s true. Only knew my name, and other things came back gradually. But there came a point where I could understand, and still no one told me. I think they should have.

It’s not as if I don’t know that I’m old, that my work on this Earth, for better and worse, is done, and I’m ready for a good long rest. Maybe hop over to a parallel universe, but the chance of that is nil.

I don’t know why they didn’t tell me. It seems to me that someone should have known. Me.

I’ve had the privilege of having the last half of my life to make up for the first half. (Someone called the other day and explained I’ve been sober 14,000 days.) And the good, the bad and the very, very ugly are all me.

Pardon this self-obsessed rambling. I’m 75 y/o, in failing but not failed health, and it’s time for some introspection. And I appreciate your comments, a lot. That guy is still in there, in spirit anyway, and I get to visit. Even if the flesh is weak.

But at the same time that old Bowser hasn’t passed into oblivion. I thought of him when you described how you’re doing now. One slice of the four-dimensional being that’s bowser over time. He’s still there, behind you; but like your backside, sometimes easier for other people to see.

Keep on hanging in there, bowser. And I’m going to keep on thinking of you as an iron man.

It’s about using it to expand your activity envelope.

And don’t assume you can’t have a dog.

I see plenty of disabled people around here with dogs, including several who ride scooters and chairs with their owners. Key is getting a dog with needs that mesh with your lifestyle.

Also, look into dogs specially trained to help disabled people in various ways–service dogs.

Here’s one outfit that might not be too far from you.

Incidentally, if you ever get into situations where you’re stuck on the floor, a cell phone or push-button help-call bracelet wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. Unless you have a dog trained to call for assistance, and some can.