My brother helped me get my new handicapped license plates and placard this week. I meant to get these before going to Michigan last week because of the airport parking lot I had to use, but the funeral messed up my timing. I already had all the paperwork ready, it just was a matter of getting everything finished.
I don't plan on using the handicapped spaces very often, but the Branson airport has a very difficult parking lot. For whatever bizarre reason the airport terminal is uphill from the parking lot, so you have to hike your luggage up a slope and then another slope to get it into the terminal. I just can't do it with The Legs as they are. Coming back on a round trip, you are downhill to your car so that is not so bad but trying to get up the slope with a load to catch a plane is almost impossible for me now. My sister said I should be glad I was able to get the plates, but instead I am sorta sad. I wish I didn't need them. I wish no one ever needed these kind of plates.
I am glad I have what health I enjoy, and I am glad my mind while foggy is basically sound. I met an old friend at my uncle's funeral. She and I are only a few weeks apart in age, and we share the same middle name. She was one of my best friends growing up, and I was friends with her older sister and her brothers. She told me that she had suffered a stroke last summer, and had moved back in with her parents. We will both be 51 this spring. Not only did she have a stroke, but lesions were found on her brain and she is now diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's disease. Her grandmother died of this (as did mine) and her physician told her she has an inherited version. She is taking two drugs to slow down the disease process, but has been denied Medicaid (they say she should be working) and has no health insurance benefits as she is unable to work. She said the worst part for her has been losing her independence and her apartment, having to put almost all her things in storage. She is very frustrated because she has worked all her life and now when she needs help she is unable to get it.
She recognized me while I didn't recognize her at first. She is much too thin now, and her hair color is lighter - more the color of one of her younger brother's, and of course she is wearing the over 40 glasses in order to be able to see. I suppose if you squint and unfocus your eyes and ignore my grey hair I don't look that much different than I did in high school - and despite all my trials and tribulations I am definitely not too thin. I think of all my complaints about my health, and my doctors, and the tests, and work and then I think of her. I still have avenues to go down. She doesn't. And that stinks.
