Part Two: In the Land of PassingGo

Ever since the subject of a Nursing Home reared its ugly roof, I was hearing Mushmouth Manor. It was becoming pretty apparent that wasn't going to happen.

But somehow around this time a new mantra appeared, PassingGo Home. I can't remember who said it first, I just remember I got asked about it and told it was nice. Mom's Speech Therapist also spoke about it to her.

Why an employee of one Nursing Home would bring up another I don't know for sure. My guess is it was an indirect comment and came about from some casual conversation. My mother one time years ago worked for the Valley Maid Potato Chip Company. They really made the best chips around, but eventually they were acquired by Bachman and after that the chips were so-so. One of mom's fellow workers who she had befriended was now a resident in PassingGo Home. Apparently, the Speech Therapist had some business at that Home and when mother mentioned this lady's name told her the woman was in PassingGo.

Now my mother was fixated on that place.

I decided to visit PassingGo next time I went to visit mom. I skipped dad that day and went early, going what I considered a more direct route. It was at least one that took you to PassingGo -- eventually. It twisted and turned about the fields above This City, where my mom was, and I was almost certain I was lost when it popped into vision ahead. A tall building with a curvaceous parking lot and long path up to the front doors.

I went to the receptionist and told her I wanted to get some information about the place.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked.

"No."

"You should have called and made an appointment," she snapped.

She picked up the phone and called someone. She hung up and pointed me down a hallway.

"Go to the third door on the left and see Maude."

I did as I was told. I came to the third door, which was half open and I saw a couple women inside. One was a somewhat stocky lady with a stern face. Turned out this was Maude, the Admissions Director.

I began to tell my tale of woe when she abruptly stopped me. She took me to meet Madeline Mild, her assistant. Madeline was very sweet. An older lady with a gentle voice. She gave me the ten-dollar tour and then we sat while she showed me the admittance form to be filled out and returned. As we parted she asked me to send her a copy of my mother's insurance cards so they could see if it was acceptable. I said I would.

I then went back to This City and visited mother. At least I could tell her I was at PassingGo.

From that moment on I was to hear PassingGo every visit and then within emails from her friends. I had to get her into PassingGo. When would we hear from PassingGo? How much longer until she went to PassingGo?

But as usual these things took time. I emailed a copy of her insurance card to Madeline Mild the very night of my visit. I waited a week and heard nothing. I called her on the phone. It was her day off, she wasn't there. I called the next day. No, she never got the email. She had been out, she said, and perhaps someone else got it and didn't know what it was. Could I send it again?

I sent it again and then called her again. She was not there; she had left for the day. It was very difficult to establish when this lady actually worked. Finally I got ahold of her and yes she had received the email. She had forwarded the copy of the Insurance Card to the business office. We would have to wait until the business office found out if they accepted that insurance.

I waited a week and called Madeline Mild again.  Gloryoski, she was in, but she didn't have the answer. This time the Business Manager had been gone, all week on vacation. She had just returned and Madeline Mild didn't want to bother her until she got caught up. So I waited some more.

After another week I finally got my answer. Sorry, but PassingGo Home would not accept that insurance. Do not pass GO; do not collect your mother and try to bring her here. Go directly to jail in Sunset City.

I now began a search in earnest. I looked first at the sheet the This City Hospital Social Worker had originally given me and saw I could have saved myself a lot of time and trouble. PassingGo Home was one of those crossed out because it didn't take my mom's insurance.

But even so, my mom and her friends kept up the chants for PassingGo Home as if constantly repeating its name would overcome reality.

As it were, I wasn't quite completely done with the place, but the rest of that story will come later. I had a lot of other stops in-between this end and that end.

TO BE CONTINUED