Only two things are certain: death and...
Jun. 25th, 2009 03:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ciroccojNo, actually, it turns out taxes are not so damn certain after all. Bummer.
My mom died almost five years ago. Her widower died two years later. I had done most of my executor duties by the time he died, but there was one thing I hadn't done, because I had assumed he was going to do it and apparently he assumed I would: her Death Taxes.
It's been a long, long road, getting them done. It has involved going to different tax folks, not having many of the papers they needed, rooting through boxes holding 60 years' worth of documents, missing accountant's vacations, sending e-mails into the ether a few times, blah blah blahbureaucracycakes, but it all came to fruition (almost!) a while ago when the tax dude was finally able to send her papers into the gov.
Almost, I say, because there was one last piece of documentation missing: a doctor's Disability form, which needs to be filled by her doctor.
Not a problem. I headed off to my mom's doctor's office. It's where I went until I was 19 and had a bit of a run-in with him, concerning my anorexia. Or, more to the point, our disagreement as to whether or not I had anorexia. He, pointing out that I was young, female, white, in university, depressed, and down to 103 pounds, told me I was a textbook case and wanted me to know I could talk to him about it and he would help me. I, being young, female, white, in university, depressed, and down to 103 pounds, wanted him to know that I was grateful for his offer to help me, but was doubtful as to the wisdom of trying to make me deal with anorexia since I was eating normally, not throwing up, but still losing a frightening amount of weight. Like, to the point where my ribs were showing. I had come in to see him; I feared tapeworm.
He was unimpressed by my stubborn refusal to admit my problem. I was unimpressed by his refusal to even do a blood test until I admitted my problem. We parted ways acrimoniously.
Anyway, I went to his office. Which was no longer his office, but a florist's shop.They looked at me funny when I asked them to fill in my mom's disability forms.
I contacted the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons and asked if he'd retired.
Nope, said the College, he's just at a walk-in Appletree Clinic now.
Splendid. I looked him up, called to ask when he was working, and drove on down to his clinic.
...which had no idea who I was talking about. No Dr. S. here, they said. Who told you he worked here?
Um... the nice lady on the phone?
What phone?
This phone number. ::show them phone number, possibly scrawled onto a napkin:: It's what's listed online for this clinic.
Nope, that's not us. Sorry!
...?
I considered asking them to fill in my mom's disability forms, but they didn't seem the type to just fill out random forms for people they've never heard of.
Went back home, called again, got the same nice lady, who reassured me that Dr. S had been working that day. "He's here twice a week," she said.
"Where is here?" I asked.
"1234 Apple Street," she said.
"1234 Apple Street? The website says 4321 Apple Street."
"No, that's the other Appletree Clinic, not us."
"Yeah, I gathered that."
"Huh. Wonder why it says that."
"You got me there."
You can't ask secretaries to fill out forms over the phone, I discovered.
A week or so later, I drove out to the 1234 clinic on one of Dr. S's days.
...except he wasn't there that week. Someone else was filling in for him.
He looked like he was probably twelve when my mom died. Probably wouldn't agree to fill in my mom's disability forms.
Called back the next week and made sure he was working. Went to see him, and was told there was a 45-minute wait, and that that's standard at a walk-in clinic. No, I could not make an appointment; that would defeat the purpose of "walk-in".
Bugger. I had an appointment elsewhere in an hour.
So yesterday I called to make sure he was there, got a bunch of things ready to take with me to do during the wait, gave the boys stuff to do while I was gone, got to the clinic... and was told the wait was 2.5-3 hours.
I would have an easier time getting in to see Stephen Harper. Unfortunately, I have no desire to see him; he can't fill in my forms.
My mom died almost five years ago. Her widower died two years later. I had done most of my executor duties by the time he died, but there was one thing I hadn't done, because I had assumed he was going to do it and apparently he assumed I would: her Death Taxes.
It's been a long, long road, getting them done. It has involved going to different tax folks, not having many of the papers they needed, rooting through boxes holding 60 years' worth of documents, missing accountant's vacations, sending e-mails into the ether a few times, blah blah blahbureaucracycakes, but it all came to fruition (almost!) a while ago when the tax dude was finally able to send her papers into the gov.
Almost, I say, because there was one last piece of documentation missing: a doctor's Disability form, which needs to be filled by her doctor.
Not a problem. I headed off to my mom's doctor's office. It's where I went until I was 19 and had a bit of a run-in with him, concerning my anorexia. Or, more to the point, our disagreement as to whether or not I had anorexia. He, pointing out that I was young, female, white, in university, depressed, and down to 103 pounds, told me I was a textbook case and wanted me to know I could talk to him about it and he would help me. I, being young, female, white, in university, depressed, and down to 103 pounds, wanted him to know that I was grateful for his offer to help me, but was doubtful as to the wisdom of trying to make me deal with anorexia since I was eating normally, not throwing up, but still losing a frightening amount of weight. Like, to the point where my ribs were showing. I had come in to see him; I feared tapeworm.
He was unimpressed by my stubborn refusal to admit my problem. I was unimpressed by his refusal to even do a blood test until I admitted my problem. We parted ways acrimoniously.
Anyway, I went to his office. Which was no longer his office, but a florist's shop.
I contacted the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons and asked if he'd retired.
Nope, said the College, he's just at a walk-in Appletree Clinic now.
Splendid. I looked him up, called to ask when he was working, and drove on down to his clinic.
...which had no idea who I was talking about. No Dr. S. here, they said. Who told you he worked here?
Um... the nice lady on the phone?
What phone?
This phone number. ::show them phone number, possibly scrawled onto a napkin:: It's what's listed online for this clinic.
Nope, that's not us. Sorry!
...?
Went back home, called again, got the same nice lady, who reassured me that Dr. S had been working that day. "He's here twice a week," she said.
"Where is here?" I asked.
"1234 Apple Street," she said.
"1234 Apple Street? The website says 4321 Apple Street."
"No, that's the other Appletree Clinic, not us."
"Yeah, I gathered that."
"Huh. Wonder why it says that."
"You got me there."
A week or so later, I drove out to the 1234 clinic on one of Dr. S's days.
...except he wasn't there that week. Someone else was filling in for him.
Called back the next week and made sure he was working. Went to see him, and was told there was a 45-minute wait, and that that's standard at a walk-in clinic. No, I could not make an appointment; that would defeat the purpose of "walk-in".
Bugger. I had an appointment elsewhere in an hour.
So yesterday I called to make sure he was there, got a bunch of things ready to take with me to do during the wait, gave the boys stuff to do while I was gone, got to the clinic... and was told the wait was 2.5-3 hours.
I would have an easier time getting in to see Stephen Harper. Unfortunately, I have no desire to see him; he can't fill in my forms.
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no subject
Date: 2009-06-25 07:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-27 03:24 am (UTC)I read a novel once where this weird eccentric old art/literature collector appoints three of his friends as executors. It seemed excessive to me at the time. It doesn't any more. ::sigh::
no subject
Date: 2009-06-27 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-25 08:21 pm (UTC)And Grrrrr for the event when you were 19. Sometimes the problem really IS a tapeworm! Or an endocrine imbalance, or another digestive issue...
no subject
Date: 2009-06-27 03:48 am (UTC)LOL well the temptation is there, and it is rather strong.
I actually did resort to forgery for one part of the will saga, the transfer of my mom's car to my name. Think I even wrote of my crime... a-ha, yeah, here (http://ciroccoj.livejournal.com/582823.html). Sadly, I've heard Revenue Canada is a little more vigilant about fraud than the Ontario Ministry of Transportation ;)
And Grrrrr for the event when you were 19. Sometimes the problem really IS a tapeworm! Or an endocrine imbalance, or another digestive issue...
OMG yeah and it was so infuriating! He just flat-out refused to consider it was anything other than an eating disorder. And on one hand, go him for being proactive on the whole eating disorder thing, because it's serious shit and should not be dismissed casually... but still! Here I was, getting seriously alarmed at the way all my clothing was hanging off of me and steadily skeevier guys were starting to come on to me, and this doc was convinced I was playing some weird game or something. I kept thinking hold on, isn't one of the Major Symptoms of an eating disorder the fact that girls feel fat? Even when they're getting skeletal? And try to hide their skinnyness from family & friends so they can keep losing weight? Why would I be coming to see my doc complaining of weight loss if I was trying to lose weight?
...it appears I'm still a bit miffed at him. ::harrumph::
no subject
Date: 2009-07-02 01:30 pm (UTC)And also, that doctor clearly sucks.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 05:09 pm (UTC)Which I tell myself was marginally better than gaining a lot of weight while stressed, but still don't want to repeat any time soon ;)
no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 04:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-27 03:52 am (UTC)Your icon, however, is made of win. ::hearts:: Vicki Lawrence.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-27 12:37 pm (UTC)