Thanks, Kenny:

 "...the secret to survivin' is knowin' what to throw away and  knowing what to keep."  I'm still working  on it, still a long ways to go. I have previously eliminated probably about 70% or so of the communications related to pursuit of VA claim. A lot remains, as pictured, although the most important paperwork is in another location, not pictured. I know that I could probably get rid of all that's pictured here, but I'm so far unable to discard without reviewing all the hard-sought information needed before due process could occur. For instance, filing a NOD, Notice of Disagreement,  while a petition for review is in process violates procedure, and, though now forgotten, documented steps of correction had to be taken, amid several pleas  for  notification. This is just one paper bag of what I threw away this time; I have to go through again what is in the green bag, which at least is now light enough to lift. ***And I

did not start the fire.

P.S. While I was downstairs, I noted the furnace still leaks. Thousands of  dollars later, who cares?

  

All In A DAY

 Friday, February 27, 2026:   Auto  Incident/ Accident Report: NY---Minor,  MD---Serious, MA---Severe

Isn't It Ironic?

 I don't get very much mail anymore, but the other day I received one single letter, addressed to me from a woman in Virginia. Her name is Jessica, and the subject is Front Porch Letters, with an application to be submitted in the pre-paid envelope, which explains the reason for the mailing. 

   In the enclosed 6-page letter, Jessica explains the reason why Front Porch  Letters exists: people have been missing the personal connection that receiving letters provides. Emails, texts, advertisements, envelopes addressed to "Resident" all result in a letdown for the recipient.  But receiving a letter personally addressed that recounts the memories or thoughts of a real person in a real community, these letter writers make the reader feel more connected, valued and mentally sharp than they have in years.

   To join in this wonderful experience, to receive real letters from real people, connect with Front Porch Letters. You can even send in your own written letters which may be chosen to send on to others. 

The cost is a mere $15 a month for 1 letter or $25 for 2.

  When I read the letter from Virginia, I knew I would rather have a dental filling replaced than succumb to the pathos of looking forward to Front Porch Letters. But I thought that someone setting up this venture must have researched the reason for doing so. I'm sure the target audience is older folks who likely live alone or who have outlived those they knew who used to communicate by letters, and maybe still even have a front porch.  The thought of receiving  a letter sent to them by another human being, even if unknown to them, is a welcome alternative to loneliness and isolation. Who knows, this might well become a thriving business. The senior population is growing, the business costs would be minimal, and the members of F.P.L. may well be starved for any form of communication or potential conversation.

  When I mentioned I'd received this invitation to Front Porch Letters, the person spoken to responded with one word--"Fraud."   

  I rest my case.   (I had to write my unspoken thoughts here, O Blog.

Winter Landscapes (Still bitter-Perhaps a little

 I found this Examination Blue Book inside an old dictionary. The date is 3/17 at 2 p.m. for English 29. So probably sophomore year and I would have been 19. A lot to expect for someone that age to deal with such a crappy poem.

 The poem Winter Landscape intends to convey the author's feeling of intense loneliness as he faces the winter alone, as contrasted with the animals' closeness as they huddle together for warmth and companionship.

The poet's state of mind, his intensity of feeling, is exemplified by the irregularity of the rhyme and line lengths. He uses a tercet consisting of 2 long lines with a short line in the middle, in tetrameter. This short line serves to emphasize the theme of the poem---the wish for a warm kinship such as the animals enjoy, through repetition of key words, such as "fields, evening, alone."  There is a foreshadowing of death in man's desire to find a home. Man is lost on earth; he is alone. The abruptness of key words symbolizes man's loneness. Through the use of the cesura, there is the author's feeling of isolation. "Alone" is separated from the rest of the poem.  It stands alone, as does the author. 

  The assonance of the o's  in "come, home, across, glowing" reflects the mournful outlook of the author. The ideas are drawn together by the rhyme scheme, "Gray" in the first stanza, rhymed with "day" in the second stanza, carries over his unfulfilled longing. The choice of words contrasts the life of man with that of beasts and shows the latter to be more desirable. The birds can hide breast to breast in clefts, the sheep can huddle and press close together, but man must depend on a fire to shut out the cold. The choice of such words as bleak, tombed and the dying souls emphasizes man's lot as a dreary one indeed, whereas the descriptions relating to the animals are words are words having a more intimate sound. The repeated phrase  "breast  to breast" indicates the author's longing for such comfort. But man, for his comfort, must settle for pressing his thin dying soul against Eternity. Perhaps in Eternity will man be able to find the  warmth which the beasts already know, and which holds perhaps the potential comfort of the sea, evening and Daffodil West. 

  The winter landscape is not so much a reference to the season of the year as it is a portrayal of the  loneliness of man. The sound of the poem makes the reader feel the great loneliness and the sense of near futile desperation experienced by the author.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

 In my many years of living, and working with countless youths, I have heard hundreds of career choices:  cowboy, astronaut, stewardess (yes, at one time), professor, teacher, nurse, doctor, veterinarian, and the latest technological job titles, but I have never heard of anyone aspiring to be a Dosimetrist. I don't think I've ever heard the word.

Yet the Sunday Times Union' s Classified Ad  Employment section carries an ad that Albany Medical Center Hospital  is seeking applications for the position of Medical Dosimetrist. 

Seems like a criticlly important job. Wonder what the salary is...Anybody out there?

11:00 p.m. Crash!

 Very loud, ice falling off back of house:

Only one of those dreams:

 Mostly my dreams slip away when I wake up, even if I try to recall them. But some keep intruding into my mind, all through the day. I find the way to resolve them is to write them down, as nobody would want  to listen to my recital of them. So here goes, the cleansing of a dream, so to speak.

I am driving toward home, relieved to be on a familiar route, the road from Watervliet to Cohoes. I am returning, maybe from a  hospital visit, maybe the patient was Barbara, but I can't be sure because the dream starts with my driving. I realize the once familiar route is now different as it's been a while since I last drove it. There are new buildings. One  complex on the left stands out, a new structure spanning probably most of a city block, maybe commercial,  or maybe apartments. It sits low on complex driveways and is ivory with maroon trim.  I inadvertently drive into the grounds on one of the newly constructed roads, and in driving back onto the main road, I am in the left turn lane instead of the right. No problem as there is no traffic behind me. I quickly adjust to the right lane.A man driving by gives me a dirty look as my car is only slightly out into the roadway, but no issue. I continue driving. ****I am at a place, much like the Fairgrounds. No activity there, but I see Dave and the collie, either Cosmo or Clara. I rebuke him for not having the dog on a leash. He goes into some office to deal with some routine paperwork. The dog goes with him. Noone seems to mind. I am carrying a newspaper and when I roll it up for easy carrying, the dog sees it and takes off, but only a short distance, quickly returning. I comment that the dog must have been punished in its past with a rolled newspaper. Dave remains mellow, most likely ignoring what I say about the leash. ***

I am at Barbara's house where she is recovering from a hospital visit. One of the Overocker girls is also visiting her there. She is at first in her bedroom where there is a pure white bed, so comfortable and inviting. I ask her if she takes a nap there during the daytime, and she says she never sleeps during the day. I say I don't  either, but would be tempted to do so by that bed. I comment on her hair, which is  now black, as in her youth and is short but kind of feathered, quite attractive. I even reach out and touch it. I say, so you've had your hair styled while you've been away. She smiles and agrees. I ask her where and she says Italy. I'm not sure if that's a shop or if she's just joking, so let it ride. The weather is fine, and we walk outside, down that familiar front step. She has no trouble walking and I tell her she's doing fine. She says that's because they left her knee when they operated. I notice she is wearing the same type of ballet slipper shoes she usually wore, and the only sign of surgery is the brown mesh socks she is wearing. 

  We go back into her house and the Overocker girl say she has to leave as it's getting time to eat. I say I'll be leaving too and ask if she needs anything. She says she could use some help with the pipes in the cellar if I know anyone. I try to think and am in the process of trying to say maybe George Kagel could, but I wake up before I can get the words out. 

Thanks, Blog, for the opportuity to unload my dream. Now it can be put to rest.

Just occurred to me:

 Hail Mary...Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb..." 

Does the the brand name Fruit of the Loom seem sacrilegious?

All My Children, Random Order

 The Disillusioned Idealist, The Resolute Optimist, The Resigned Pragmatist

Death, Evil, Sin

 You can always add "Amen" to the last word of the Our Father, Hail Mary, and Act of Contrition. These prayers don't exactly end on a high note.

Change of Heart?

 

Take Your Medicine---As Prescribed

 "Region's Top Cardiology Practices form ONE Exceptional Team"  

So reads the ad as of February 8, 2026. St. Peter's Cardiology Associates is now the largest cardiology group in upstate New York. and the EXCLUSIVE PROVIDER of inpatient heart care at Samaritan Hospital. 

  This must be the result of the art of the medical deal.  

Albany Associates in Cardiology notified their patients that starting January 1, 2026, they were beginning a TRANSITION, consolidating their practice to provide more consistent and comprehensive care  to their patients and would no longer be offering inpatient services at Samaritan Hospital nor emergency catheterizations there, only those scheduled as outpatient. That the gold standard of care would occur at Albany Medical Center Hospital or St. Peter's. 

   I had concerns about how this change--transition--would affect patients who would be brought by rescue squad to nearest emergency room: if they needed emergency services in the cath lab, and that service is no longer provided at Samaritan, what would the transport elsewhere be, being aware that time is critical.

    I called the tel. # provided for answers, but the person answering had no idea of what I was talking about. I posted the question on AAC's website, but received no response. I also asked the cardiologist at a scheduled visit and he said not to think about it. It didn't make sense to me that Albany Associates doctors would perform scheduled heart catheterizations at Samaritan  ONLY on an outpatient basis. What if that patient had issues and needed to be admitted--would they be transported to Albany? How? Who? Etc. 

   A medical professional in another department said the potential closure or downgrading of Samaritan's services was "all about the money." 

   

 

If You Ask Me

 It is a rare occasion nowadays when I'm asked for my opinion, but thoughts  still simmer to a boil in my mind. 

   At present, there is a Public Service Announcement from the New York State Department of Health flooding the television channels  which I find to be disturbing, depressing and essentially useless. There are several  scenes  portraying an individual,  shifting from his healthy childhood to what is apparently his deathbed. Since the message is aimed at discouraging smoking, I assume the man is dying of lung cancer or other tobacco related causes. The images are extremely realistic, invoking heartbreaking recall of actual loss  to those watching.

Who is watching? What is the target audience?  I would surmise, since the message is anti-tobacco, that the PSA is aimed at discourgaging young people from using it.  Apart from the recent statistics that show fewer youths are smoking now than in the past, it is also true that fewer youths watch network television, home to these films. How many teens would take a message away from an ad which they would almost certainly deem irrelevant. The story of a healthy baby and toddler morphing into a sickly older adult is unlikely to register with them. 

  So the audience for this somber and morose message from the Health Department is destined to be older adults, those who still watch network tv. Speaking for at least one of them, I say we don't need any more grisly reminders of impending death. I despise those ads.

In sum

 Too difficult  to consolidate here, but I tried to answer the question in a dream:  Ben asked if I'd ever heard of a band called Faulty.   I wanted  to say the only rhyme would be "salty," but try as I might, I couldn't get myself back in the dream. Probably just as well...

Frozen Time

The holidays are over. The household is bereft

Of the noises and the voices; only echoes have been left.

Their car drove off, with kids and dog, 

And I resigned myself

To adding one more visit

To those stored on memory's shelf. 

But hope survived with the dawn of the day.

A network of footprints was etched to display

A gift frozen in time, a vision sent, 

A precious reminder of what visiting meant:

Deep footprints where the parents strode, 

Steps straight and aligned in approach to the road.

Circled around theirs, in loops to and fro,

Small running steps, forging trails in the snow.

Now only the snow recalls the  sound

Of closed doors, goodby hugs, and frozen ground.

The house stands still. The silence grows, 

Erasing with time all that memory froze.

 

The Big Snow

 Way back around 1966 or so (I could look the date up, but not now) , I was teaching at St. Thomas School in Delmar, and driving a 1957 Chevy, which was temperamental at best.I don't recall any warnings of impending  heavy snowfall, and certainly no early dismissals, but when I left the school around 3:30 p.m. or so, the snow had already accumulated and was still falling, heavily. It took me almost 2 hours to get out of Delmar. Traffic was backed up all the way, and my car stalled at least twice, during which times I would get out, raise the hood, do something with the carburetor and the car would start. But on this day, now turned to darkness, by the time I got to Northern Boulevard  to get to Menands, my car came to a dead stop right at the intersection leading to the bridge. So I was blocking traffic, and everybody was anxious to get home. I had retreated to my car, when a very large and very angry black man appeared at my window, demanding I move my car. I said it was dead, so he said all I will do is move your car out of the way, and he pushed my car with his and drove off. I still didn't know what to do. I thought of going to one of the houses across the street , but the snowbanks were now so steep I couldn't get through to the house.  I knew there was a hotel/motel at the end of the bridge; I know the name, but it escapes me now.  I am wearing only a fairly light ski jacket and the snow is blinding, but I start out walking on the bridge to the hotel. I am cold and can barely see ahead.  I am part way across the bridge when a car stops, a man yells out to me to get in. He seems angry too. I do as I'm told and I get in his car. He drops me off at the motel and drives away. I go in and ask for a room. I am very cold and of course would normally have been hungry, but all I want is to get in bed and go to sleep, only calling my mother before I do so.

  The next morning I know I have to somehow get my car started; it's quite a ways down the road, and I go to the front desk to pay my bill. The desk clerk there remarks that he thought I might have frozen from  the way I'd looked the night before. He also tells me  that Father Bondi, parish priest at St. Thomas, had paid my bill, and had also arranged for my car to have been started and driven to the motel. It seems Father Bondi, whom I had very little contact with, had called my mother to see if I'd made it home in the snowstorm. At the time, St. Thomas, Grades k-8,  had only 2 lay teachers employed there. The others were all of the religious order and lived in the convent nearby. He must have felt responsible for all his teachers, even the temporary ones. I can only hope I thanked him for his concern.

I sometimes feel there is too much hype about the present forecast, but I can appreciate the reasoning .

Cookies

The competition was fierce, but I prevailed:  The Nobel Prize of Cookiedom

When You Really Need Someone...

 I finally fell asleep, only to be awakened by a persistent itch just to the left on my upper back. That' s a hard spot to reach even with 2 functioning shoulders, and I have neither. The left shoulder was damaged years ago when a gust of wind blew against the door of a medical building I was leaving, and  the right shoulder suffered a complete rotary cuff tear a few years ago as I attenpted to heave myself from ground to top of my front steps. They do not recommend surgical repair for people past a certain age. 

  It's very early in the morning and I try to stay in bed to reach the itchy spot, but an unable to. I used to have an old wooden backscratcher, but it disppeared under the bed one day, and I can't reach that either. I sometimes wear my pajama tops inside out if they have a sewn-in label which may cause an itch, but that's no help here. So I have to get out of bed, get in  a standing position, and use my left arm to push my right arm as close as possible to the itchy area. And you think Greenland has problems.

In Memory

 

I came across this award, for 15 years of service, dated 1958. So he would have started working for Behr- Manning in  1943, about the time we moved to Valley Falls. 

Like many men of that time, he had little interaction with his children's daily lives. Workday started when he left the house at 6:30 A.M., and he returned about 12 hours later.

 I have 2 vivid memories. He taught me how to play checkers when I was about 10 years old. When I was 19, my dog Lassie died. It was the norm for him to bury our deceased animals in the back yard. But he told me he didn't want to bury Lassie in the bare dirt, so he built what he called a "rough box" and laid her in that before burying her in a section of my mother's flower garden, close to our house.

Dream State--Revisited

 Sure, Dr. Ben Carson, National Health Advisor, had a dream in which all the answers on his certification exam that he took the next day were revealed, but he had prayed for assistance. My dreams are much less spectacular and way less profitable.

  Aside from  the rare and unforgettable nightmares, my dreams now are of the slice of life variety. Often a situation or problem where I am merely a bystander, observing the action or processes taking place.  Sometimes the context is so bizarre or potentially of  use, that I want to recall the substance of the dream, either for future use, or else to analyze it in full so I can rid myself of its intrusion in bits and pieces into  my  memory.  Often I think I can recall a dream from which I've just awakened. That seems clear at first; I will remember that, I say to myself. But most of the time those fragments of memory slip away like passing clouds, or rivers runing out to sea, never to be recalled.

  The other night I had such a dream. I wanted to remember it, or recall the substance of it. I focused on the last words spoken in the dream, which at the time made perfect sense:  "The bald-headed  man will have the answer."  Try as I might, I can't retrieve the rest of the dream, so I have no idea what answer he might have.    But I do have some questions.

 

Dream State

     I am in a hospital room. People are passing by, sometimes entering the room, but no help is provided. I find a person, maybe a nurse, and say I want to leave. But I have no way to leave; I don't know where anyone is who could help me. Finally, a doctor appears and tells me not to worry about anybody else, to think of myself. That's all he has to say. He leaves and I am still in the room. Claustrophobia sets in. 

LIFE'S little PROBLEMS

 Dear Blog, faithful listener:

   I have now 2 working television sets in my house, one in the living room and one in the bedroom. There are at least 2 more, but they haven't been used in a while, because how many tv's does one person need. 

   I mostly have the tv turned on in the living room. While I used to watch shows in bed at night, I seldom have of late, because I stay up til early morning,  due to troubling discomfort when  lying down.

  Sometime in the late fall, though, I found it impossible to activate the bedrom tv. The picture would come on, sometimes without sound, and sometimes not at all. 
The channel would not change. The volume would be at the highest level, unable to be lowered. I replaced the batteries in the Spectrum remote several times, even checking their functioning with the batteries in my working remote. I rebooted the tv, numerous times. All to no lasting effect.

I knew there was a problem, and attributed it to the tv set.  I figured I could ask someone to help me swap out that tv  with one of the inactive tv sets, but I just didn't care enough to do anything about it.   

 Until the arrival of this bitter cold weather. The house gets chilly at night, the thermostat on automatic settings. Rather than adjust the setting, I just wanted to pile on  4 or 5 of my favorite fleecy blankets and watch tv in bed. But the tv does not cooperate. I went through ritual after ritual again:  turning it on and off, rebooting, pressing every damn button on and off the set in every conceivable manner, trying to use the remote which came with the tv, all to no avail. The best I could do was get a single channel with maximum volume, unbearable to even my aging ears. I hesitated to ask for help.The people in my family are very busy, and I can't allow outside repair folks into the hellhole of my bedroom. 

   Pondering my plight one chilly night, while watching the living room tv, but wanting to get under those fleece blankets, I walked into the bedroom, unaware I had the remote from the living room tv in hand. Lo and Behold!  The bedroom tv sprang alive.   Two identical Spectrum remotes, and one remote just ate batteries for no purpose. 

  Next day, I called Spectrum, and the nice man sent me not one, but two new remotes. They come with batteries.

Furniture

I no longer have involvement in, or control of, any important matters, so I tend to focus on the trivial . I bought a recliner armchair. 

     I needed to replace a recliner which I bought only about 6 or 7 years ago. The chair became dysfunctional, as the wooden understructure, which I learned was made from "engineered wood" had deteriorated. Maybe the weight load was too heavy for the chair, or maybe the engineered wood reverted to the sawdust from which it was engineered. My daughter insisted I replace the chair and so there was a forced march to the store, Old Brick being the main target. I couldn't find one which I thought met my needs, or desires, and, while affordable, the price for something that was not appealing resulted in a failed shopping trip. 

  So I postponed thinking about it until my chair transitioned from difficult to use to impossible to use. The weather was too cold for me to want to venture out on another shopping trip, so I did a little research and bought a chair online. 

   Maybe an omen of what was to come, the chair was delivered very early on a rainy day, the box left on my front porch. I was able to wrestle it into the adjoining room, and waited for some help for the unpacking and fairly simple assembly. 

  The chair was of a very reasonable price,  shipping was free, and it at first seemed adequate for my needs. It was comfortable to sit in, rocked, reclined, and swiveled. The chair was considered a manual  recliner, and the device on the side, when activated,  allowed the chair to recline and the footrest to be extended. So far, so good. 

But a problem surfaced with the retraction of the footrest, which operated by pushing it in with your feet. That was perfectly acceptable, except the footrest would not push all the way in. OMG, a falling hazard. I examined the chair's structure, and noticed that the bottom edge on one side of the chair was slightly curved inward, impinging on the footrest, I figured. 

  In addition to the merchant's warranty, I had purchased  the extended 3-year Warranty. I called the seller, and explained the situation. The representative went to check with specialized warranty service and returned to say they would be replacing the chair. I agreed, asked if they would take the first chair back. She said they would. Great, I'll wait the week she said it would take.

   But, a few days later, I received an email saying the replacement chair was not available any longer, and the proposed solution was to send me a replacement footrest. No, I said, I'm not able to replace parts, and more importantly, the footrest itself is not the cause of the problem. The rep had to check. A day or so later, another rep returned with a different solution;  I may need to try pressing the handle in a different manner. No, I said, the chair does not have a handle. She had to go check. Another day or so later, the proposed solution was that they would send a repair person to fix the issue. No, I said, unless they  can bring the whole side of the chair. She had to go check. Another day or so later, I was offered a discount on the price of the chair. I'm tired of this by now, so I agree, with the stipulation that I am also  refunded for the price of the Extended Warranty. The rep had to check, but the next day said they would refund the discount and the warranty price. 

   So above is the picture of my chair, which cost a total of $235, including tax.   Come have a seat.

All in a daze work:

 I finally convinced myself that I was going to have to go to the grocery store, as there was next to no food  in the house, all the Christmas leftovers gone. It was still daylight when I overcame my apathy and left for the store. I only planned to buy a few items, but as usual the number of items bought increases. I no longer bother much with coupons, but I had one for $1.00 and another for $1.25 for items on my list, so I handed them to the cashier, along with bottle return receipts totaling $4.80, and inserted my credit card as payment for my purchases. As she was handing me my receipt, the cashier, when addressing her cash register, suddenly noticed that Oops! she had "forgotten to deduct the coupons." She didn't know how to handle that situation, so she called for help. One employee appeared, and then another, who told me I would have to go to the service desk. So I did. I was asked to insert my credit card again, to certify whatever was required, as to the status of my purchase. Next, I had to retrieve the coupon items from the bag on my cart, and present those items at the desk. Then, if I wished to pursue the matter, I was asked to go to the side of the desk, where another employee said she would need to cancel and re-bill each purchase relevant to each coupon. So I inserted my credit card either 2 or 4 more times, and I guess the matter is resolved. Not being an accountant, I can only guess. 

  I recall in similar circumstances at the same store, the employee who was 

called for help would just reach into the cash drawer of the register there and pay out of petty cash funds the amount owed to the customer. Times have changed. The new process is time consuming. It was dark when I got home.

Once More

 I packed away again the Creche which once belonged to my husband's family. The box seems to be the one in which the creche was mailed to them, though the Kingston address is faded away. The date of the  postage is February 7, 1972. So back on the shelf in the closet it will go. Until next year???

Hospice: What it's good for, or What's it good for?

 I have a friend whose husband was diagnosed with the deadly disease of pancreatitis. During his last hospitalization, the tremendous level of his pain was thankfully alleviated through hospice services. His wife viewed Hospice as almost a divine intervention which ultimately ended his agony.

  My husband's terminal neurological disease impacted his ability to sleep or rest, as he needed to call out for comfort of some sort every few hours, during the night time. The doctor at the Vermont Hospital arranged for him to have someone attend him throughout the nighttime hours, so his callouts would not disturb the sleep of other nearby patients. That was an ideal solution until other patients were no longer nearby, and so the overnight attendance was withdrawn. He missed that service and wished it could be reinstated. The best solution the presiding  doctor could offer was to submit him as a patient to Hospice. A representative from Hospice showed up to enroll him, a young woman who was friendly, talkative, telling me details about her baby son,  and obviously eager to enroll him as a patient. We did so.

   Unfortunately, the hospice services did not allow him to have the nighttime attendant he had so wanted, but we kept him on anyway.

  Not too long afterwards, an aide left him poised on the edge of the bed while she turned away to get some supplies, and he rolled off onto the floor, hitting his head and opening a gash, and probably losing consciousness for a time. He was taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital. In the early hours of that morning, I received  a telephone call from the neurologist who had been called in to assess his condition. He asked me if I wanted him to have a CT Scan of his head to see if there was any internal bleeding. I said yes, and the scan was done.That was the beginning of the end of his being a hospice patient.

For Hospice is a comprehensive holistic program of care and support for terminally ill patients and their families, with the focus on palliative care for pain and symptoms instead of care aimed to cure the illness.The neurologist said Dave's scan would not fall under coverage by hospice, and I said then remove him from hospice. He complied.

The rep from Hospice showed up, asking about the issue. She was curt, almost hostile. I explained that falling out of bed was not a symptom of his illness, but an accident, and I supported my action; if that was inconsistent with her hospice affiliation, so be it. As she was leaving, I asked her how her son was; she answered in one word, as she walked out the door---"growing" was all she said.

 My take on hospice would be that it is a business, founded on the principle of keeping the terminally ill out of the hospital, and medical expenses, primarily unnecessary as not life-prolonging, to a minimum. Different states have different rules for hospices to abide by, as do differing localities. I would say that hospices operate about the same as any franchise, with the ability to choose one over another. Experiences vary, as per those cited above. But Hospice is not certified by angelic sources to descend on the suffering  and manage their entry  into the great beyond.