Yesterday I talked to a lawyer where I worked about getting power of attorney over MW because she has HD. Sounds simple, but the wrinkle being: she doesn't know she has HD and isn't receptive to the idea of being tested.
"So would she willingly sign a POA?" he asked.
I dunno. Probably. Maybe. I dunno.
"Then you would have to lawyer up and go to court."
Jesus.
He went on to explain that I should immediately write a will and maybe even establish a trust. He's right, of course, but.... If I die first, what chance does MW have, really? Even with money?
None. Best case scenario being, when the time comes, her useless tits of a family would actual take the trouble to visit the nursing home before dumping her off - never to be seen again. Knowing them, however, I doubt it. They'd just find the cheapest rate and Uber her over there. Hope the nurses don't wail on her too much.
Nope. I'm gone; she's done. Even if I do set up a trust, who would I get to oversee the account? MW hates my family. I suppose she wouldn't have a choice if I did put one of them in charge, but I can't imagine her accepting any of their care decisions.
Bleak stuff. Then again, if I'm dead, my problems are over, aren't they?
An indulgent, selfish thought, I know. But hey. I've earned it.
***
I don't want to understate the preceding event. Talking to the lawyer was huge. An irreversible act of admission. We work together. He could go tell HR and they could fire me for having a sick wife. Yeah, yeah, nobody's supposed to do that kind of shit anymore, but I'm old enough to know better.
They could. Of course they could. Hell, they probably should.
Anyway, not just that, but it was also an act of betrayal. If MW were to find out that I talked to someone about her condition? The end. She would either kill me or drive me out of the house. Already in the past week she'd flown into a rage threatened to divorce because A) I wore the wrong jacket; B) I picked up some trash off the floor (I wasn't supposed to touch it); C) I didn't read one of her emails that she'd been waiting for (I hadn't known anything about it).
God, if she knew I was conspiring behind her back? Ho shit.
Naturally, I felt guilty and sick about it all day.
Then I got home and, after about an hour or so, MW sheepishly approached me and said she had something bad to tell me.
She'd accidentally hit a car that morning. No one was hurt; not really any damage either. But our insurance might have to be notified.
Second time in as many months that she's played bumper cars with our Toyota.
And I didn't feel so bad after that. Not a clear justification; but good enough under the circumstances.
Now I just have to decide how many more of these little accident's to allow before I do something about it.
***
Some more new-ish symptoms: MW has started getting angry when reading emails and websites. She'll demand I read back and explain sentences and paragraphs to her; then yell at me when she doesn't understand the words. "That doesn't make any sense!"
So I'll read it again, patiently, and try to explain gently what it means.
Once she exploded; "It's like I don't understand English anymore!" and stormed out of the room.
Heartbreaking. And there's not much heart left around here.
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