We met with the lawyer (finally) this weekend. I felt a enormous pressure to get the paperwork done – what if something happened and she couldn’t make a medical decision, what if it were worse? How can we protect ourselves and our child as much as humanly possible within the tiny shred of rights offered to us by the state? Let’s call it what it is, panic, not pressure.
It’s a raw reality, knowing that if she were unable to speak or move, I wouldn’t be automatically the person who makes her decisions. That the hospital would call…her mother. Believe me, I’ll pay the steep attorney fees to make sure that the split second decisions that might be needed are never delayed in order to contact extended family. And that’s a best case scenario. I should be worried, too, about my own parental rights. But right now all I can get through is wills, and trusts, and powers of attorney.
So I drove my very pregnant wife three hours up, sat with our well-prepared, savvy and nice lawyer for 90 minutes and then drove home three hours. Now, please picture Fred Flintstone in his car. Now, tack on a hundred extra pounds. Go on, make Fred look jolly. Now, look at his feet. Now, say hi to my wife. Swelling hands and feet are the latest in the symptom parade and really, the worst since she was eating saltines in the bed and turning green over soup.
We’ve got one more up and back visit to the lawyer in a couple of weeks (yes, actually, she WILL be 38 AND A HALF WEEKS PREGNANT) to seal the deal and in the meantime, gallons of water, walks, and feet up. Aside from putting my very butch wife in compression stockings, which, style aside, aren’t happening, got any other suggestions?