There’s No Cure for Gretchen Lowe: A Mother’s Day Card From Alice

Another Excerpt from: There's No Cure for Gretchen Lowe, a novelAlice’s schoolteacher handwriting greeted Gretchen when she flipped through the mail that evening. It was a floridly pious Mother’s Day card with a letter enclosed. Her mother must have sent it right after Gretchen had called about the board meeting fiasco. Oh Alice, Gretchen snorted pleasurably. I couldn’t have picked a better card myself.

Underneath the card’s summary appreciation for maternal sacrifices, physical and emotional, Alice had written, “Thought you might like to see the enclosed item right now. I think it confirms that we are related. I cannot take credit for why you are who you are but I did have a hand in it. Then again, you were always a rotten child. Not that I had anything to do with that. Love, Mom.
The letter was her mother’s same handwriting.  Cheered, Gretchen set to reading it. It was dated from May 1970 and addressed to a Desmond Wallace, Chair of Fundraising Operations for the National Cerebral Palsy Association. Oh dear.

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#CripLit Excerpt from “The Copier God Unleashes the Flood Waters”

Another Excerpt From There's No Cure for Gretchen Lowe a novelAs the West-Hesperidan Free Clinic’s Administrative Manager, Gretchen was the closest thing they had to fundraising staff now that their Director was on stress leave. She was supposed to represent the clinic at these house party things but here she was wandering on the edges, again, frankly worn out just from hauling herself in the door. Here was a question: Why does philanthropy so often require climbing stairs?

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I Want Them to Want Me Because I Will Need Them to Need Me But If That’s Not Going to Work, I Want a Lawyer.

There's No Cure for Gretchen Lowe

Every time Gretchen saw the forms on her desk at home, a wave of resentment rose. How did she know what it was like to use a feeding tube? Or a ventilator? Or have minimal brain function, for god’s sake? It was like asking an eight year-old to sign up for – or against – puberty.
Oh sure, she fumed in the dark, awake and annoyed. Tomorrow, Dr. Gabriel would repeat the official line: She could choose all medical interventions. She could elect to have whatever she wanted.
Oh, that was such bullshit. It wasn’t really her choice at all. The problem wasn’t too much extraordinary medical treatment, it was the limits of ordinary medicine to worry about, mostly financial. She didn’t have a problem being kept alive through artificial means now – she’d never seen a dollar bill push out of the dirt in spring – so she didn’t see any reason to assume she would resent it later on.

“Dear Valued Healthcare Provider,

“I’m glad everybody’s so concerned about honoring my choices. I choose to have my medical care continue regardless of ability to pay or insurance coverage, deductibles, prescription benefits, or other cost issues….”

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I Never Told You

Gretchen’s mood, as well as her judgment, wasn’t helped any by a letter she received at the clinic. The letter congratulated them on being selected as one of the test sites for the Dignity Initiative’s Adult Diaper Dispensation (ADD) program over the next year. At first she thought it was a mistake, but an embarrassing phone call to the program’s administrator revealed that one of her very own board members had applied on the clinic’s behalf. It was Patrick, an old-timer who had fought term limits the hardest. She didn’t bother calling him. She called the board chair, Frank, who was a muckety-muck partner in a law firm. She was disgusted to learn he knew about it. She wrote a letter to the executive committee explaining they had to withdraw and why, and couriered it to each. That got a response. They were polite but said the money was needed. Reading their letter, Gretchen fought the urge to reply by saying, “So, the staff can turn a few tricks if need be?”

But clearly action was needed. The next meeting was nigh. When Gretchen sent out the agenda she added “Dignity Initiative inservice” as the first item after Review Minutes. She made sure “Refreshments will be served” was on there because she wanted good attendance. Carefully, she selected Buffalo wings, salted cashews, wasabi peanuts, iced tea and, as a special surprise, cold beer, and set them out on the reception desk. As they trooped in, exclaiming as they saw the snacks, she urged them to put their things down in the waiting room, grab something to eat – have a beer! – and soon the meeting would start.
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