The rescheduled meeting with the Medicaid social worker went well. She seemed quite nice, and was confident Daddy will qualify for the program.
Before the meeting, she'd sent a list of about 16 different documents to collect. We went into a tizzy about finding out his burial plan, because we thought they were trying to establish if they'd have to pay for it when he died. He's signed up to donate his body to science, but if he were to die of an infectious disease, the donation wouldn't be taken. We would DEFINITELY deal with that when the time came, but we worried that Medicaid wouldn't just take our word for it. The heroic Winemaker* made a trip to the Medicaid office to try to get this addressed before the meeting, because there seems to be some sort of DHS policy against answering your phone or returning phone calls. It turns out they just want to know if you have a policy that could be turned into cash.
In the meantime, my sisters and I got together for a gathering of the paperwork. We all have piles and boxes from our parents' house in our garages. Because my dad moved a total of three times this summer, boxes came in and out and got mixed up and nobody really knows where anything is anymore. So we each rummaged through our own piles and brought in the things that looked most official, and after 3 hours, a lot of coffee, and one more trip back to my house for another file I suddenly recalled, we had everything together. And a serious caffeine buzz.
At the meeting, here's what she actually looked at: driver's license, social security card, bank statement, and paystubs from his income sources (social security, annuity, and pension).
On the other hand, we now have all the important paperwork in one file, and we know where it is.
*He also makes baklava. How did I get so lucky?