Contingencies, Ailments, and The Very Long Nap
So much has happened since I last updated, and I'm so sorry to stuff it all into one post. I'd research if there's a way to create a table of contents in a blog post, but 1. I'm too tired, and 2. how would you know what sections you want to read anyway? Oh, who knows. Maybe in a week or so after posting this I'll do the research and add it. But for now, you're stuck with a really long post. Sorry.
We left off with the appraisal being undone in some fancy legal sense where the title company decided there was a need for much more documentation, which Melissa provided, and then Appraisal Person ceased to respond to the many attempts at communication from Melissa, Chris (our loan guy), and the Title company.
I found the original text conversations we had with Melissa and they went something like this:
That was Friday, June 11th.
I believe this too was an evening in which we spoke on the phone to Melissa. She explained to us more about how very many times Chris (of loan land), and she, and the title company, had tried to reach Appraisal Person. And when and how many more "comps" she'd sent. And hinted at communications she'd had with the Seller's agent, who is re-confirmed generally as a relatively inflexible pita, though that is subject to perspective. She also wondered at length what could, and why should, Appraiser Person be so difficult to reach, including that person's general office because surely others work there and you'd think they would pick up the phone at some point.
This, and the fact that I had no control over the situation and didn't want to become cranky, led me to make up a long and involved story about how Appraiser Person had been appraisin' when a rabid raccoon fell on his head and attacked him. And that's why he couldn't get the appraisal done. He was in the hospital all night getting seven rabies shots and now, he's just sleeping it off.
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| Do you know that Google has no images of Raccoons biting people on the head? |
But then Melissa mentioned the bit about how the office wasn't calling them back either, and so we figured that he'd been bitten by the rabid raccoon, but he hadn't gone to the hospital. So, he was out there chasing his buddies around the office to bite them too. And that's why he couldn't get the appraisal done. (And also why the office couldn't call back.)
Now, you might think that this provides ample evidence of the kooky way I'm random and bizarre. And you would be right. However, it's not entirely random. Chris and I did have a surprise rabies adventure several years ago in which a feral cat found its way into our home. We thought it was a neighborhood cat (as in, not feral), so we were entreating it to come out from under the guest bed into the cat carrier and... it bit the shit out of us. Poor thing. We spent the whole night in the ED, got many shots, and were also treated to various forms of medical punishment before we made our way back to our wrecked home. So, I'm just saying, it's legitimately a reason someone might not call you back.
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| This truly is the picture of the wrecked guest room post feral cat | |
The amount that Melissa is referring to is the extra $300 we had to pay above the usual appraisal price for someone to go all the way out of San Diego. I get it. An extra 20 minute drive equals fewer inspections you can do in a day, but ... really? And since we paid $800 for that appraisal, it would have been nice to have some better service from Appraiser Person.
At 1749 that same Monday, I wrote to Melissa saying I knew she'd let us know asap when she heard about the appraisal but since the contingency removal was due that day...
In reality Chris (my Chris here) was worried and I... around this time I was starting to find it difficult to care a whole lot mostly because there wasn't anything I could do about it. Oh, I wanted the home... it's just... I guess my ability to be anxious was hampered by my other anxieties.
In any case, Melissa sent us a screen shot of some conversation she had been having with Chris of loan land in which they discussed how the Seller's agent was being copacetic (as she was having the same problem with several other sales) and, eventually, that the appraiser actually had been in touch with Chris.
Unfortunately the Appraisal Person didn't get the things done that day. And that day was the contingency removal date. So on Tuesday, June 15th, Melissa called me to check in. I was still in bed being someone who can't seem to get into some regular schedule so sometimes I'm up at 7 and other times I'm up at 10:48. Melissa talked about contacting Chris (of loan land) and about how she'd said to him, "You know, on page six of the appraisal is all these other people who worked on this appraisal with appraisal person." (Because of course Melissa read it!) "Can't you try getting in touch with one of them?" At which Chris (of loan land) said he hadn't read the thing and... "uh... yeah... that's a good idea!" Melissa can't quite believe when people aren't as detailed, scrupulous, and exceptional as she is.
Happily, the Seller's agent was still cool.
At 1606 that same day the Appraisal was approved and we quickly signed the things to remove the contingency, a day late. We don't know if other appraisal people were involved but it got done and that's what matters.
The next morning, Wednesday the 16th, I had a cavity filled. I had some weird cramping in my stomach too, which I prayed was not due to the gluten free sushi I'd had the night before. We also heard through Melissa that the Sellers were having the well inspected that day and the septic the following. That afternoon we finally got a response from the Sellers about our request for repairs, which, combined with the well and septic reports, was what we needed in order to close the inspection contingency -now a day overdue as well.
The response to our request for credit and repair was not what we wanted. Of the things we asked for, like having the place cleaned professionally when they moved out (remember my desire not to put my hands in that bleh toilet?) and having the rat poo cleaned up, they agreed to none of it. We asked for $5.1K in credit for a bunch of other things that were not ideal about the home, including section 1 work (that is stuff that normally sellers have to take care of) which was estimated at $2.3K. Of all of that they agreed to $2.2K only. And they said they were going to fix the stairs outside (one of the things factored into the $5.1K we asked for) and finish a shelving unit in the master bathroom.
Okay... but we didn't ask for either of those things to be done. Just the credit and cleaning. As Chris (my Chris) points out, we don't want them doing the work as they're likely to fix stuff the cheapest way possible. Or create a shelf out of decent wood that they then paint white like the rest of the wood in the house; or worse, they make it out of particle board that they then cover with flowered contact paper *shudder.* We asked for not the lowest amount for everything we wanted, but lower than the median price for things in general, and didn't ask for a few things that were just cheap to fix anyway. And we did this knowing that we'd spend more on replacing or fixing the stuff, but at least we'd have a low normal cost for the thing to offset the higher price. Sigh.
When I got home from the dentist (remember, I was at the dentist), I took a brief nap after some ibuprofen for my tum. Getting up for an 8am dentist appointment leaves me wanting in the sleep department. I napped until early afternoon and then took some more ibuprofen. It had clearly helped but I needed more. I texted the folks who might have expected me to do some work that day, put myself on our loud orange chair with a drink and a blanket nearby in case of need and lolled in and out of sleep. I also tried to eat some oatmeal and mostly failed. It hurt to eat.
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| Mom swore that *I* thought the orange color was amazing and therefore I inherited it | |
Chris returned from work at about 1300. We generally discussed the annoyance of the Seller's response to our request and he made sympathetic faces about my tummy hurt. Around 1400ish I took some more ibuprofen. I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, Chris was googling.
"Does it hurt more when you move?" he asked. I agreed that it did, and he said that was one of the signs that you might honestly have a problem.
I was skeptical. Honestly, I have had a pain like this one before. It was worse pain, but that time it was a hemorrhagic cyst that burst on my ovary. And you know what? The medical people were Not. Impressed. At. All. There's nothing like going to the ED with excruciating pain to be told after eight hours that there isn't anything really wrong with you... are you sure it really hurt that much? I was not eager to repeat this.
I reluctantly agreed to go to Urgent Care where at least our copay wouldn't be hundreds of dollars to be told nothing is wrong with me.
Chris drove.
I groaned.
He dropped me off at what we thought was the entrance to urgent care (they need some lessons on sign placement) and went to park the car.
I wobbled towards the entrance once I figured out that I wasn't actually at the entrance, when a nice security guard was like "Uh... hey, lets get you a wheel chair..." And I was like "No need to be dramatic! Oh, I like your hair. *wheeze*" Regardless, he got me a wheel chair and a volunteer named Laura came and whisked me past the line of people getting temperature checked at the front desk and wheeled me to Urgent Care.
On the way, I started to cry because it hurt quite a bit at that point, and there's nothing like people making a big deal to bring up the fear about having it be "medically insignificant." After three questions, the intake nurse at Urgent Care said "you need to go to emergency," at which point I thought "well, if it's medically insignificant, at least I can say a nurse told me that Urgent Care wouldn't do!"
I was fairly impressed by the ED system.
- They did their intake.
- You sat in the waiting area.
- They called you back to get blood drawn and a catheter put in your arm, just in case.
- You sat in the waiting area.
- Then they called you to go back to the official ED.
Other times I've been to the ED it's been a lot of waiting in the waiting area. Then sometimes you get taken to a hallway but not the actual ED area. And then a phlebotomist comes around at some point with their mobile vampire tray. Can I just say that those mobile trays do not give you what you need (which is a surface on which to place your implements) to do a good job? Anyway, it's not orderly or systematic the way this was.
I was surprised how quickly I was called back to the actual department. I certainly was called back before some other folks who'd been there before me. I realize this is the purpose of intake, they categorize you into varying levels from "This person is wasting our time," which is generally where I've ended up, to "This person might have died a few minutes ago. We should probably see if we can reverse that."
They put me on a surprisingly comfortable gurney not in a room but along side the nurses station. I've never been not in a room at an ED. I rather wonder if that was due to lack of space or the relative need to make sure an alien didn't burst out of my abdomen. Hard to kill it if it happens when I'm alone in a room and all dead cuz of alien bursting out.
A nurse (Wendy) came by fairly swiftly and explained she was my nurse. A doctor even came by fairly quickly after that, which impressed me a lot. The doctor, whose name never seemed very apparent, said the plan was to give me some pain killers, get my blood tests back and then do a CT scan. She may have been the sixth person that day to ask if I'd ever had something like this before which launched me into the cyst story. That necessitated me saying as how I understood that a bursting cyst wasn't "medically significant," but this was hurting in a different place (up high) and wasn't as painful. They gave me a nice blue pill
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| I didn't get to choose between blue or red |
... with a cup of water. I was well impressed. When I'd had the dreaded cyst that gave me 11 out of 10 pain, the hospital had me waiting hours before they gave me fentanyl. Here it had been maybe an hour and a half since I left the house and already I had something to help.
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| Allie Brosh is always worth reading http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/ |
Well, two of my blood samples had been non-viable, so they had to draw them again. I arrogantly muttered something about the nurse who drew the blood not inverting the tubes, though hopefully not loudly enough for the staff to hear. The nurse who drew the second time didn't invert the tubes either. Sigh.
But you know what's great? Having a catheter in your arm so they don't have to stab you again!
And then we settled in for a long wait. The only thing I could really see from my gurney was the clock, and I spent an inordinate amount of time figuring out on which seconds the minute hand moved. Turned out to be 14, 29, 45, and 00. Chris was great and helped me figure those things out, made me laugh sometimes, we defied HIPAA and people watched. The blue pill was magic and my pain was almost not noticeable.
At some point we communicated with Melissa that we couldn't respond to the Seller's counter offer tonight cuz of circumstances. She was most dismayed at my state and sympathetic about the pain. In that pain and drug bleared state I texted back something about how having the cyst on my ovary and having an IUD placed was more painful than this. Chris, who helps me reel in the weird so I don't scare the locals, expressed how I was oversharing. This is a very important thing for me to realize, and I even felt abashed for a few minutes despite the drugs.
Then Melissa wrote back a personal story related to what I'd said and I was relieved to identify that, yeah, it would have been too much sharing for many folks, but between people with vulva/uterus anatomy... well, yeah, we do talk about this kind of thing and think nothing much of it.
I sent Chris home around 1700 to do dinner for himself and the animals. I entreated him to bring my phone when he returned, which he did around 1930. The doctor had come back around to emit surprise that I hadn't had my CT scan yet, but said we were still waiting on my lab results. She explained that you don't want to do a CT scan if your kidneys aren't working (which the lab results would tell). I'm not sure if that's because without the kidneys you can't excrete the radioactive dye they inject you with or because then they don't need the CT scan to know what your problem is.
My results came back normal except for my sodium which was too low. A second electrolyte test revealed that it had only been due to dehydration which was now fixed because of the natural saline they had me on, and I was wheeled off for CT.
The only other time I've had a CT scan was with the cyst and it's more dull than you'd think. They inject you with radioactive isotopes and explain that they may make your mouth taste a bit metallic and give you "a flush." What they don't tell you is that the flush will be centered around your genitals, but perhaps they think you'll figure it out. Then you get on a narrow plank that they've thoughtfully put a knee bolster on, and you slide back and forth like a pickle through a donut a few times breathing and exhaling only when they tell you.
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| The only exciting bit is that I don't often get to be the penis |
Then I got driven back upstairs to resume my watch on the clock's minute hand. It still ticked at 14, 29, 45, and 00, although I acknowledge that that could be slightly inaccurate due to my angle.
I truly didn't have to wait long before the doctor came back. I was just posting on Facebook that I am probably just fine... when the doctor said, "Well, you have appendicitis."
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| This was me on FB saying "I'm probably fine... Oops, just kidding!" |
Truly, I was surprised and enthralled. Me? A real problem they wouldn't tell me I imagined? I excitedly told the doctor how pleased I was to have an actual issue and explanation for the pain.
After that things moved very quickly. I was given a covid test, which by that time -thanks to the little blue pill, was the most painful thing that had happened to me in hours.
William from intake, who'd popped 'round before, came back and formalized my intake. Honestly, of all the people who made me feel more comfortable that evening, William did it best. He told me they do appendectomies every night, at least once, often up to six times. It's so routine, there was nothing to worry about. Nice person.
A student surgeon visited and clumsily told me about the procedure. His lack of flow didn't seem due to lack of knowledge. He simply had that common surgeon personality. You know, the one that isn't so great at peopling? (To be fair, I can relate.) I know this guy was a bit different because even Chris noticed and commented on it when he left.
He explained that they were concerned about the water I'd drunk to take the blue pill and that as soon as it was deemed safe for me to be under anesthesia, that's what we were going to do.
Soon someone came to wheel me up to pre-op. Chris also took his leave because there was no sense in him waiting around to find out if I was going to need to stay in the hospital overnight. In pre-op they had me finally put on a patient gown. I'm well impressed they managed with me in my clothing up until then.
The nurse (Katie) tried to get all kinds of information and various medications inside of me while I was visited by the anesthesiologist, then the surgeon. The anesthesiologist was a lovely seeming person who told me useful things, none of which I remember. She asked about my medication allergies, former surgeries, family allergies and generally put me at ease. She also scoffed at the idea that a cup of water 5 hours prior was anything to worry about. She pointed out they were about to give me at least that much with which to swallow more pills.
The surgeon interrupted the nurse in mid sentence, told me generally what the student surgeon had told me, asked me if I had questions, and seemed slightly irritated when I did. All in all, I would describe his bedside manner as "intelligent lizard seems surprised and put out that other people exist."
In case you're interested, the laparoscopic way of doing an appendectomy involves making four incisions (though they told me three, so that was a surprise) on the opposite side of your tum. Then they insert a blow-y thing to pump your tummy up with gas (gives them room to maneuver), a camera so they can see what they're doing, and their tools. I don't know what the fourth is for because they told me three incisions. Whatever. Then the have a stick-like sewing tool that the sew shut the appendix with so your intestinal stuff stays inside your intestines when they chop off your appendix. Then they drag it out the incision on the other side of your body.
The nurse came back when Dr. Lizard left and continued her questions and medication administration. She gave me something else that she admitted makes people's junk warm (though she said it differently). I explained as how that's what happened in CT but they wouldn't talk about the perineum. She laughed. She covered with with a metallic blanket which put me in the mind of having run a marathon, although really it was just my mind trying to find something to focus on other than being about to have holes cut in me. It seemed like pre-op took about 15 minutes, though I bet it was at least 30 minutes. Soon they were wheeling me to the surgery room.
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| I also posted this on FB trying to distract myself from imminent surgery. I said I'm the lunch lady. |
The surgery room is a bit intimidating. I had sort of thought they might put me out before I arrived there. That's sort of what you see on TV, right? Nope. The surgery room is lit up like a football stadium at night. Good for seeing I'm sure, but it totally felt like I'd gone outside at noon. They wheeled me up to a surgery table and asked if I could scoot over to it. I did. Seemed nicer than asking them to help.
The surgery table is super narrow. Better to not be bending over a person, but seriously one of my arms had no support. I couldn't figure this out until I realized that my other arm was literally held up by only straps, as if I was someone strapped to a stretcher for transport out of the mountains. At some point someone noticed this and flipped up some support thing for my other arm.
Everyone there had on a surgery uniform, which made them look more like aliens than humans. They each had a clear job and scurried about doing it with seeming alacrity.
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| Surgery uniforms make folks look not entirely human |
It appeared to be the job of two individuals to deal with me. They were those who asked me to move to the surgery table. They asked me to untie my gown (I'd really wondered how they were going to deal with it as they had me put it on with the opening to the back). One of them noticed the dangling arm business.
They put oxygen on me with one of those triangular face masks with the squishy against-the-face business. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I mentioned this and they unstrapped it and held it against my face by hand, which didn't help at all. Things were so busy that I couldn't really discuss this, but I eventually figured out that the reason it felt like I couldn't get a full breath was maybe because it was entirely oxygen coming through the mask. And you don't need as big a breath if you're getting 100% oxygen, so maybe the air flow rate had been adjusted so that you didn't get too much oxygen...? So, I moderately calmed down finding that I still felt like I might potentially suffocate, but my body didn't seem to be having that suffocating feeling. So, probably things were fine. They kept telling me various things, like that they were giving me saline in my IV and then, Dr. Lizard came in.
It was like the guru had arrived and everyone was hushed and scurried less loudly than before. Dr. Lizard spoke. "Ok, today we're doing an API. Patient has moderate acute..." It took me a few moments to realize he wasn't checking with me, he was dictating the plans to everyone else. I was all about to ask questions when I realized that could be seen as impertinent in this situation. I was considering being slightly miffed that they paid no attention to me.
The last thing I recall was him saying "So we're just waiting for Dr. Wadhwani." That is the anesthesiologist. I was hoping to see her. She made me feel safe. And then I was out. I was rather hoping they'd tell me when they were knocking me out, but maybe they did and I just forgot.
I don't know if the post-op nurse was trying to wake me or if I woke up of my own accord. I do know I was having a dream, (which is apparently weird for anesthesia) but I don't recall what it was. I do know it was weird.
It was rather lovely that I woke up with someone right there. She introduced herself (Stacey I believe), and I tried to ask if my appendix had been perforated. One of those things that was going to complicate matters and that they had some concern over because the CT scan showed fluid in my belly. My actual question was something like "perfo...rrrrr....d?" Which Stacey clearly had experience with and assured me that no, it hadn't been and everything went just fine.
At that point I started to cry as well as one can when you're also coughing and also can't cough because your belly has holes glued together in it. (I later found out that not only does being intubated tend to make people cough and have a sore throat, but also they'd failed to intubate me the first time they tried as the tube was too big and it got caught on my cricoid bone. So, they'd had the anesthesiologist do it the second time with a smaller tube. You know... if they'd asked me I could have told them I tend towards the smallness of the head areas...) Stacey assured me that crying was a normal response to anesthesia and sopped up my tears with some of the sandpaper tissues hospitals no doubt get for free from military surplus. I felt real bad about this because there's nothing quite like a black woman literally soaking up a white woman's tears, but the irony only made me sob harder. I asked a variety of semi-intelligible questions, including if I could see my appendix, which I was disappointed they denied me, and Stacey interpreted my questions correctly each time. And then I realized Chris wasn't there and he'd be worried and mumble-cried something about if anyone had contacted him.
She misinterpreted my question just slightly saying that they didn't usually let people come back to post-op with patients, but she thought that it would help me given how I was feeling. That was fine with me. I really just wanted to know that someone had assured him I was still alive, but having him there was better so I didn't correct her. I didn't have the energy anyway.
Chris stopped at the pharmacy before arriving so that I wouldn't have to wait on the way home. Sweetly, he bought everything they recommended including the bottles of ibuprofen and acetaminophen despite the fact that we have two enormous bottles at home from Buy BIG (Save $0.03).
When he got there I started to bawl all over again. I sobbed out to him and Stacey as how I felt like a horrible person. They both assured me this was untrue but that didn't stop me from feeling horrible. And if they really looked at my life, I was sure they'd be forced to agree that I came up wanting in some regards. I did have enough presence of mind though to understand when Stacey said it was the anesthesia talking and also that I didn't usually feel this way.
Then I got chatty. The poor soul on the gurney next to me had reported 7 out of 10 pain and had to stay at the hospital. I felt right badly about that, but it apparently didn't stop me from being a chatter box once Stacey had given me three hits of Fentanyl and, when those didn't quite do it, two hits of Dilaudid. I truly can't remember if I really felt that much pain. I know that after that second dose of Dilaudid, my pain was down to a 2 and I was high as a kite but not in the recreational drug manner, sadly.
Soon thereafter they got me more than ice cubes which Stacey had been spoon feeding me from a cup. I had some diabetic juice (because I don't eat sugar), which I sipped rather quickly until Stacey asked how I was feeling and I reported "rather sick" and she made me stop. Then I had disgusting diabetic jello in yellowish orange flavor. I relatively snarfed that up too because I hadn't had more than a few bites that day, and I'd been told I had to pee before I could go home and I was going to pee, damn it!
I shouldn't have been concerned. Stacey was giving me natural saline at a fast pace and as soon as she asked if I could sit up, I knew urine was not far behind. I feel exceptionally lucky that they decided they did not need to wait for me to poop because... it would be days before that was a possibility.
Stacey went over the discharge instructions with us, many of which I remembered.
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| This was me in the wheelchair about to go home, posting on FB for sympathy and moral support. Notice the droopy drug eye? |
Then I went home!!! I was so happy to be home and hear the familiar sounds and be with familiar smells. I got to sleep around 2am and Chris stayed home with me the next day.
The day after that, my sister arrived to take care of stuff while I was recovering because she is The Best. I slept about 18 hours a day for the three days following surgery. Basically, my life became a big nap punctuated by occasional oatmeal. It's now been weeks; and I still feel the need to nap most days especially if I do anything like grocery shop, although my body does now give me a choice about whether or not I fall asleep. I feel that is kind of it.
Somewhere in there (it's all a bit foggy), Chris and I worked out a response to the Seller's response to our request for credit and repairs. It was Thursday, June 17th and we re-asked for professional cleaning, Chris having assured me that he could figure out how to clean up rat poo and not get Hantavirus at the same time. And we asked for a round $3K.
This is pretty much where I lost the thread of home buying entirely. You might think I had a darn good excuse, but I was sort of losing it prior to this too. It's just that after this, I really truly had no idea when something was due and what things had been done when, nor what the rest of the process was supposed to be. And you know what? Chris stepped up and took care of it all!
I think I have generally operated on the idea that Chris won't take care of certain things because ... well there are certain things he just doesn't. But something was due, on some day, and I was home lolling around somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when Chris texted our group text with Melissa talking about some due date for something and were we all set? And I was all, "Huh. I totally forgot all about that... and home buying in general." And then... there were things that needed following up with. I'd tell you what they were but I don't remember. But he did them!
At this point, the contingencies left to remove were the inspection and loan. I don't know if it's standard for a contingency to go back and forth with negotiations the way this one did, but even though the Sellers responded to our repair/credit request the day after the contingency removal period (after they'd had it for a few days), and we responded the day after that even though it was only a day past my surprise surgery, they still took their sweet time responding again. (This didn't keep them from reminding us when we'd had one of their responses to consider for only a day.)
They did respond on June 21. They gave us nothing. At least, nothing new. They didn't back out of their original plan to "repair" the steps and build a bathroom closet and credit us $2.2K. But they wouldn't agree to put the railing on the steps, which is necessary for code, nor to any more money.
We were quite peeved at this. We honestly felt that the original request was reasonable, and that our response to their response, was also quite reasonable. It seemed like meeting them in the middle. But a response of giving no leeway felt like a failure to play the negotiating game and a failure to be reasonable at the same time.
In hindsight, it's likely they have some similar thoughts along those lines about us. I'm not entirely sure how, but it seems likely that we could have worked this out if we were allowed to talk with them person to person. Maybe with his elderly mother, the guy really needs that extra $700. Maybe they have a friend who's a professional cleaner who's going to help them and not charge. Maybe they like having shit stains in the bottom of their toilet... Who knows?
So we puffed and fumed and generally got all worked up about how they could endanger a sale over $700 (and a professional house cleaning). And then we boiled and seethed that they thought they could strong arm us into endangering the sale over $700 (and a professional house cleaning). I asked if it was too late to offer to bring tacos to the closing. And then we acknowledged that they really did have the majority of the cards here. The likelihood that they had another sale lined up was high. And ...frankly, we knew they could get more money for this home if they wanted. So we backed down and agreed to all of it. But not without Chris saying he hopes that if, after the 44 days we wrote that they're allowed to stay in the house if needed after close, they want to stay longer, he gets to say "NO! Get out of our house!"
It was also on this day that the loan contingency got removed. There's special paperwork for the removal of the last contingency (which was the inspections, not the loan), so we did all that. And then, escrow asked if we want to close early.
YES!!! I'd been anxious about the fact that I'll be in AZ sweating my butt off at the actual close. It would have necessitated paying for a second mobile notary, or a power of attorney. So late on the 25th I got a call while I was in the hospital visiting a close human with congestive heart failure (he was worse off than I was so he won the "who has to visit whom" contest) to set up a signing later that evening.
Here is where I am reminded that hinting is not effective. Oh sure, many people find my fairly direct approach to communication off putting. I get that. But when the Title person called me and I said "Oh, I'm visiting someone in the hospital..." in response to her question about how I was, hinting was proved ineffective when she followed up by asking me to coordinate with Chris (my Chris) to find a time we could sign the paper work that evening. I was grumpy, but then again, I hadn't said this wasn't a good time and could she actually work with Chris to arrange something.
Many irritating text messages ensued in the wonky way that phone technology functions when there isn't adequate signal. Eventually it was settled that Stephan would come to our place where we would lock the dog in the bedroom and sign mountains of paperwork.
Stephan the mobile notary showed up at 1900 and ... we closed. I'd say more about it, but really it's just a boring mountain of paperwork that I skimmed and Chris signed with perfect trust.
We got a house y'all!
Yay!!!!!! 💕HM
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