“For every subtle an complicated question, there is a perfectly simple and straightforward answer, which is wrong.”  – H. L. Mencken

Maybe this is about health care; maybe it’s about health insurance; maybe it’s about parenting a mildly mentally disabled adult.  Then again, maybe it’s just me trying to get my thoughts in order, because this is one bizarre story.  One with a happy ending.  I think.

I remember when the whole thing started, as clearly as if it were yesterday.  I flew in from San Diego, picked Duckie up from work and headed 2 hours north, into the next State, for a short vacation.  That day was the first of the manifestations.

“My leg hurts,” Duckie said.

“Where?”

“Right here.”  Duckie rubbed deep on the top of her left thigh.

“You did work an 8 hour day.”

Duckie is a courtesy clerk at the local grocery store.  She bags your groceries, loads blocks of salt and dog food into your car, and brings all those carts back to the store.  When the weather is nice, she walks the 3 miles to work and back.   She enjoys the walk; it’s part of her weight management plan.  Besides being a bit overweight, Duckie is in great physical shape.  Her normal work schedule is 15-20 hours a week, in 4 hour shifts.  Sharing Duckie’s life gives me a whole new appreciation