Friday, August 31, 2007

Co-op board woes, still

I can’t remember the last time I felt so despondent, frustrated, and just plain powerless. I will never know why the co-op board rejected my buyer. He is a doctor with a six-figure salary and a debt-to-income ratio of 15%. I had to let go of the Roosevelt Island apartment. It had been so hard to find a landlord who would take me with my only income being my disability check. I was close to a beautiful apartment about three weeks ago, and I didn’t get past the final approval. So I was ecstatic that this building would work with me.

So now I am back to square one, showing the apartment all over again. My realtor is going to re-submit the buyer’s application with additional assets this week. But I don’t know what my board wants. They are not obligated to tell me either. My email to the board members re-explaining my situation, and asking for their help in telling me what they are looking for, was ignored. I have lived in this building for 23 years, and these are my neighbors!

For someone in my condition, there are even more complications with going to stay somewhere else temporarily. If I went to the family out of NYC, the bureaucracy involved with getting my case transferred, would be a mess. By the time it was straightened out, I would probably have the apartment sold, and ready to come back. And I would lose my CD-PAP (consumer-directed care plan), and the aides with whom I have an established relationship. They would all get different jobs while I was away, and I probably would not get them back. Ditto for the social worker’s suggestion that I go to a nursing home for “respite care”. Not to mention that other people’s homes aren’t modified for accessibility, and NOBODY KNOWS how disruptive the presence of an ALS patient is in the home.

So I met yesterday with the real estate division of the company that manages my building. Maybe they can find a buyer more “suitable”, that the board will approve. Maybe they are in te “inside track” and can figure out what this board, who rejected my buyer without even an interview, wants. And it seems that I can get into the bathroom and/or shower every few days or so; on the other days, I get sponge-bathed. As this disease progresses, I begin to accept things that, just a few months ago, were unacceptable to me. Like bathing outside the bathroom, or sitting on a portable commode. Things I am happy no one ever told me would happen. Things I would never have imagined I would think are normal and okay.


paperpest said...

I can't understand their refusing to even interview your prospective buyer. The nursing home respite idea sounds terrible. Best of luck. I hope you can move before winter sets in.

Anonymous said...

I hope things get better for you soon. I know the frustration you must be feeling.. my mother passed away in June 2002 from complications associated with ALS. I'll keep you in my thoughts.

Anonymous said...

I am so sorry. How frustrating to run up against Board disapproval, for no apparent reason, and to feel so abandoned by your neighbors. That is a terrible position to be in.

I will send positive thoughts into the Universe, with the hopes of the Board re-evaluating their position and accepting your buyer.

I will also be thinking of you, and hoping this all comes to a positive conclusion quickly, so you can move on.

I know it must be overwhelming and depressing, but try to keep positive and something good will happen.

Take care.

Anonymous said...

Fern your words about having to accept things that were previously unimaginable really moved me. I spent 14 months nursing my FIL who was a ventilator dependant ALS patient. I have extensive experience with caregiving, and I tell everyone that of every ailment I've encountered, ALS is the most cruel.
However, in some people it brings out the most amazing courage and strength.
I will say a prayer that the details of your living situation get worked out as beneficially as possible.
Your mind, that most precious and unique entity which makes you you, that is the one thing this disease can not take away. So your intelligence, humor, love, and appreciation for that fragile thing we call life will remain intact.