1--On Turning 65

I turned 65 I had no idea of the changes life would put me through. I moved from a 3/2 house to a 1400 square foot apartment, then was placed in a memory care center--as in dementia and Alzheimer's care, and most recently to a group home.

When my mother died, she left my inheritance in a trust fund. Basically, if you are fortunate enough to have a trust at a bank, its existence means that somebody didn't trust you to spend the money in a responsible way. The trust is left with a bank or an individual who pays the bills and doses out beneficiary money, as little as possible going directly to the beneficiary, while still meeting the individual's needs. This way of doing business keeps the spending of money out of the hands of the beneficiary of the trust.

I picked the bank that held the trust for nine years. At first the payments were arranged to suit my needs. As the amount of the trust decreased over time, the bankers were less concerned about meeting my needs and more concerned about the money they were no longer making because the amount of money held by the trust went down.

After seven years of holding the trust, the bank sent me a letter saying that they were resigning as the trustee and that I would have to find another entity to manage my trust. I did some research and chose an attorney who didn't work out. When I met the man, he was all smiles and happy stories about how a trust managed by him would meet my financial and personal needs. When I called him to make further arrangements, he was not available. He didn't answer his phone, he didn't return phone calls, and he didn't respond to my emails. I had started the process with him but it turned out badly.

I had such a negative experience with my first choice, I was hesitant to try again. The senior trust manager was most unhelpful in getting me to a new entity to manage my trust. He had an account at each of the banks he had listed for me. Handling an account for two clients in the same situation would be a conflict of interest. The trust manager knew that when he gave me the names and phone numbers. He enjoyed sending me around in circles, taking my time and getting me nowhere.

The first hearing with the judge was not a hearing. It was a telling. The hearing was conducted over the phone. Each time I started to inform the judge of my situation; she started talking. I wasn't given the opportunity to speak. Consequent the first hearing designated me as an" incompetant." The trust manager mowed. over

me and I lost all of my rights.

money or transact business regarding money. I lost my right to vote. I lost my right to drive a car. I lost my right to make my own medical decisions.

I lost my right to decide where I lived. Along the way I also lost my Black Labrador Retriever and my shy black cat. In a well-conceived ploy, the trust manager had given meme a list of possible trustees, but he had an account at all the eight institutions. He had an account at each one. I was told over and over that they already had an account in the trust managers name, and they couldn't take my trust because it would be a conflict of interest. The trust manager knew that when he gave .me the list of names and phone numbers.

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The trust manager filed legal papers to have me removed from my home and relieve me of all of my personal possessions. My apartment was packed up, moved to a storage facility, and then auctioned away. I lost my furniture, my kitchenware, my books, my albums, my framed college diploma, my multiple sizes of clothes--everything that takes up space in living. It was too much to cry about. Even the concept is overwhelming. Everything that I had, that I considered my own, was gone. I'd never heard of anything like this happening, but it's happened to me. And it happened at the same time that I was needing to sign up with Medicare and Social Security. The trust gave me absolutely no help.

wasn't good about planning for big payments like house taxes, car insurance, and medical expenses. The trust managed my inheritance by investing for me, and then paying for what was due in a timely manner. I needed their help applying for Medicare and Social Security, but they were not available. They aggressively neglected me from getting any kind of the help I needed.

One sunny October afternoon, I had left my apartment to walk to the store for a Coke. I had an issue of falling down for no particular reason with very little warning. I would fall two--three times per week, resulting in multiple bruises and several broken bones. This particular afternoon, I fell on a dirt sidewalk near a busy intersection as two police cars were passing by.

I was on the ground and unable to get up quickly. If I had only dressed in a more conservative manner, I might not have had the problems I ended up with. I was wearing a Jockey women's undershirt with no bra, and jeans. In my purse I had a little over $400.00. My debit card had been stolen (by agents of the trust manager) and I needed to buy groceries and transact other financial business. I had the money in a baggie because I had bad luck holding on to cards in my wallet. I had no vehicle and was getting all my rides from Lyft. More than once my driver's license had ended up on the floor of a Lyft car. A baggie was sufficient to hold money until I had a chance to purchase a replacement wallet.

The five police officers took the offensive from the start. I was slow getting to my feet and they left me to my own devices.

I had been involved with the paramedics due to falling down in my apartment, and not being able to get up. As time passed, my situation and I became the subject of paramedic gossip. At one time, I had fallen but recovered my feet, and had gone upstairs to the second floor. When I tried to walk my legs would not hold me up. I crawled to my apartment with the paramedics watching. When I was almost to my door, halfway down the breezeway from the stairs to my apartment, one of the paramedics suggested he get a wheelchair to help. I looked at him, and looked down the breezeway to find and I was halfway to my apartment. I elected to continue on hands and knees.

I said, "I left my apartment under my own power, and I plan to get back in under my own power."

The paramedics watched me to the entry of my apartment, and I became the woman who crawled back to her apartment because she couldn't walk.

Having had so many experiences with the paramedics, my brain reverted to a recurring problem. I had put on weight and was nearly 200 pounds. I had a fear of being dropped from the stretcher by well-meaning but weak paramedics. It never would have happened, but I was overly sensitive about my weight gain, and truly afraid of being dropped along the path to the ambulance. Some of the paramedics are rather slight of build. I had gotten in the habit of asking how much they weighed before they took me out of my apartment.

So, not realizing that I was dealing with a different set of uniformed civil servants, and not caring paramedics, I asked the usual question about how much they weighed. Two of the officers weighed 150 pounds, through two others were 175ish, and the senior police officer was 6' 3 " at 230 pounds. The tallest officer was the leader of the group.

Between the slutty summer attire, my falling to the ground and being unsteady, the police officers were on the offensive.


I was walking to the store, which was a half mile away, to get my afternoon Coca-Cola. I fell down on a dirt path with a steep grade which was not well maintained by the contractors at the commercial building site beyond the sidewalk.

The lead policeman asked me what I was doing with so much money. I had a little over $400. in my purse. My debit cards had been stolen and I had shopping to do. I didn't realize at the time that he had picked up my purse where I had dropped to the ground. I was trying to get back to my feet, The lead officer took his advantage and said something designed to make me lose my cool. And I did. I was provoked. I extended my right arm with an open hand and began to slap one of Dallas's finest. He blocked my swing before it got started. I was then cuffed and escorted to the back seat of a police car. When I was politely pushed into the backseat. I went into the quite normal behavior of kicking, screaming, and other antics involved in trying to extract myself from such a confined situation.

A younger police officer sat in the front seat, asking me, "Do you want to go to Green Oaks (psychiatric hospital) or do you want to go to jail?"

I answered "jail" initially. I've never been arrested, and I remembered a boyfriend telling me I wouldn't do well in jail. The officer asked me again, and I said Green Oaks.

After the fact I realized I should've stuck with jail. There was no reason to arrest me. I had fallen down on the sidewalk, and I couldn't get up. To this point no Incident report with a case number had been written. There was no reason to arrest me. I opted for them to take me to Green Oaks. I am bipolar, and I knew from my behaviors that I was manic. What I really wanted to have them do was to help me back to my apartment. They treated me like a criminal, despite the fact that I had a medical problem. They decided they had caught a bad one. I was dressed very casually; I had a lot of cash. I had let my bipolar psychotic anger lose on them.

I understand that they proceeded with their most logical assessment of the situation. They were totally wrong. I ended up paying a high price for their mishandling my situation. Without my purse I had no identification, like my driver's license, my social security card, and my Medicare card. The police had not returned my purse to me. When I checked with the psych hospital a few days later, they said they had the money in my plastic baggie, but no purse.

I don't remember my arrival at the psych hospital, but I was admitted. This wasn't the first time i couldn't remember what happened during a psych hospital admission. I blamed a possible psych med shot for my lack of memory

Continued on "2--The Psychiatric Hospital"