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Oof. Heartbreakingly familiar. Last week I was on the phone with a nurse about getting a handicapped placard for when we take our dad anywhere. She politely explained that there didn't seem to be any diagnosis that would qualify for a need for this. Apparently being 92, slow, and easily out-of-breath isn't enough. And then, once we jumped through all the hoops to convince the nurse to talk to the doctor to get this approved, they sent a form that the local DMV refused to honor because it hasn't been used since 2018. After dragging our dad to the DMV (because he must show up in person), the DMV clerk handed us the current form - which looks eerily similar to the 2018 form - and said we would have to go back to the doctor to have the whole thing re-filled out and signed. God-forbid they staple the forms together and call it a day! Sigh!

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URGHGHKGHGHGGHHGHGH. This makes me so mad with you. Sending love.

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