I walked in the room and sighed. This wasn't going to work. My worst client ever (let's call her Mrs. WCE) stood there, looking pretty darn good for her 70+ years. Wrapped in a dark mink coat, and wearing red leather gloves and high boots, her dark brown hair was fresh from the beauty parlor. Mrs. WCE wore bright red lipstick and a little "rouge," and was eager to get going. She was basically a nice person, but a nightmare as a client, constantly asking me the same questions over and over, and just generally annoying me on a daily basis. She had told me that she didn't think a woman could be a good lawyer and that attitude just added to my anxiety.
I'd be driving both of us to her Medicare hearing. (For those of you outside the US, Medicare is our national health insurance for folks 65 and over and some others who are disabled). Medicare had denied her claim for coverage for surgery and thousands of dollars, which my client did not have, were at stake.
The thought of losing made me sick to my stomach, particularly since I wasn't feeling confident. I had left my legal aid job years earlier, but had agreed to take on this case "pro bono." Medicare has an unbelievably thick set of regulations, rivaled in complexity only by the IRS regulations. I just didn't know much about Medicare. I had never represented the elderly when I was at legal aid, as there was a lawyer there who only handled elderly clients. I tried to study the regulations, but every time I thought I understood, I'd find another exception. So I was pretty nervous. Heck, I was terrified because, deep down I knew that, for this matter, Mrs. WCE had the WLE (worst lawyer ever). I'd just prove to her that women couldn't be good lawyers.
Mrs. WCE had had her eyelids lifted. She needed this operation, not to look younger, but because her drooping eyelids were obstructing her sight and she couldn't drive safely without the operation. The plastic surgeon did the procedure, knowing that Medicare covered such medically necessary matters. But Medicare declined coverage, claiming that the surgery was "plastic" surgery and not medically necessary. The doc was looking for his money. I put him off, explaining that the matter was under appeal and that I wasn't charging Mrs. WCE any money for my representation.
Litigation is a show and details mattered, particularly when you aren't sure about the law. I didn't want Mrs. WCE looking like she cared how she looked. Plus, I didn't want it took look like she had any money, especially since she, in fact, did not have any money.
"Could you please take off the makeup and ditch the mink?"
Mrs. WCE looked unhappy. "Why? I love this coat. I never get to dress up. And, I don't want that Judge thinking I'm an idiot."
Apparently, Mrs. WCE equated wearing a decades old, no longer politically correct, mink coat with looking like a non-idiot.
So I told her, "Well, if you wear makeup, it might look like you care about how you look and got your eyes done to look better. And I don't want the Judge to think you can afford to pay this bill. It might influence him. Better to look a little desperate."
Mrs. WCE looked at me for a moment and said, "That's sneaky. I like that in a lawyer."
She left and came back, face clean, with no mink and no red leather gloves.
***
The hearing room was a windowless room, furnished with a cheap table and some chairs. The administrative law judge sat at the head of the table. In these administrative matters, there is no "other side." It was just the 3 of us. It wasn't a formal trial, and
when if we lost, we could appeal to Federal Court, where Medicare would be represented. That was what I was counting on -- by then maybe I could find a lawyer who had a clue.
The judge had a pen and some paper in front of him, with tons of books on a shelf behind him. I had a binder summarizing the Medicare regulations, and assorted other books and notes and my questions for my client. I could feel myself shaking. Mrs. WCE sat there smiling.
The judge indicated that I should begin.
I turned to my client and said, "Please state your name and address."
Mrs. WCE burst out laughing.
The judge turned to me and said, "She's your mother?"
"Yes."
The judge laughed and said, "I figured. Our parents just can't see us as anything but their kids. Go on."
And I did, getting my Mom to explain the reason for her surgery, cutting her off every time she tried to explain about having to drive to go to Bingo because I wouldn't go with her, or how her head still hurt from the surgery. We got out her story. The judge didn't say a word.
Finally, it was my turn to make my argument, explaining how Medicare was in error. This wasn't going to be pretty. But, before I could say a word, the Judge interrupted.
"Hand me the bills and the Medicare denial."
I did. He looked them over, turned around, and picked up his volume of regulations. After a few moments, he said, "The doctor coded this wrong. He coded it as plastic, not medical. It's a clerical error. I'm overturning the denial. Medicare will pay."
Mrs. WCE let out a shriek. "Joan is so smart! I didn't think she could be a very good lawyer, but she is so smart."
I looked up at the judge, and didn't say a word.
The judge looked at me and smiled. He didn't tell my Mom that I had done nothing to help her other than file the appeal and drive her to the hearing. Rather, the Judge said, "Yes, your daughter is very smart. You are lucky to have her. She did a terrific job. Have a nice day!" Before I could say a word, he left the hearing room.
On the way home, my mom and I celebrated by getting ice cream sundaes. Before we finished, my Mom said, "I know when you went to law school I told you I would never want a woman lawyer. But today I changed my mind. You did a good job. I was foolish back then."
I thought about telling her the truth. But, I just said, "Thanks, Mom. And you were the best client ever."
