Yesterday was always going to be a busy day. Get up early to zoom over to the house and pick up some much need items (books! need books!), over to Mom's doctor's appointment, two different banks, and then back to Karen's in only a couple hours. It's tight, especially given that I didn't sleep a wink the previous night and Mom, even though she's walking independently w/o the walker, still needs me for support and tires easily.
So I'm walking around like a zombie getting everything ready, but when I get out to the CR-V the little remote open-the-doors clicky thing doesn't work. Great, on a day like this, the battery died. But it's a slight inconvenience and it doesn't really matter. Until I put the key in the ignition.
And turn it.
And nothing happens.
No little red signs. No ticks. No rr-rrrs. No nothin'.
My sister tried it, but she too lacked the magical touch. By the time AAA was called and the technician came out, we had passed the point of no return for Mom's appointment. She missed the doctor. And the worst news of all: the battery is completely dead. Not one volt left. The little printout said it's supposed to have something like 400 amps and it had 200. This is an ex-battery.
Great. Now we have to go home to leave the CR-V and pick up another car, like my Pathfinder. So we make it, no trouble. Dad's there and he takes it to our mechanic to get the battery and oil changed. Everything's hunky-dory.
Until I walk into my room. My nightmare this whole time at Karen's is that Dad might feel compelled to clean my room. It's a mess. Even for me, it's a complete wreck. I favor an organizational scheme based on piles, which drives Dad nuts, and he's always trying to get me to clean it, even when I consider it fine. Now that I'm gone, I feared he might take the initiative and just do it.
And he did.
And now I can't find anything. All my books, which were so lovingly organized, now pishaw! Just higgledy-piggledy! Everything is now re-arranged and I don't know where to find anything anymore. Yargh. Turns out he didn't even do it for me: someone's coming to see the bathroom off my room and he didn't want them to walk through a messy room.
Okay, so I get past that; Mom and I get ready to leave. A storm comes! I get rained on while I pack up the Pathfinder.
At this point we're still trying to make it back to Karen's for Mums' 4:00 physical therapy appointment. Despite having to go the bank. And my unfortunate stomach ailment, which I won't discuss here for reasons of tact.
So we get to the bank just fine - despite the rain! - but when I turn the key in the ignition, guess what? In the ignition of a DIFFERENT car from this morning? Oh, wait! It starts and then phizitch!!
Nothing.
I turn it again.
The air bag light comes on.
I bang my head into the steering wheel, "Not again!"
Oh, yes. Again.
I wait a couple minutes and try it. There's that pesky air bag and a few ghostly lights on the dashboard, but that's about it. So. We call AAA. Again. For the SECOND time THAT DAY. Do you know when the last time I called them was? Pro'lly 8 years ago. I must be breaking a record.
We wait, with my unfortunate stomach, and call Karen, who declares Mums and me 'car jinxes'. Until Bret, his rock star blond hair, and his tow truck arrive. It's the battery this time, but it's good. The connections, though? Awful. They're corroded and loose and we should take it to get maintenance as soon as possible or it's just going to happen again.
We've now completely missed Mom's physical therapy appointment, but at least we get home safe. I try to drive my poor, little Pathfinder (Ethel) as softly as possible so as not to shake something loose. But evidently something must have happened, because it won't start today.
Sigh.
I need a horse.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Train of Thought derailed at the station
There are 818 messages in my inbox. I'm not usually good with email, but this is extreme, even for me. Thank goodness for gmail's new 'important' filter. Haven't done more than skimmed the subject lines since June, really. Haven't had the time, what with Mom being sick and taking care of her. Haven't even had the time to write in complete sentences. 'Course, i' they were commands, then they'd be complete sentences, 'cause the subject of the phrase would be understood.
I'm sorry. But I can't sleep. It's 1am, and I've been lying here for an hour waiting to ride the soul train to the sweet Land of Nod, but the engineer got stuck in traffic and everything's runnin' behind schedule. This is not good, because tomorrow starts bright and early and lasts long 'til the 'noon sun sinks to the Western hills. I need my beauty rest. No, I need my let's-not-get-a-migraine-and-forget-how-to-drive rest.
Okay, have run out of things to say. Except this: Alexander Hamilton? Omigod. Handsome! Have you looked at a $10 bill lately? Do so immediately. Chiseled jaw, strong brow, sleek cheek. Mm-hmm. If given my choice of the founding fathers, I'm taking Hamilton. I can't quite get past Washington's wooden teeth. And the name George. Not sexy, the name George. Sort of like Esmerelda. Just not sexy. Alexander, though? Good name! I approve. It's all strong and Alex-Baldwin-like in 'The Hunt for Red October'. Good movie, that. I approve of that, too. Sean Connery as a Russian defector with the worst Russian accent ever; 'course he was Bond, once. My sister asked me how old James Bond is supposed to be in the movies. I thought 30s - 40s, max. She said 40s to 50s! Bond! 50?! I don't see it. Daniel Craig preparing for AARP? I shudder at the thought.
Um. So, that's what happens when I let my mind wander. Imagine that, 24/7! With some random literary references, and you've basically got my brain. Especially sleep deprived. Time for bed, I think, and, hopefully, sleep.
I'm sorry. But I can't sleep. It's 1am, and I've been lying here for an hour waiting to ride the soul train to the sweet Land of Nod, but the engineer got stuck in traffic and everything's runnin' behind schedule. This is not good, because tomorrow starts bright and early and lasts long 'til the 'noon sun sinks to the Western hills. I need my beauty rest. No, I need my let's-not-get-a-migraine-and-forget-how-to-drive rest.
Okay, have run out of things to say. Except this: Alexander Hamilton? Omigod. Handsome! Have you looked at a $10 bill lately? Do so immediately. Chiseled jaw, strong brow, sleek cheek. Mm-hmm. If given my choice of the founding fathers, I'm taking Hamilton. I can't quite get past Washington's wooden teeth. And the name George. Not sexy, the name George. Sort of like Esmerelda. Just not sexy. Alexander, though? Good name! I approve. It's all strong and Alex-Baldwin-like in 'The Hunt for Red October'. Good movie, that. I approve of that, too. Sean Connery as a Russian defector with the worst Russian accent ever; 'course he was Bond, once. My sister asked me how old James Bond is supposed to be in the movies. I thought 30s - 40s, max. She said 40s to 50s! Bond! 50?! I don't see it. Daniel Craig preparing for AARP? I shudder at the thought.
Um. So, that's what happens when I let my mind wander. Imagine that, 24/7! With some random literary references, and you've basically got my brain. Especially sleep deprived. Time for bed, I think, and, hopefully, sleep.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Good news!
I've slept! It was the most beautiful thing in the world. Mmm, sleeping. Better and more welcome than a snog. Saturday night I laid my head on my pillow and drifted happily to the Land of Nod, escorted by a cotillion of sheep. Absobloody amazing.
The trouble, apparently, was not the flu, but detoxing. Ah, detox. How I hate thee. It's sort of a long story, but the gist of it is that one of my migraine meds ran out while my mom was in the hospital and I didn't have a way to get to the doctor so he could renew the prescription. I just titrated myself off the dose gradually over the course of a week-and-a-half and thought it was okay. When I started feeling like the black death, I just figured I'd picked something up from the hospital or my sister's kids. But while browsing the web yesterday, I happened upon information about that drug. And apparently it takes 6 MONTHS to titrate off. Um, yeah. That's just a teensy longer than a week-and-a-half; no wonder I've been feeling like a plague rat.
On a bright note, though, I lost 7 pounds! Not eating for a couple weeks will do that for ya - not recommending it, mind you.
My dad has stopped calling. The first week we were here, he called every night to check in and came by on Sunday. But now there's nothing. No call or voicemail or even e-mail. This is probably the happiest my parents have ever been in their married life. Dad gets to do exactly what he wants, when he wants, in the manner he wants to do it without having to check with anyone else; and Mom is free of Dad's presence. It's an ideal arrangement for the two. I very sincerely hope that this time at my sister's helps Mom either divorce him or legally separate. There's just been too much misery there for too long. It's not healthy for either of them.
Well, that killed the mood.
On a happy note, my mom is doing great. She's been feeling better than me these past two weeks. She's upbeat, perky, and back to her old self. I was beginning to lose hope, but she's really rallied.
The trouble, apparently, was not the flu, but detoxing. Ah, detox. How I hate thee. It's sort of a long story, but the gist of it is that one of my migraine meds ran out while my mom was in the hospital and I didn't have a way to get to the doctor so he could renew the prescription. I just titrated myself off the dose gradually over the course of a week-and-a-half and thought it was okay. When I started feeling like the black death, I just figured I'd picked something up from the hospital or my sister's kids. But while browsing the web yesterday, I happened upon information about that drug. And apparently it takes 6 MONTHS to titrate off. Um, yeah. That's just a teensy longer than a week-and-a-half; no wonder I've been feeling like a plague rat.
On a bright note, though, I lost 7 pounds! Not eating for a couple weeks will do that for ya - not recommending it, mind you.
My dad has stopped calling. The first week we were here, he called every night to check in and came by on Sunday. But now there's nothing. No call or voicemail or even e-mail. This is probably the happiest my parents have ever been in their married life. Dad gets to do exactly what he wants, when he wants, in the manner he wants to do it without having to check with anyone else; and Mom is free of Dad's presence. It's an ideal arrangement for the two. I very sincerely hope that this time at my sister's helps Mom either divorce him or legally separate. There's just been too much misery there for too long. It's not healthy for either of them.
Well, that killed the mood.
On a happy note, my mom is doing great. She's been feeling better than me these past two weeks. She's upbeat, perky, and back to her old self. I was beginning to lose hope, but she's really rallied.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Status Report
It's 2 o'clock in the morning and I can't sleep. I haven't been able to sleep for the past two weeks. For the last couple of nights, it's because of restless legs - if the CIA could do it, they'd use it at Gitmo. My muscles and sinews are being played like the harpsichord and it's damned awful.
Of course, sleeping problems could come from my sudden and drastic change in living quarters. My mom and I are living with my sister Karen, now. My sisters and I had been thinking for quite a while that our dad was more of a hindrance than a help to mom's healing. They, um, have some issues. So when she was in the hospital for pneumonia the last time - oh, did I mention she went back into the hospital?
To review: she had bilateral pneumonia in July and spent basically the whole month in a hospital of one form or another. When she came home, she was doing really well, but after a week of weird neurological events that no one can seem to explain, she started going downhill. My dad refused to accept her frailty, state of being, and general illness, and instead demanded that she get up, do chores, and threatened to get rid of her wheelchair. Anyway, she got to the point one Saturday that I took her to the ER, who did a CT scan showing she had pneumonia again, but discharged her saying, essentially, there's nothing wrong with her. We followed up with one of her docs and she was admitted to the hospital, where she stayed for 5 days. She came home Saturday and on Sunday I packed both of us up and drove to Karen's. It's across the street from Sabino Canyon, so it's gorgeous and peaceful. But small. But not like a Tardis. So Mom's on a hospital bed in the living room and I'm on a mattress squeezed between boxes in the loft Karen's using for storage. It's atop a tight spiral staircase and a bit of a risk to traverse when you're tired or not paying attention.
My beautiful, blessed dog is staying at my other sister's, Amy, house. No room for her here; besides I'd have to get up at 5 and stay up to walk her. That's no good. Especially since I've had a rat-nasty flu for the past two weeks. TWO WEEKS! I haven't eaten anything in a good week-and-a-half, which, on a bright side has helped me lose some weight. Did I also mention that I've gained like 30 or 40lb.s? I'm getting cellulite on the front of my legs. THE FRONT!!!Despite what you might expect, hospital cafetrias do not have healthy food: a sad&measly salad bar, pizza, fries, hot dogs, vending machines full of chocolate. A rolling stone may carry no moss, but god, once I started putting on weight, it just padded it on.
So this is my new life. Living in a loft on a mattress, without my dog. Haven't seen anyone besides my family or medical professionals since June. I am exhausted. I'm chubby. My legs are restless. My head hurts. And damn it, I need a good snog. One day I will feel better, and one day I will have a social life. Just not right now.
Of course, sleeping problems could come from my sudden and drastic change in living quarters. My mom and I are living with my sister Karen, now. My sisters and I had been thinking for quite a while that our dad was more of a hindrance than a help to mom's healing. They, um, have some issues. So when she was in the hospital for pneumonia the last time - oh, did I mention she went back into the hospital?
To review: she had bilateral pneumonia in July and spent basically the whole month in a hospital of one form or another. When she came home, she was doing really well, but after a week of weird neurological events that no one can seem to explain, she started going downhill. My dad refused to accept her frailty, state of being, and general illness, and instead demanded that she get up, do chores, and threatened to get rid of her wheelchair. Anyway, she got to the point one Saturday that I took her to the ER, who did a CT scan showing she had pneumonia again, but discharged her saying, essentially, there's nothing wrong with her. We followed up with one of her docs and she was admitted to the hospital, where she stayed for 5 days. She came home Saturday and on Sunday I packed both of us up and drove to Karen's. It's across the street from Sabino Canyon, so it's gorgeous and peaceful. But small. But not like a Tardis. So Mom's on a hospital bed in the living room and I'm on a mattress squeezed between boxes in the loft Karen's using for storage. It's atop a tight spiral staircase and a bit of a risk to traverse when you're tired or not paying attention.
My beautiful, blessed dog is staying at my other sister's, Amy, house. No room for her here; besides I'd have to get up at 5 and stay up to walk her. That's no good. Especially since I've had a rat-nasty flu for the past two weeks. TWO WEEKS! I haven't eaten anything in a good week-and-a-half, which, on a bright side has helped me lose some weight. Did I also mention that I've gained like 30 or 40lb.s? I'm getting cellulite on the front of my legs. THE FRONT!!!Despite what you might expect, hospital cafetrias do not have healthy food: a sad&measly salad bar, pizza, fries, hot dogs, vending machines full of chocolate. A rolling stone may carry no moss, but god, once I started putting on weight, it just padded it on.
So this is my new life. Living in a loft on a mattress, without my dog. Haven't seen anyone besides my family or medical professionals since June. I am exhausted. I'm chubby. My legs are restless. My head hurts. And damn it, I need a good snog. One day I will feel better, and one day I will have a social life. Just not right now.
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