Monthly Archives: September 2018
“Nope, I’m not getting that for you, you need to do a walk to the kitchen.”
“But I’m tired.” He whines. “My muscles are sore.”
“Poor baby. Take your walk.”
All. Effing. Day.
It happens every night.
At nearly the same time, my heart hurts, the tears come, and there’s no stopping them.
I choke back the sobs so he doesn’t hear.
The man I married hasn’t been here for a long time.
The man upstairs is a stranger.
I don’t know what I’d do without the calendar on my phone what with having to keep track of his OT and PT appointments, and neuro and pain management doctor appointments.
Not to mention Lucy’s vet appointments and my doctor and weight management appointments.
And then squeezing among them grocery store runs and all other errands.
So do I write about another day of off and on rain? I swear the yard gets muddier by the moment. The only things surviving are the weeds.
Or do I write about the close encounter of the opossum kind I had last night? Yikes! I am so glad I flick on the light and look before I walk out the back door. We’ve had skunks, a HUGE raccoon, and now a large old opossum. He didn’t like my slapping cardboard boxes together and yelling at him to get out of my yard. You could tell he was old, he was arthritic in the back legs and moved stiffly. I got a lot of tooth display from him but he left. I don’t mind him hanging around if he stays out of leash range from the back door for both his and Lucy’s sake.
Then there’s another afternoon session of The Curmudgeon with his OT guy. I get a laugh out of this guy. He’s figured The Curmudgeon out and doesn’t let him try to baffle him with bullshit.
I might have had some sleep last night.
I know that Lucy did. She took over The Curmudgeon’s chair right after he went up to bed. Even after two trips outside she went right back to it. the last trip she was wet enough that I tossed her blanket over her.
There she remained until my alarm went off at 10 a.m.
Drop in company right after breakfast. The Curmudgeon’s best friend.
The Curmudgeon had a scheduled appointment with his family physician at two, it was raining. Logistically, getting him to the car along with his rollator in the pouring takes time, a good parking space out front, and patience, which I have in very short supply.
After the doctor appointment, I decided we HAD to make a stop at the grocery store since I knew there was no way I was getting there the rest of the week with all his PT and OT going on.
I love it. The occupational therapy and physical therapy guys are not fooling around. The intend to work The Curmudgeon’s butt off.
I am encouraging them to do so.
(Giggle) He was already complaining about being sore tonight.
Meanwhile, I am going to sit back and keep my mouth shut. He knows what they want him to do. If he doesn’t do it and doesn’t improve, it is on him.
Let them scold him for not working.
I think he’s gone to bed…I think I’m going to get a moment’s peace…
Crash! Right over my head. He’s fallen. Again. For about the fifth time tonight.
At least I am getting my exercise running up and down stairs?
But the insurance company said he was ready to leave rehab care. They weren’t going to pay for any more time in there. Nope. “Send the man home!” They said.
“Let’s completely stress his wife out. Maybe we’ll have her go in the hospital and make some money off of that too.” Believe me it could happen.
Why shouldn’t we have universal health care?
Why shouldn’t everyone be able to stay in a rehab facility until they are truly ready to be at home?
Why do we have to constantly worry about health care in this country?
As far as our health care, we are the equivalent of a third world country.
Do away with insurance companies, for profit hospitals, and drug companies that price gouge. Spend more money on health care for all and less on military buildups and wars to control resources. Our country spends a ridiculous amount on weapons and wars.
I am still struggling…Nothing got done.
I spent the entire day trying to reason with The Curmudgeon who, at times, seems to have taken leave of his senses.
Answering the same question for the twentieth time during the day will finally make me snap and yell at him to “go to his room and take a damned nap.”
Too tired, because he woke me early by falling and scaring the crap out of both me and Lucy. (Scared her enough that she growled, grumbled and went back to sleep.)
Too sore to work on the rug and I didn’t want to disturb him because, after I recruited a neighbor to help him back into bed, he went back to sleep.
Sometime between lunch and dinner he broke the toilet seat. Later he was able to fix it. Good thing because I, at that point, had reached the the I don’t give a fuck stage. There’s another toilet in this house I can use.
So glad I stopped taking those pills the weight doctor had me on (I ran out of them and didn’t bother getting them refilled.) You can’t drink while on them.
Tonight I had …
Nope, I’m not thrilled.
I could’ve used at least another week so I could’ve finished his room and then got a little rest in before he came home.
Yep, he’s home too soon for sure.
I wasn’t ready for his falls and having to lift him again, my back is already in horrible spasms from working on his room.
I wasn’t ready to listen to his constant inane chatter.
I wasn’t ready to have to run up and down the steps every few minutes.
I wasn’t ready to have to say “huh” all the time because I can’t hear him clearly, he freaking mumbles at me. All. The. Time.
Two walls painted, two to go.
Going to have to crawl under the built in desk to do some of the painting tomorrow, Ugh my aching back, knees, and toes. Then I’ll have to do some fancy reaching to get the three walls above it. Top that off with the precise painting I’ll have to do around 4 closet doors.
The last wall will be easy in comparison with its one window. Once the paint is dry I’ll be mopping the floor and readying it for the carpet tile that is supposed to arrive today.
As soon as the carpet is down, I have to set up the bed, put on the new bedding, bring in the dresser, (hopefully the mirror too) and put his clothes in it. I’ll leave it to him to go through the boxes of stuff and decide what to put out on his dresser.
The final touch is to switch out my larger TV from my bedroom for his little one and surprise him with that. IF I ever get back into my bedroom, I’ll replace my TV.
And everyone thinks, because he was in care I got a break. Yeah. Right.
I need a fucking break.