Category Archives: MS related
She got a bath!
With my back so bad, she hasn’t had a bath in so long I’m not going to tell you how long it’s been. Suffice it to say it’s been ages.
She sure does smell better and is a lot whiter. I delight in the freckles that you can see under the clean fur.
She’s even wearing her newest Collar My World collar.
The Curmudgeon bounced back pretty well.
Lucy made sure he got plenty of exercise throwing her big, red, squeaky ball for her.
She really loved that he shared some of his grilled cheese with her.
He had an appointment with his Neurologist. Before we left the house he seemed weak. I dropped him at the front door and went to park as usual. Come to find out, he fell by the front door and someone helped him up AND helped him go to the neurologist’s office before I got up there.
He was very weak when I got to the office. I converted his walker to transfer chair mode and wheeled him into his appointment when they called his name.
The PA took his vitals and temperature. His temperature was 101.4 and he was getting weaker by the minute.
We all decided that calling an ambulance was probably the best idea.
I drove to the hospital–beating the ambulance there.
His temperature rose to 103.6 in the ambulance.
Several hours later, in the hospital they got his fever down, ran a ton of tests, and could find…nothing.
Yep, there we were again with another fever of unknown origin. He also felt well enough that they sent him home rather than admit him.
(Darn, there went a couple days of vacation for me. 😉 )
So, he’s home.
The Curmudgeon won’t openly admit it but #Twitler has him scared. He’s terrified of losing our only income, the cost of his care going through the roof, and so much more.
It’s not like we don’t already have enough to worry about.
The Curmudgeon’s shirt today
For caregivers everywhere:
If the people we take care of only knew half of what goes through our minds, they might be less demanding.
Isn’t it enough that I do everything around here?
Do NOT make me feel like a slave by ordering me to do things. Do not make unreasonable demands.
Remember kindness begets kindness.
If I cook you food, eat the damned food without complaining because you could be consigned to a nursing home where the food is not as tasty as what I cook.
You can easily say please and thank you without damaging your fragile ego.
Ordering me about just makes me visualize things you’d rather not know.
Gas lighting me doesn’t work either.
I do NOT lift your dead weight these days since you completely destroyed my back.
If you fall down because you stupidly insist you can walk without a walker or cane, then you can expect me to call for help to get you up. I refuse to damage myself more just to let you hang on to your freaking pride.
We don’t have any place to turn to for a moment of relief.
No one wants to hear our tales of woe.
There’s never any help when you need it unless you pay through the nose for it.
No one asks how you are but they always ask how she/he is.
People are quick to offer advice but never offer to help.
We often feel as if we’re losing our minds.
There are days where I can’t wait for him to go up for his afternoon nap or to bed for the night.
Days where his voice alone makes me cringe in a ‘now what the hell does he want?’ bend of mind.
Those are the days where I’ve blasted past exhausted and landed into the “I can’t do it any more” zone.
Once he’s gone to bed for whichever… I feel as though I can …maybe…breathe for a minute.
The stress-tightened iron bands around my chest loosen…a little.
All to soon, he wakens to begin the cycle again.
Release the Kraken!
It’s painful to watch The Curmudgeon allow himself to circle the drain. His doctors have recommended exercise, physical therapy, and even swimming.
He refuses saying they only make him hurt more.
Fine. If you’re determined to do a slow death spiral, go ahead, but I refuse to be a part of it.
I will no longer participate in your idiocy.
I refuse to be egged into daily battles.
In the meantime, I intend to work on my health and well-being.
Yep, I didn’t get to enjoy the lovely weather we had yesterday.
Well, because…The Curmudgeon, That’s why.
Yeah, a week ago he mentioned in passing that he had a tiny infection in one of his injection sites. (He takes Rebif for his MS and does 3 injections a week.) I told him to keep it clean and use an antibiotic cream on it.
Come to find out, his idea of keeping it clean was to wipe it down with an alcohol prep pad and that was all.
Yesterday he ‘thought maybe the infection was a bit worse’ and should he try doing something else?
Without looking at it, (next time I look) I told him that maybe he needed a trip to the doctor just in case. Good thing I did.
We did a drop in at our Dr.’s emergency center. There, I finally got a look at the ‘infected site’ when the doctor took a look and my response was: “WTF! That’s no little infection you idiot!” No wonder he didn’t ask me to look at it.
He got two, yes, two shots of a hefty antibiotic in his butt, one in each cheek, and a prescription for 10 days of another one.
After spending an hour and a half loading The Curmudgeon’s pill cases for the month, my eyes are tired, my back is killing me, my neck is stiff, and my head aches.
I do this every month.
Not once have I ever heard a thank you.
When I’d set my Mom’s pills up for her while she visited, she always said thank you to me and hers didn’t take half as long to do. But I only had set up a week at a time for her.
This is what I do for The Curmudgeon.
G had to postpone her staple removal to yesterday due to the snowstorm. She had a lot of staples in her knee and was crazy ready for them to come out.
After we left her doctor’s office, we went to the pharmacy to pick up her antibiotics and pain medication. She needs a delicate, light pain med or she’s off to lala land.
From there we came home and got her back into her house safe and sound.
Then I had to load Gavin into the car and take him to the vet’s office for his suture removal. That’s lifting 65 pounds of unwilling dog into the back of a van and coaxing him into a crate. It’s also lifting 65 lbs out, back in, and once home, out again and up the front steps.
What back pain…oh, you mean that…
Then after attempting to lift the downed Curmudgeon into his bed too many times tonight, I had to call 911 for help.
The guys from the nearby fire station know the routine pretty well and I was happy to see the familiar faces of the guys who were so sweet this summer and went over to G’s to get the AC she had and install it in my window. They always assure me it’s no problem to come and help him up when he has a bad day.
I’ve not been the nicest person to him, mainly because each demand he makes of me hasn’t helped my back pain. And each demand he’s made has been as soon as I’ve settled into a position where my back doesn’t hurt quite so bad.
Seriously, if I hit the lottery I am out of here. I cannot take much more without completely destroying my own mental and physical health. I’d leave him with a trust fund for his care but I am not now nor have I ever been a nurse. Being a nurse was never my career choice. Never. I am not the sort of person who can do the job, it is not a part of my being.
I can tile a floor and walls. I can break and train horses. Train and show dogs. Write. Garden. I have the credentials for veterinary assistant. I’ve done retail management and all sorts of office work.
I have NEVER had the desire to be a nurse.
Anyone wanting the job is welcome to it.
Life was a bit easier here at casa Doggonedmysteries this day.
He woke and got up without a problem.
I think even the house breathed a sigh of relief. I know I was holding my breath waiting to see what this day would bring.
Yes, he drives me completely crazy, but when he’s down for the count, it’s worse.