...and She Slept.

My hours at work have been excruciatingly long--mostly 11 and 12 hour days, working 6 days a week. When I get home, I am exhausted, achy, and a sweaty mess.  I usually end up bringing odd work home with me as well so I don't have to spend 14 hours of my day at the hotel.

I am feeling my age more than ever now. I am not even 50 (yet), but with God as my witness, I feel like a decrepit old woman by the end of the day.  The one bright spot is coming home to Bud each night.  He greets me at the car door, and takes whatever parcels I need to take in (purse included) so I don't have to carry it. When you have been on your feet the better part of 12 hours, once you sit, you are doomed.  It only takes me 15 minutes to get home, but once my body has stopped moving, it doesn't want to move any more.

I rarely make it to bed before 11pm, and I am up by 6:45. I have learned to get ready for work in 20 minutes, from getting dressed, checking my blood sugar, eating breakfast (which I loathe--never have liked eating first thing in the morning, but it is a necessity with my diabetes), and taking my daily Januvia.  I haven't had any of my other meds in months, but I don't think I need them.  My feet do not swell like they used to, mainly due to the weight loss. My heart pills--well, of course I should be taking them, but can't afford them right now.  I just have a "sluggish" heart--it pumps blood out fast, but it is slow to refill with blood and the blood tends to pool in my heart, increasing my risk of stroke due to blood clots. Yeah, I know--get the damn meds.

I have a job interview this afternoon.  Hoping I get it, as I physically cannot do this job much longer.  The job I am interviewing for is 32 hours a week, with weekends off.  WEEKENDS OFF! Haven't had a job like that in many, many years. It would be nice to get my life back. It would be nice to actually get to spend time with my husband and furry family.

Last night, I got home at about 7:30pm.  Bud had made creamed chicken and biscuits, and it tasted so good!  I had to get my feet up, so he agreed to watch a movie with me in our matching recliners. I took a flexeril to relax my muscles so I could sleep.  We were in bed by 10:30, and I slept.  I slept until 9am. Wonderful, heavenly sleep.  Forgot how much I miss sleep.  Boy, was it much needed!

MIA

Sorry for the long hiatus from the blog. I just haven't felt like being here. I no longer have a job (self-inflicted termination), and I have an annoying health issue that has been driving me insane since the 27th of March: hemorrhoids.

And when I say driving me insane, I mean quite literally.  I am anxious, stressed, losing sleep, uncomfortable or in pain constantly...I have been to the ER twice, hoping for relief. You know what they did to "help"? They gave me Valium for the anxiety and some "butt paste" that was absolutely worthless on the first visit, and they gave me Tylenol 3 and another "butt paste" on the second visit. The codeine in the Tylenol 3 triggered a migraine yesterday, and I spent the whole day in bed.

In the meantime, my literal pain in the ass is becoming a huge pain in the ass! They are thrombosed, which means they are external and have formed blood clots--two, big (relative here.  They are the size of lima beans, but feel like cantaloupes) bulging masses hanging out of my rear end. UGH!

I know this is really, REALLY too much information, but jeezo petes! I have no job, no insurance, no money. There are NO doctors in this area who will accept patients without insurance. My only option is the ER, and I just can't WAIT to get the bill for the two worthless visits I have made thus far.

I spend a good chunk of my day sitting in sitz baths to get some relief and keep the area clean. I use Preparation H wipes to cool and soothe the area. I use witch hazel to try and shrink them. I use prayer to try and stay sane.

On that note, I can't sit here any longer.  Just an update, of sorts. Sorry it is so negative and graphic.

Whew! Glad that is over with!

School and Christmas are now behind us, as well as a visit from MIL's great-grandchildren, ages 4, 2 and 1. I used to have the patience of Job, but not anymore.  I guess I would make a terrible grandma, as I was exhausted after only an hour with them. The volume got me, for one. When did kids get so loud? I so wanted to sneak into the bedroom with Bud and our dogs to avoid the cacophony.

And of course, they wanted to touch everything, and there is nothing kid-friendly about MIL's house. They managed to get through the visit without getting bit by a dog or breaking something.

We once again played Wii on Christmas day. I would have had more fun if it weren't for my back.  It has been giving me fits for about three weeks. My weight isn't helping matters much. I need to kick it into high gear and GET THIS WEIGHT OFF!!!! I have zero will power during the holidays. This Christmas there were no green vegetables in sight, I swear. Just lots of carbs and starches.

I put in several job applications. We are in need of some cash flow, and I know that since I am now a graduate, MIL will be asking me when I am getting a job. I want to beat her to the punch!

I really want to hibernate, and it really isn't that bad out.  No snow, so that is a huge plus. Maybe we can get through this winter with minimal snow.  If we have blue skies, that is always a bonus. The overcast days really depress the hell out of me. The sunshine really helps.

MIL is slamming shit around right now, so I guess she is pissed about something. Guess I better get off of here!

My Mother-in-Law is Trying to Kill Me or Herself--Just Haven't Figured Out Which One Yet...

MIL and I went to the South Haven Blueberry Fest on Saturday. For those who don't know crap about me, I do not like being in crowds, and South Haven + Blueberry Fest = massive crowds. For the sake of scoring valuable points with my MIL, I agreed to go.

When we left at 9 in the morning, we noted that it "appeared a little dark" to our West. Guess where South Haven is? Yup. Before we had driven 10 miles, we were getting sprinkles on the windshield. We laughed and optimistically convinced one another that the sprinkles would clear before we got to South Haven.

72 miles later, and 2.5 miles from our destination, all Hell broke loose. It was raining so hard, it was hard to see where the heck we were going. We made it, and it seemed like maybe it was letting up a bit. We parked the car about 2 blocks from the main drag where all the action was going on, grabbed the umbrella, and started hoofing it. Within 20 minutes, it was POURING again. We ducked into a bakery, MIL's favorite venue, and bought several rolls. The place was packed, but we got served within 10 minutes. We each ate a roll under the awning outside of the bakery, waiting for the rain to let up. I put the remaining rolls in my purse in an attempt to keep them dry.

MIL's umbrella is so huge, it was not practical among the tents (which, due to the rain, had closed their flaps and or covered their merchandise with tarps), so I ended up giving up and closing it. Before long, we were both soaked to the skin. We both wore sandals, and we were squishing as we walked. MIL suggested we drop off the merchandise we had purchased thus far in the car. I told her we could sit in car and warm up a bit, which she said sounded like a good idea.

She unlocked the car, and popped the trunk. I ditched the umbrella and our merchandise, unloaded the rolls from my purse, shut the trunk, and headed to the passenger side to get in. MIL yells, "WAIT!" She then slams the door she had open and locks the car. I gave her a "WTF?" look, and she expounds, "I don't want to get the seats wet!" I shit you not. So we are standing there, getting more soaked, if that is possible. The water in the street is already over the tops of my feet, and she doesn't want to get her seats wet?

I looked around at all the crazy people enduring the downpour, then realized I WAS one of those crazy people. It finally got so bad, we ducked into a shop doorway, backs to the wind-driven rain. MIL took one look at me--and busted out laughing. I thought she was going to pee herself. My hair was matted to my head, and I had rivulets of rain running down my face and dripping off my chin(s). She was laughing so hard, I thought she was crying, but it was hard to tell, as she had water dripping of her eyebrows and nose.

A kind sales lady offered us a paper towel each, smiling apologetically for not offering more. (We couldn't enter the door, as it was blocked by a display table. I told MIL she could probably get in if she got on her hands and knees and sucked in real hard...) We watched as many people strolled by in rain gear. MIL exclaimed, "hey, I have that rain gear at home we could have worn...."

We must have walked 10 miles and went into every shop. We looked at a lot of great stuff we couldn't afford. We ate lunch in a packed restaurant, where the only seats available were at a very small table RIGHT by entry door and in front of the big window. I almost blew ice tea out my nose when the first batch of people pressed their faces against the glass window right where we were sitting to see how packed it was inside. I honestly felt like a zoo animal on display. It was hilarious. I dared MIL to make a face at one of them, but she chickened out.

After our bellies were full, we walked another 10 miles and tried to find shops and booths we HADN'T been in already. The weather made the arthritis in my hips and knee flair up, and I took it as long as I could before letting MIL know that I needed to take one of my arthritis pills. Of course, we weren't anywhere near a place that sold water, so we hoofed it down to the shops along the riverwalk where they sell a lot of junk food and beverages. I got us two waters, and I took my painpill and we rested a bit. It was then we realized that we had come downhill, which meant we had to hoof it UPhill to get back to the car. UGH!

We had to stop 3 times on the way up to rest. I was freakin' scared that MIL was going to have a coronary right there. We debated on asking a hulking muscle-bound body builder how much he would charge to carry us the rest of the way up the hill...

We made it, though. By this time, it was sunny and beautiful out. We air dried in no time, and things were looking up. We decided to leave around 3pm, as we still had a 72 mile drive home. As we headed East, MIL looked in her rear-view mirror and exclaimed, "wow, it sure is getting dark back there..."

We were surrounded by ominous clouds three quarters of the drive home. We eventually had to turn south, and that is when Hell-Breaks-Loose Volume II took place. Less than 20 miles from home, those dark clouds from the West slammed into us with gale-force wind intensity. MIL had to pull over as we watched the rain coming in side-ways sheets across the pavement. Trees looked like they were going to snap in two. It eventually passed, and we got back on the road. Five minutes later, Hell-Breaks-Loose Volume III erupted. It began to hail dime-sized frozen nuggets. It sounded like we were being pelted with rocks. Again, MIL had to pull over.

We made it home safely, but frayed around the edges. We were both exhausted. I went to bed early that night. MIL kept complaining about acid reflux, and later that evening, she said her heart kept fluttering...More on that in the next post. I have to get back to homework.

Sharing a Poem or Two

I have a writer trapped inside of me. I have stifled my creativity for so long, I forget it is there sometimes. I have a novel that I haven't worked on in (cringe) two years, and a short story I wrote in my head yesterday while I was sitting outside. CRAZY! The two poems below were "in-my-head" poems as well. I should have written them down while they were still fresh, as the written product is not what the original words were. I tried to recall them, but only was able to come up with the gist of them. Sigh.

Musing on Wisteria

Spring comes, shoulders draped in Wisteria

A vibrant purple wrap upon dancing trees

A youthful playfulness, saying,

"look at me, look at me!"

All too soon, (oh, too soon)

The spring wrap fades to a grey shawl

A mere shadow of what once was

As the Wisteria falls from favor

4/4/11 Weiser

Magenta

And there was a rosebush

It grew by the front porch steps

Much taller than I

I Having never seen it bloom

I waited as the first buds teased

Tight bundles of green

What color bloom lay hidden within?

Red? Yellow? or maybe pink?

Only the rosebush knew

And then--oh my! I see

The first hints of the encapsulated color

No longer hidden from view

Magenta! Not Red or Pink

But a color only worthy of itself

Bursting to greet the day

This rose is not coy-- Not one bit.

It is flashy and sassy

She will not be ignored

Her fragrance is seductive

Not like grandma's toilet water

No, Magenta is sexy

She flirts with everyone

All eyes are drawn to her beauty

A rose so bold

I noticed a subtle change today

Magenta was duller

No longer herself

She drooped on the branch

Struggled to keep her head up

Color draining

No longer smooth and delicate

Petals withered

Defeated

She bowed her head to rest

As the next bloom peeked

To meet the world

4/4/11 Weiser

Full Moon

Last night was the full moon, and it was perported to be the largest full moon in 19 years. The full moon I saw last night was not.

I walked out of the kitchen yesterday to find Ms. C lathering butt balm on Mr. M's behind. His boney arse was sticking toward the heavens as she slathered it on, its whiteness only surpassed by that of the zinc oxide that covered it in a thick layer.

This poor man has lost every shred of dignity. We have seen every nook and cranny of this man; we have wiped his ass after he takes a dump, we have held his shriveled up pecker while he pees to assure he hits the urinal. We have bathed him, dressed him/undressed him 300 times; we have wiped food off his face that has drippled out the bad side of his mouth. We have cleaned him up and bandaged him after he has fallen and knocked half the skin off of his arm, knee, finger, head....

I feel horrible for him. He is only 61, but when you look at him, you see an old man. Even though he can out-eat us all due to his appetite-inducing pills, he is still a stick-figure.

The chemo turned his hair white--what is left of it. He has a little left, and a few indignant long, stray strands. He still brushes his hair before we go out--really no need, but we silently let him skim the brush over his mostly-bald head.

The stroke has left him limited. He has very little control over his left hand. We often must fish his hand out of gravy, peas, soup, and pancake syrup. Yesterday he gently murmured: "that gravy is hot."

We have watched him drink himself into a stupor. I will not begrudge the man. I would most likely drink myself into a stupor everyday if I had to bear the indignities he has to each morning. He is usually soaked to the bone. He prefers Bud strip him and the bed, get him dressed, get him decent and get him a hot cup of coffee. We do not belittle him for being so wet. Ms. C., on the other hand, delights, I think, in being disgusted with him. She has zero patience with him. Hubby and I fear that when we leave--and it will be soon--she will not be very nice to him.

Mr. M wants to be independent. He stubbornly drove his stick-shift truck, backing it into a junker car in the yard and busting out the headlight. He almost put it in the swamp/pond out front. Every time I turn around, the old/not really old fellow is tottering somewhere, fetching himself a drink, heading out to smoke, or getting an itch to fish.

Fishing was his "thing". Being retired, there really isn't a whole lot to do that doesn't cost a lot of money. Since the strokes and the cancer, Mr. M hasn't been able to do what he loves. Ms. C got a wild hair a few weeks ago because she was sick of seeing Mr. M just sitting there. She said it was nice out and we were going fishing. At first, Mr. M objected, but with her prodding, he agreed to it. What an ordeal that was! It took half the morning to get Mr. M around and loaded into the truck. It is only a little 2-seater, so Ms. C and I followed in her car.

The lake ended up only being accessible by 4-wheel trucks and deer, but Mr. M insisted we could make it up the deeply-rutted (read "canyon-ed") dirt road access. The only option was to throw Ms. C and I in the bed of the truck and go for it. The tailgate doesn't go up, so Ms. C, with her two bad legs, sat on the tailgate and held on to the walker in her lap. (Do you see impending disaster?)

I climbed well into the truck, as I didn't want to be a part of that impending disaster. When we were all loaded, Hubby asked if we were all loaded, and I said yes. He gunned it, and I watched Ms. C being launched out the back of the truck helplessly as I screamed for Bud to stop. There was no stopping, as the access road was over a 40 degree angle, and we had to Baja just to get up to the lake. I screamed to Ms. C that wI would send Bud back for her.

When we got to the lake at the top, it was only then that Bud found out that he had bounced Ms. C out of the back of the truck. He went back down the hill to get her--a good 1/2 mile that seemed a lot longer from the bed of the truck. She had managed to walk about 500 feet up the hillside with her walker. Can you picture it?

Bud got her loaded and brought her up the hill. It wasn't over yet. Mr. M pointed to the cabin and a bank around the opposite side of the lake. "That is where we want to be," he said matter-of-factly. It is here that I must note that neither Bud nor I swim. I am afraid of water of my head. This is a man-made lake. It doesn't gradually get deep; it instantly gets deep. There are signs posted all over "no swimming" and "very deep lake". Special.

Now comes the fun part. To get to the opposite side of the lake, there is a narrow isthmus of land separating the lake from a 300-foot drop-off. Lake of Death on one side; Valley of Death on the other. Perfect!

There is a gate on the other side, and we couldn't tell if it was open or closed. Mr. M said it didn't matter. If it was closed, we would just park at the end and fish, and and then back out. NO. FUCKING. WAY. I volunteered to go walk the 1/4 mile and visually affirm whether or not the gate was open. I kept my eyes on the road or the lake--I didn't want to see the drop on the other side, or I would have been immobilized.

After confirming the gate was open, Bud drove across. I could not watch, nor could I get in the truck. I was paralyzed with fear. Bud obviously made it across in one piece, and we got all the chairs, poles, beers, bait and tackle out of the truck. We moved Mr. M three times before he found a place he felt confident that he could sit and not fall in, yet get a good cast in.

Mr. M could cast just fine, but realized that without use of his left hand, he couldn't hold the pole and reel it in. he did his best by holding the pole between his knees, though. After one cast, he declared he was just going to watch. So, the rest of of grabbed poles and cast out. After 10 minutes, Mr. M says: "We have to go. I have to pee."

Yes, yes, I know, he could have peed right there. I believe it was his way of saying he wasn't having fun and therefore fishing day was over. It took more time to load and unload the truck than was actually spent fishing. It was a beautiful lake. I was actually enjoying myself, once the terror of getting there was behind us. Sigh.

Mike got a wild hair yesterday and wanted to run to town and get Bream hooks, sinkers and fish feed. Good Lord, save us all.