My breaking point is about to become painfully obvious to numerous individuals. I may have to go all ghetto hillbilly on an insurance provider and one Venezuelan nursing home doctor before it's all over with.
Here's the Readers Digest Condensed version of a few of the highlights of the past couple of weeks:
- During a visit to the ER with Ma after some chest pain while she was at the nursing home, The Amazon, Ma and myself spent a good thirty minutes discussing the whys, whens and hows of coochie hair loss. I've decided it should be called Vagipecia and there should be a line of products to promote hair growth and little coochie toupee's in a variety of colors and styles.
- While at Shady Pines, Ma told us lots of wild stories about men with pet possums, smuggled guns, little deaf girls and her involvement in FBI operations. I thought it was all bullcrap until the day she was released. I was helping her into The Amazon's Blazer when I was startled by a middle aged woman in scrubs, running across the parking lot screaming, "AAAUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRR!!!! AAAAAUUUURURRRRRR!!!! MOMOMOMO AAAAAAUUUUURRRRRRRRRR!!!!" I was more than a little afraid. Apparently the little deaf girl was actually in her early fifties, was a CNA at the home and had grown attached to Ma during her stay. The events that followed as Ma's new friend, who could read lips, and I attempted to get Ma's bedside potty in the backseat of the Blazer were comical. I didn't know how to open the tail gate. There was lots of yelling and grunting because apparently in my mind, if you yell at the back of a deaf person's head, they should be able to hear you.
- I found a position open doing almost exactly what I do now, only selling baby products instead of boring industrial crap, making more money and right up the road from Wally World. I sent them my resume', called to follow up and then sent an email to follow up on the follow up. Or in other words, I'm pretty much begging them to hire me. I should know something by the end of the year.
- We've had a parade of physical therapists and home health nurses marching through the house since Ma came home. This has caused me to hit the extra anxiety meds of my own a few times, due to the fact that my house looks like it was ransacked by a gang of rabid raccoons. I had to completely neglect the rest of the house while I scraped 15 years of muck off Ma's bathroom floor. There is a funk rising from the general vicinity of my kitchen sink.
- Ma has already started calling 911 for imagined emergencies and people who have things to sell in the classifieds, pretending she's interested. I may have to hire a sitter.