Mama Drama

The past few days have been so sucktackular that I'm spending my Monday night curled up in the girl cave on the bed with my netbook, a pile of wet tissues and a slightly grumpy bunny, trying to forget my problems and whining to the innerwebs.

Consider yourself warned.

The latest developing clusterfuck started Friday morning when I went to give Ma her meds. She was bruised from head to toe where she'd fallen in the bathroom sometime during the night. She seemed okay, other than her entire left boob glowing deep purple. She didn't want to go to the hospital.

I called the home health people when I got to work and asked if a nurse could check her out. They informed me that her physical therapist would be out as scheduled and he'd look her over.

Fine.

Friday morning at the Asylum we got word that the owners would be visiting Monday afternoon, and  that we should dress appropriately. When I say "we got word" I mean, the GM announced it over speaker phone in the morning managers' meeting, broadcasting it over the entire office, including instructions not to tell the office staff who was coming. "Keep it under your hat," he said.

I wanted to scream up the hall, "THAT'S OKAY WE ALREADY HEARD YOU."

I would have called him an idiot, but I'm trying to grow as a person and be less of a bitchasaurus.

I've been with the company for over 15 years. We've never had a visit from the owners. Ever. Something is rotten in Denmark.

Friday night I got my hair cut by a very round, very tired hair stylist ninja. She was on the tail end of a 12 hour shift. I tried to tell her what I wanted, but she just started clipping and talking about her tiny dog. I think she'd reached the legal limit of Starbucks. Her belly kept rubbing the back of my neck, I think that was the only thing keeping her upright. Amazingly, it was the best haircut I've gotten in years.

Saturday was nice and cool in Frog Pond Holler, so I mowed. I mowed a lot. I did not finish. I'm never done. The Amazon went to hang out with the cousins in Big City. There was a game of quarters. I think she spent the night on their couch.

Sunday morning, I found Ma asleep in the floor of her bedroom, curled up with her blanket and her pillows. I had to call the ambulance to help get her up. Thankfully the paramedic was Bubbles' brother, not her bubbahubby. By then I was feeling downright stabbity and it wouldn't have taken much for me to shove something inappropriate up his nose. Like a left over pork chop or somechit.

Ma assured them she wasn't injured and didn't need to go to the hospital. Until, of course, after they left. She's been having back pain for a long time, nothing seems to help. Wallering in the floor all night surely made matters worse. So I called them back and watched as they loaded her up in the back of the ambulance, yet again.

We spent the day in the ER.

I was questioned about the fact that she needed a bath and had wet her clothes, probably when she fell. I explained again about her back pain, that I could barely get her from the wheel chair to the shower on my own and finally I just broke down. I'm so tired of feeling like I have to defend myself.

Have I mentioned that she was denied Medicaid because she gets too much social security?

Seriously.

Anywho...

There's more to the story, but sometimes I feel like my life is just too ridiculous for anyone to believe, so I'll skip ahead.

She made it home with some good pain meds to last a few days, but she still cries whenever she tries to move. We had a long talk when I came home for lunch, she agrees she needs to go, at the very least, to a temporary rehab facility to build up some strength.

I called her social worker today and left two messages. No one called me back. I'm calling her doctor tomorrow and raising hell. This is ridiculous. It's not even about whether or not I have power of attorney. She agrees she needs something. It's just a matter of getting Dr. Nonuts to sign the order.

I'm horrified I'm going to come home and find her on the floor with her head cracked open.

She's got physical therapists coming twice a week and a nurse once a week. The nurse leaves me nasty notes and lists of her instructions for me, because I need one more person running my effin' life. Can they not see that she can't do anything for herself? That she's in pain? That something needs to change?

Tomorrow.. heads will roll.

And on that note...




Later Taters!!!


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