*sigh* more trouble
Mom got woke up today with the phonecall she's been dreading. Grandma had seemed better yesterday, so of course she overdid it. I guess she couldn't even get herself undressed last night, and was in bad shape when the workers came in the morning.
Mom called Dad to come home from work to care for the horses (a one and half hour drive), and drove to the nursing home. The staff moved Grandma into a room in the assisted living. Oddly, the room I think they put her in is one she's been saying for years she *used* to live in. It's like a weird premonition. I don't know if she's still hallucinating, but she's still in trouble from getting so dehydrated. She's probably going to have to move back there, even though it will cost us thousands more a month, it just seems she's not mentally sharp enough to be on her own.
Mom keep saying she never imagined Grandma would end up this way. Besides her bones, she has no other health problems, and her family lived into their nineties and later even in the 1800s. Her father had osteoporosis too, we're pretty sure, though. Anyway, now finally they are going to send Grandma to a back specialist. Her back isn't broken again, but the old compression fractures are still unhealed, so they're going to do a MRI to see what is going on. My sister and I still think some piece of bone shifted when she kept twisting sideways while trying to sit close to my Grandpa. She's way shorter now than she was a year ago, she lost a couple inches in height from the last break. She keeps saying, "Oh, you've grown!" when she sees me.
Anyway, after calling me in the wee hours of the morning, Mom said she'd call me back when she knew more. So I wait all day, and finally before 11pm I decided to call them. She was rather short with me, and I should have known to expect it. I guess when she got home, Dad and her decided to go put plates on my non-crapmobile, but arrived five minutes too late. When I tried to get my driver's license, it took us many, many attempts to get to the DMV. Dad would rush home from work to take me, and we'd always be there just a little too late.
Dad wants to keep my new vehicle for himself, but I want it! Seriously, the Crapmobile isn't just a name. I haven't even gotten to drive the new truck yet, cause Dad had it torn apart when I was there. It is teal after all, with beige interior. And the speedometer is in kilometers, and the miles per hours is very tiny and faint. I don't think I mentioned this already, but Dad had thought there was duct tape or something all over the hoses under the hood. Looking closer, he discovered it was insulation. The important parts of the engine are all protected with heavy insulation. The entire engine plugs in, and it's wrapped with like an electric blanket for cars, but the plug is worn, so I can't actually try it. Dad's like, "Where did this car come from, the Yukon?"
Mom remembers some people she used to work with came from the far far north, and said they used to leave their cars running all day, or plugged in, otherwise they wouldn't start. That's some serious cold.
Or maybe they just had Chevys, Chevys hate to start when it's cold. :P
I would get up and warm up my old chevy (pre-crapmobile) twice in a night, and it would still not start if it was really cold in the morning. I would end up having to take my twenty-year old mustang to work instead. One time I hadn't moved it in two months, but I tried it and it roared right to life. The snow was so deep in the driveway, when I started moving the snow piled up on the hood, but I just plowed through it with my little silver stang, hoping I remembered right where the wood pile was under that mess. I LOVED my Mustang. I had so much fun with it. My first car, I saved up all through high school and paid cash for it. And I had to learn to drive stick to drive it. One time Dad started racing me around the property. He was driving Mom's truck, and he decided to shortcut over our massive manure pile. I tried it too, and beat him, cause he got so stuck he had to get the tractor to get the truck out. LOL! But it wouldn't start, so he had to fix it first, and it took like three days to get the truck out. He was so pissed, cracks me up even now. I never even would have tried driving over that thing if he hadn't done it first. And then he had to explain to Mom what happened to her truck!
When he got "The Purple Precious" as my mom calls it, he was all smug that it was a stick shift, and no one else could drive it but him. "Uh Dad, I can drive stick too." XD XD XD He had totally forgotten--and he was the one that taught me! Eventually, after I was able to convince him to let me drive it, I think he was actually proud that I could operate a manual, something my mother and sister never managed. We both share a love for Mustangs and fast cars. :)
Anyway, I'm trying to de-stress, and trying to think of something I could do to help Grandma. Ther's other stuff going on, but I don't feel like even talking about that.
I'm icing my knees, cause I hobbled to the car yesterday when Mom was here, for the purpose of going to get some food, and halfway down the stairs decided it was a mistake, and now they are sore as heck. Even the weight of the bedsheet is painful. I took some meds finally. I hate how stupid they make me, and with them I just kinda sit in front of the tv and veg out with my legs up. I put off taking something all day even though I hurt quite a lot, but I finally gave in because I wasn't doing anything anyway because I was so uncomfortable. My nice neighbors helped my mom lug things up the stairs, and offered to take my trash out and stuff to help my mom out. I don't want to ask, but it was a very generous offer. *touched*
I downloaded a "talking cats" video on Youtube. The cats mrrting to each other makes Míríel get silly. She can't figure out where those cats are. She climbed up on the desk and looked behind the speakers, and then crawled around underneath looking for them.
Mom put the bookshelf in the bedroom and I put the shelves in. Míríel was very puckish that day, and immediately started swatting and biting the pins I'd put in. She pulled off the plastic end and bolted to the kitchen and tried to eat it. She gagged on it before I got there, but undeterred, tried to swallow it again. I hobbled after her and clapped my foot down over her tail, which made her squawk and drop the thing. I didn't hurt her, but the indignity of being poked with a foot always makes her turn around and scold me. We both dove for it, but as I still held her flufftail with my toes, I got it first. She still was trying to get it back when I got back to the bedroom, and I had to distract her by throwing laundry across the room. Throwing things has either of two reactions from her--*POUNCE!* *PLAY!*, or "OMG RUN FOR YOU LIFE EEEEEE!!!" This time she eagerly knocked pillowcases out of the air and wrestled with them while I got the shelves in. Weirdo. She's such an entertaining cat. :)
Later she started messing with a box in the bedroom that doubles as a nightstand, she kept clawing it tying to squeeze herself in till finally I yelled "Bad!". She ran into the kitchen and sulked there for a good half hour. She thumped her tail on the floor angrily whenever I went by. Mom said, "Look at her pound her tail on the floor! She's so mad at you for spoiling her fun." Cheeky little brat. And I'd given her some spicy hunter sausage earlier that she went nuts over as soon as I opened it. She kept trying to stick her head in my mouth to get some. A couple days earlier she was hanging over my shoulder for pineapple upside-down cake batter. She slurped that up, and got it all over her nose. I think I'll have to add that deer sausage to cashews as her favorite things. If she smells it on my breath, she's plastered to my face. "GIMME, gimmegimmegimme!"
She's so gorgeous. She looks like a prissy cat that would belong to some rich old lady, and would be carried around on velvet cushions by a butler. But in personality , she's spazzy, silly, and hyperactive. She's trying to be more dignified now that she's older, but she's a far cry from Belle's delicate elegance. Belle would arrange herself carefully on a chair, her slim front paws crossed daintily. Míríel flops down on the floor and rolls to a stop. She does like to stretch out on her side with her front feet tucked up, and her tail curled up like the head of a violin, a pose I find particularly appealing. If she would just let me hold her....she'd be a great cat. I need something to cuddle and love. Hmmm. If I said that to Bee, she'd come right over :(