Last night again in FL, with more beach, more reprieve, but more of the same...
Today was the Longest Day.
Well, probably not. I have had some intensely Long Days this summer. But today was somewhat ridiculous. It started when I woke up around 0610 to my father yelling about my mother getting ready after only having about four-ish hours of sleep. Then the next hour was spent corralling my mother so we could all go to the pain clinic. By the time we got there, Momma had sufficiently become disoriented, which prompted me to realize and discuss with her pain doctor that my father had probably given her the wrong medication. Her BP was around 100/55, which is exceptionally low, but horribly low for my mother anyway. She did not know what month we were in (February) or what day of the week it was (Monday), but knew who I and Socks were, as well as President Obama.
My father had a nerve stimulator implanted, the first temporary treatment to see if a permanent replacement will ease some pain. After getting my mother to walk back to the car in order to chain smoke, I went back upstairs to learn that my father is pre-hypertensive (!) and that he had done well in the semi-surgery. I wheeled him downstairs, about three hours after we had arrived.
My parents then decide we have to do All the Things.
First, we went to a bank to deposit some checks. Then to a new PCP for new patient paperwork. Then to the pharmacy to drop off a script, where Kangaroo Hut's boss called me to find out about marble top tables as my parents bickered in the background. When the pharmacy wouldn't fill the prescription, I then called the pain doctor to write a new one that insurance would fill. As I was pulling into yet another bank to deposit more checks, a Big Brown Spider was right near my head.
As I'm on the phone with the pain clinic front desk.
And sitting next to my arachnophobic father.
Trying to insert money into a drive through ATM.
I pulled forward, tried to continue to leave a message about the prescription mess up as trying to get this spider out of the car. When Da-ee hit it, it scurried under the seat, so Momma shoved a package under there, all nonchalant, because what else would you do on a Monday in February?
I walked back to the drive through ATM and inserted money into the slot.
We then proceeded to McDonald's where a sweet tea and hot fudge sundae (Momma) was ordered, along with a McFrappe Caramel Iced Mocha something LARGE and another something along those lines and a 10-piece McNugget were ordered (Da-ee). Both LARGE drinks were consumed by Da-ee before we got home, which is maybe fifteen minutes from the McDonald's.
We dropped more postcards into the post box, and I dutifully iced my father's back while still trying to figure out what is happening with my mother. Then I flounced away for a three-hour reprieve with Bluejay and a Keincke and a Toasterette, where we ate too-salted (but awesomely salted) fries, and gallivanted to the beach. I rolled up my jeans to my knees, then frolicked a bit, lounging on the quietness of their blanket as their little family wandered into the waves. I took a picture with a walrus on the beach, then hugged their little family, got back into my mother's car and came home.
(Side journal note: I am going to change Bluejay's husband's name, because apparently, I can neither remember how to spell it or Google search for it.)
Since then, I've spoken to Fidget, washed more laundry, took a glorious shower, then tried to plunge two toilets (and only succeeded in one). I've heated up leftovers for my parents, piling the tupperware containers and starting the dishwasher.
My laundry's done now (again) and I need to begin the packing process. I desperately need to sleep. There was just some type of explosive argument in the living room where Momma fell asleep with another cigarette (maybe?) and Da-ee flipped out, hollering about smoking outside and how he's done with this.
I stayed in this house, rolled my eyes, and wouldn't dare come out, even at the age of 32. Then caught my mother smoking in the bathroom like a teenager.
I am tired. I am looking forward to the beach next weekend, a true vacation. My fourth trip to Florida and still no rest. I've slept more this trip and haven't pack a damned box, but it's still on edge, still not understanding, still worried about the Move North. And I need to rest my brain awhile. Between the bouncing from grad school semesters to working full-time to parental monitoring, I am so brain exhausted...
... I just want to look at a beach for awhile and not have to worry about coming home for more caretaking.
Well, probably not. I have had some intensely Long Days this summer. But today was somewhat ridiculous. It started when I woke up around 0610 to my father yelling about my mother getting ready after only having about four-ish hours of sleep. Then the next hour was spent corralling my mother so we could all go to the pain clinic. By the time we got there, Momma had sufficiently become disoriented, which prompted me to realize and discuss with her pain doctor that my father had probably given her the wrong medication. Her BP was around 100/55, which is exceptionally low, but horribly low for my mother anyway. She did not know what month we were in (February) or what day of the week it was (Monday), but knew who I and Socks were, as well as President Obama.
My father had a nerve stimulator implanted, the first temporary treatment to see if a permanent replacement will ease some pain. After getting my mother to walk back to the car in order to chain smoke, I went back upstairs to learn that my father is pre-hypertensive (!) and that he had done well in the semi-surgery. I wheeled him downstairs, about three hours after we had arrived.
My parents then decide we have to do All the Things.
First, we went to a bank to deposit some checks. Then to a new PCP for new patient paperwork. Then to the pharmacy to drop off a script, where Kangaroo Hut's boss called me to find out about marble top tables as my parents bickered in the background. When the pharmacy wouldn't fill the prescription, I then called the pain doctor to write a new one that insurance would fill. As I was pulling into yet another bank to deposit more checks, a Big Brown Spider was right near my head.
As I'm on the phone with the pain clinic front desk.
And sitting next to my arachnophobic father.
Trying to insert money into a drive through ATM.
I pulled forward, tried to continue to leave a message about the prescription mess up as trying to get this spider out of the car. When Da-ee hit it, it scurried under the seat, so Momma shoved a package under there, all nonchalant, because what else would you do on a Monday in February?
I walked back to the drive through ATM and inserted money into the slot.
We then proceeded to McDonald's where a sweet tea and hot fudge sundae (Momma) was ordered, along with a McFrappe Caramel Iced Mocha something LARGE and another something along those lines and a 10-piece McNugget were ordered (Da-ee). Both LARGE drinks were consumed by Da-ee before we got home, which is maybe fifteen minutes from the McDonald's.
We dropped more postcards into the post box, and I dutifully iced my father's back while still trying to figure out what is happening with my mother. Then I flounced away for a three-hour reprieve with Bluejay and a Keincke and a Toasterette, where we ate too-salted (but awesomely salted) fries, and gallivanted to the beach. I rolled up my jeans to my knees, then frolicked a bit, lounging on the quietness of their blanket as their little family wandered into the waves. I took a picture with a walrus on the beach, then hugged their little family, got back into my mother's car and came home.
(Side journal note: I am going to change Bluejay's husband's name, because apparently, I can neither remember how to spell it or Google search for it.)
Since then, I've spoken to Fidget, washed more laundry, took a glorious shower, then tried to plunge two toilets (and only succeeded in one). I've heated up leftovers for my parents, piling the tupperware containers and starting the dishwasher.
My laundry's done now (again) and I need to begin the packing process. I desperately need to sleep. There was just some type of explosive argument in the living room where Momma fell asleep with another cigarette (maybe?) and Da-ee flipped out, hollering about smoking outside and how he's done with this.
I stayed in this house, rolled my eyes, and wouldn't dare come out, even at the age of 32. Then caught my mother smoking in the bathroom like a teenager.
I am tired. I am looking forward to the beach next weekend, a true vacation. My fourth trip to Florida and still no rest. I've slept more this trip and haven't pack a damned box, but it's still on edge, still not understanding, still worried about the Move North. And I need to rest my brain awhile. Between the bouncing from grad school semesters to working full-time to parental monitoring, I am so brain exhausted...
... I just want to look at a beach for awhile and not have to worry about coming home for more caretaking.