(no subject)
So... this weekend could've been better.
Saturday was okay. I worked, it was deader than dead at ShopKo and I was bored, but nothing worse than that.
Sunday I had off. I managed to clean up the apartment a bit and sneak out just before the snow storm to do a bit of running around before coming back home intending to enjoy a quiet night with some hot tea and a good book to read. Except then I get a call from Mom telling me that Grampa Meyer (her father) has fallen again, and this time he broke his pelvics and that he was now being taken care of at a nursing home in Ripon. His mind is sharp still, but his body is having a rough time. This is the second or third time he's fallen in the last month, and Gramma Meyer is a relatively small woman who simply hasn't the strength to take care of him by herself anymore. So that kind of put a downer on my Sunday.
Then there was today. First half was fine - I worked from 9:30-3pm at ShopKo, and while it was very quiet and kind of boring again, it wasn't too bad. It wasn't until after work - not even three minutes after I shifted out - that things got kind of crumby.
I got done at ShopKo at 3 pm and then I had to be at the Y by 4 pm for a private swim lesson. Plan was to use my free hour to run home, change, grab my swim stuff and either make myself a sandwich or hit a drive through because, aside from a bag of Doritos I had around 12:30 on my break, I hadn't eaten anything all day. I checked my phone (we aren't allowed to have them on the store floor, and I have a really bad signal there anyway) just after I finished my shift at ShopKo and discovered I had missed two calls. One was from my Mom - again, poor signal, so I planned on waiting to check my voice mail once I get out to the parking lot. I never made it that far, because before I even got my jacket on, my phone rings again - this time it's Dad, asking me where I am because they're at the front door of the store and need to talk to me.
I meet him at the front of the store, where he informs me that Gramma had fallen again while going to the door to get her lunch. She wasn't hurt thankfully, but she couldn't get up on her own, and the guy who brings her lunch is none too steady himself and wasn't able to help her, so he called Dad first to let him know what happened, and then he called 911.
Dad arrived at her door 10-15 minutes later, probably breaking a few traffic laws along the way. He managed to get Gramma back on her feet and cancel the ambulance before it arrived. Again, Gramma was okay, she isn't obviously hurt at all, it looked like she just got tangled up in her own feet and fell on her butt. That's the good news.
The bad news - Gramma's cognitive facilities have deteriorated to the point that we will be moving her to somewhere where she can have 24 hour care - she simply cannot be left alone anymore, even for a few hours. Worse, she can no longer clearly remember her children's names, much less all of her grandchildren. So, in a month and a half or so, when her lease here is up, Gramma will probably be moving in with Mom and Dad... which means I have about a month and a half to find another place to live here in town or try and find a job elsewhere in the state/country.
All of this we're discussing in the ShopKo entrance, and by this time it's 3:15 and my window for changing and food is shrinking as we speak. Halfway through Dad letting me know all what's going on with Gramma, my phone rings again. This time it's the YMCA - one of the instructors is sick, and will I please, please be willing to cover for him tonight from 5-8. I politely tell them to call me back if they can't find anyone else to cover, then I hang up and let Dad finish telling me what's going on, because I'm frazzled and worried enough as it is. By the time he gets me up to date on everything, it's 3:20 and I just barely have enough time to run home, grab my swim stuff, and drive back across town to get to my private swim lesson at 4. Y calls again just as I'm walking out the door - they can't find anyone else to cover, so I spend the rest of the night at the Y teaching swim lessons. I have just enough time left to stuff a hot ham and cheese down my face before I get there, because a hypoglycemic crash is just exactly what I freakin' wanted to round out my day with.
Anyway, there is no crash and swim lessons go as well as can be expected. On the bright side, only half the kids in either of my classes were there, so I wasn't chasing 16 kids all over the pool all night. Not so bright side, an "accident" in the small pool (translation - some kid threw up in the pool) meant that it was closed all night, so all of the swim lessons were shifted into the big pool. Could've been worse - I've had far worse nights at the Y, it was just the events of and bad news of the past two days that put a bit of extra strain on the evening for me.
I'm back home now, and I do feel less frazzled after annihilating a taco salad from Taco John's. I know it isn't the end of the world - Grampa Meyer is doing as well as can be expected, and this whole thing with Gramma has been looming for months now, ever since the first nasty fall that brought me to her spare room back in May. And even if I fail to find a place or a job in the next month and a half, I know Mom and Dad are more than willing to open the upstairs apartment at the house to me again. It's just... no matter which way you look at it, the next few weeks are going to be rough, mentally and emotionally. I'm not looking forward to going through a phase like that again.
Saturday was okay. I worked, it was deader than dead at ShopKo and I was bored, but nothing worse than that.
Sunday I had off. I managed to clean up the apartment a bit and sneak out just before the snow storm to do a bit of running around before coming back home intending to enjoy a quiet night with some hot tea and a good book to read. Except then I get a call from Mom telling me that Grampa Meyer (her father) has fallen again, and this time he broke his pelvics and that he was now being taken care of at a nursing home in Ripon. His mind is sharp still, but his body is having a rough time. This is the second or third time he's fallen in the last month, and Gramma Meyer is a relatively small woman who simply hasn't the strength to take care of him by herself anymore. So that kind of put a downer on my Sunday.
Then there was today. First half was fine - I worked from 9:30-3pm at ShopKo, and while it was very quiet and kind of boring again, it wasn't too bad. It wasn't until after work - not even three minutes after I shifted out - that things got kind of crumby.
I got done at ShopKo at 3 pm and then I had to be at the Y by 4 pm for a private swim lesson. Plan was to use my free hour to run home, change, grab my swim stuff and either make myself a sandwich or hit a drive through because, aside from a bag of Doritos I had around 12:30 on my break, I hadn't eaten anything all day. I checked my phone (we aren't allowed to have them on the store floor, and I have a really bad signal there anyway) just after I finished my shift at ShopKo and discovered I had missed two calls. One was from my Mom - again, poor signal, so I planned on waiting to check my voice mail once I get out to the parking lot. I never made it that far, because before I even got my jacket on, my phone rings again - this time it's Dad, asking me where I am because they're at the front door of the store and need to talk to me.
I meet him at the front of the store, where he informs me that Gramma had fallen again while going to the door to get her lunch. She wasn't hurt thankfully, but she couldn't get up on her own, and the guy who brings her lunch is none too steady himself and wasn't able to help her, so he called Dad first to let him know what happened, and then he called 911.
Dad arrived at her door 10-15 minutes later, probably breaking a few traffic laws along the way. He managed to get Gramma back on her feet and cancel the ambulance before it arrived. Again, Gramma was okay, she isn't obviously hurt at all, it looked like she just got tangled up in her own feet and fell on her butt. That's the good news.
The bad news - Gramma's cognitive facilities have deteriorated to the point that we will be moving her to somewhere where she can have 24 hour care - she simply cannot be left alone anymore, even for a few hours. Worse, she can no longer clearly remember her children's names, much less all of her grandchildren. So, in a month and a half or so, when her lease here is up, Gramma will probably be moving in with Mom and Dad... which means I have about a month and a half to find another place to live here in town or try and find a job elsewhere in the state/country.
All of this we're discussing in the ShopKo entrance, and by this time it's 3:15 and my window for changing and food is shrinking as we speak. Halfway through Dad letting me know all what's going on with Gramma, my phone rings again. This time it's the YMCA - one of the instructors is sick, and will I please, please be willing to cover for him tonight from 5-8. I politely tell them to call me back if they can't find anyone else to cover, then I hang up and let Dad finish telling me what's going on, because I'm frazzled and worried enough as it is. By the time he gets me up to date on everything, it's 3:20 and I just barely have enough time to run home, grab my swim stuff, and drive back across town to get to my private swim lesson at 4. Y calls again just as I'm walking out the door - they can't find anyone else to cover, so I spend the rest of the night at the Y teaching swim lessons. I have just enough time left to stuff a hot ham and cheese down my face before I get there, because a hypoglycemic crash is just exactly what I freakin' wanted to round out my day with.
Anyway, there is no crash and swim lessons go as well as can be expected. On the bright side, only half the kids in either of my classes were there, so I wasn't chasing 16 kids all over the pool all night. Not so bright side, an "accident" in the small pool (translation - some kid threw up in the pool) meant that it was closed all night, so all of the swim lessons were shifted into the big pool. Could've been worse - I've had far worse nights at the Y, it was just the events of and bad news of the past two days that put a bit of extra strain on the evening for me.
I'm back home now, and I do feel less frazzled after annihilating a taco salad from Taco John's. I know it isn't the end of the world - Grampa Meyer is doing as well as can be expected, and this whole thing with Gramma has been looming for months now, ever since the first nasty fall that brought me to her spare room back in May. And even if I fail to find a place or a job in the next month and a half, I know Mom and Dad are more than willing to open the upstairs apartment at the house to me again. It's just... no matter which way you look at it, the next few weeks are going to be rough, mentally and emotionally. I'm not looking forward to going through a phase like that again.