Laura Parkinson (stormfeather) wrote,
Laura Parkinson

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Urge to kill... rising.....

I can't take much more of this crap.

This has been one of the most craptacular weeks thus far. We start out on lovely Sunday, where in the afternoon we get a phone call from one of my (few remaining) uncles in Wisconsin. It turns out that the cancer that he's had for years and years has finally decided to kick into overdrive, and the doctors now give him 4-5 weeks to live.

So then after this cheerful phone call, the news is apparently the last bit needed to kick my mother's own health problems up a notch - she'd apparently been starting to retain fluid again, and then suddenly she couldn't catch her breath again. So... another trip to the hospital for her. Luckily this time it started during the day, and was caught pretty much at the start, so a) it didn't require an ambulance call, and b) her stay was shorter.

Then we go to, oh heck, might as well include Monday where I try to drop off a package I need to send through UPS at the depot, only to have missed their 3-hour-open-per-day window by about 15 minutes. Luckily I made the window the next day. So then Tuesday morning my mother gets home from the hospital (which I wasn't expecting, and neither was she), which is good... and then my father does something to his back. Which has always given him *some* problems, but now suddenly he's finding it difficult to even walk, moaning in pain, etc. Lovely.

So I basically got to spend Tuesday and yesterday going nuts taking care of *both* my parents (since my mom's pretty much bedridden, and especially so since my father has her crutches scattered around the house since he's been trying to use them, meaning that even if my mother *did* want to try to get onto her artificial leg, she couldn't really walk around). This is made even worse by my mother's habit (which has been there for a while, but just magnified under these circumstances) of calling me out for each little thing, and not even bothering to, y'know, think ahead two seconds to see what all they both might need and get me to get everything at once. So instead, I'm sitting in the room *trying* to relax for two seconds, and get called out to carry a sandwich from the microwave for my father. Then go back into the room, sit down for another minute or so, then get called back out to fetch a fork and knife for him. Lather, rinse, repeat in various incarnations.

This in itself is stressful enough, but then as I'm trying to fall asleep last nig... er... this morning (since my insomnia is still being a bitch) around 5:30-6amish, I hear my name being called faintly. Getting up to investigate (I almost didn't, thinking I was hearing something from the nearby railroad yard and just mishearing my name in it), I find it's my father yelling for me to go get him some pain pills for his back, then screaming in pain, etc, trying to talk while alternately moaning/yelling, so that I can barely even make out what he's saying. Needless to say, even after getting him his pain pills, my nerves were pretty much shot enough that I didn't get to sleep until some point after 7am.

After that lovely night, I'm woken up by weed eaters running in the median near the house at not-quite-10am, so decide to go downstairs and check on things. Which was lucky, since I then ended up making my mom's toast for her light breakfast - she's diabetic, but she never has a very huge breakfast, so that's not too bad. The problem is of course after I go back upstairs to bed (and know nothing of this), my father decides he's going to go back up and lie down, and tells her to "get herself something to eat" for lunch. Um, hello, fuckwad? So here's my mother, with one leg, her crutches and walker all far from her and her wheelchair in another room, with not really much choice for her *to* grab something to eat since no one's been to the market for a bit, and diabetic, left alone to fend for herself. So needless to say I'm woken up at... oh, say, 1:30, maybe closer to 2 (after a late sleep time and such broken sleep, I could have slept even longer - I was beat), by my mother calling for me frantically, telling me to get her some orange juice quick. Apparently her blood sugar had dropped badly, and she had no way to get it back up. So I scramble to get her orange juice, then while she's drinking the rest of that in the carton, I'm scrambling to heat up 2 remaining pieces of pizza in the microwave, then get her some ice cream to get her sugar back up. She figures it was around 50... it was to the point where she was not only shaking badly, she was light headed and practically swooning, and didn't start feeling notably better until she'd drunk all the orange juice, eaten the pizza, and eaten some of the ice cream. LOVELY. After this, my father gets the clue that maybe he should go to the fucking doctor to see about his back, and get some strong enough painkillers that he can actually function, instead of taking all my mother's painkillers.

So, by this point, my nerves are shot. Totally fucking shot. And I've got to spend the afternoon so far taking my mother out to meet her friends to eat (after she was sure she was feeling better and had napped), running around the market (on no food mind, since I hadn't really had the chance/desire to eat after such an afternoon already), and running down to drop off my father's prescription, running back down to pick it up, and still pretty much playing nursemaid.

Just shoot me now, m'kay?
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