Now that I have a few minutes to myself, I thought I'd highlight some of the fun I've had since September. Read previous entries to see how we got here, with me downsizing and moving my parents to Kansas.
The Move
Long story short, I did my best to juggle my professional responsibilities with getting my parents streamlined and ready to move. I failed at both. My parents were absolutely no help; zip, nada. Just the opposite. My mother wanted to take fucking everything. And every time I brought up the little point of 'you're moving from 3,000 sq ft to 1,300, so you can't fit that', my mother's response was 'we'll find a place for it'.
Because I couldn't fly the dog (her aerodynamics suck), yours truly made the 23 hour trip from Florida, driving said dog. Said dog was an amazing little trooper and because of logic, she's become mine. Didn't want a dog, but she's awesome and a great companion.
We arrived the day before my parents were due to fly in, so I took the opportunity to sleep in my own bed, if only for one night. (it had been over three weeks) I collected them at the airport and the fun began, starting with me going from living in their guest bedroom to living in my own.
The Steak
Having my parents live with me, in a word, sucked. I'll share one story that sort of encapsulates the whole experience. I had procured three fairly decent (the highest grade available in KC) ribeyes that I intended to grill for dinner Saturday night. Steaks should be as close to room temperature as possible, when throwing them on the coals; gives you a nice char immediately leading to a consistent medium rare center. So, in the morning, I pulled the steaks, threw some salt on them, sat them on the counter, and went about my business. When I hit the kitchen, later in the day, to prep for dinner, I found the steaks conspicuously absent. Long story short, my father put them back in the fridge so they wouldn't spoil. I was less than pleasant to both parents over the situation, because I take grilling meat very seriously. I tried again the next day, but the steaks had gotten too funky, after two days on the counter.
After a week of hell, their shit showed up on Friday. As expected, the amount of shit that was packed had the apartment busting at the seams. My mother seems to have brought roughly three large moving boxes containing expired food. My father's health had begun deteriorating (I suspected, due to the stress and energy he was burning) and my mother is in full regalia as she reigns as the regal drama queen.
It was with great joy that I shoved them into their semi-functional apartment on a Sunday night. I was awoken the next morning by my mother telling me that my father's condition was even worse and he couldn't get off the floor. Off he went in an ambulance, with me in tow, not far behind. Long story short, he'd apparently taken a header in my house and sloshed his head sufficiently for his brain to begin hemorrhaging pretty badly. Into surgery he went for the benchmark of complex activities, brain surgery. By Thursday, he was better than I'd seen him in months and the hospital released him. It was a bit early, in my opinion (and his brain surgeon), but whatever.
At this point, I was naïve enough to think nothing else could happen.
Except, he became incontinent the first night home. After two days of it not getting any better, you guessed it, we went back to the hospital. By that time, I knew that place inside and out. Anyway, they got him stabilized and sent him to a rehab hospital to finish healing and regain his strength. Deep breath; okay, now things are going to even themselves out. Wrong! The fucker called me yesterday morning to pick him up from rehab, which I thought was strange that the call wouldn't come from a medical professional. You guessed it, he discharged himself AMA (against medical advice). We had a brief yelling match in the entry of the rehab place, where I found myself quite close to just kicking the shit out of him for being a dumb fuck. If a nurse wouldn't have been present, all bets would have been off. But the asshat walked out to the car and got in; should have locked it as he walked over. Water, dams, etc.
Sure enough, he came home and feels like shit. My response to his pain and ailments has been 'if only you had access to a facility that had doctors and nurses to address these issues...guess you're fucked.'
On the plus side, their house is under contract, after only two weeks on the market.
I just keep looking at the prize, six months out, that is returning to Richmond.
No comments:
Post a Comment