Moj_ Patti

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Since Friday morning, I’ve had a chance to reconnect with my Chicago cousins. When I was going to school outside Chicago from 1987 through 1991 I spent some time with them. I love Chicago, but these folks are the reason I could never live here.

We met R for lunch. Since the death of her husband about 15 years ago, she’s become a hoarder. She allowed us inside her house where there is an 18-inch stack of mail on her dining room table; entry into her living room is blocked by a 4-foot wall of junk that looks to include a lot of shopping bags with clothing inside, videotapes, junk – but the kind you could take to Salvation Army and donate.  Since she only has one chair uncovered in her house, we went out to eat at a Polish smorgasbord. R is probably morbidly obese. She didn’t know about my surgery, so the lack of chow I was putting away meant that I eventually had to explain I had  my surgery.  Her response was that she wasn’t going to do something that drastic to make other people happy. I agreed with her and explained my health reasons and that it’s a decision that people have to make on their own. I think that apart from whatever mental thing is making her hoard (and my other cousins enlightened me that she had had some issues with credit cards as well), she is the most financially well off of them all. She worked for the state of Illinois. She’s retired now and does some part time work with a local Catholic school. She’s super involved in the Moose. Which means that she doesn’t spend a lot of time at home.

Then I went to my cousin T’s house. She’s living in an older single wide trailer in a town close to the Wisconsin border. It’s older, but it’s clean. She is missing teeth. I’ve spent the whole weekend hearing about every wonderful thing my Ma ever did with her, her health issues, her horrible ex-husband (I couldn’t stand him 19 years ago), her boyfriend who died a few months ago, and her granddaughter, A. I slept here.

She gets somewhere around $700 a month from some government entity. I think it’s disability. She is one plumbing problem short of a disaster. The space rental for her trailer (that she owns) is $500 something. The gas is not included – so she apologized for the thermostat being set at just 65 (not a big deal for me).

I didn’t talk much. She considers everyone middle class to be rich. My husband and I are college graduates and accordingly, we are solidly MIDDLE middle class. But compared to her lifestyle we are the Rockefellers. There were vast differences in lifestyle between R and T’s family and my mother (single college graduate/teacher) in the 1960s; the gulf has only widened since.

I think one underlying theme for her life is that T thinks she deserves to live the way she does. Her father was disabled and died young. She never got her high school diploma. Got married young mostly to get away from her mother’s house. She has actually lived in flophouses at one time (after she finally ran away from her then husband). The last job she had she was getting paid under the table, so naturally, didn’t pay any money into Social Security for the 10 years she worked there. She couldn’t get unemployment when they fired her. She explained the teeth thing, but at first glance, I figured someone broke them out for her when she was living on the streets.

Then there’s T’s daughter, C. She was 11 or 12 when I came out here in 1987. She was really smart – she won the city of Chicago science fair in 8^th grade. She was offered a full ride to a prestigious science boarding school/academy out in the suburbs for high school. And my cousin and her husband turned it down because it was too far away from home. Yes, the one act made an incredible difference in the life of C. It meant she spend more time around her not-so-school-smart brother and his friends, and got more mental abuse from her jerk of an alcoholic father.

C dropped out of high school one semester short of graduating to take a lucrative job with Burger King. Then she got pregnant with A. She’s had some adventures since. But she’s now living in a singlewide about 50 yards from T’s with her boyfriend of 10 years and A. She has a crap job that she has to drive an hour to get to. Her boyfriend is captain of a charter fishing boat – nice work when the weather’s good. T said he got screwed out of thousands of dollars driving a snow plow this winter – it must have been another under the table job. I’m not sure he ever finished high school either. She’s still smart as ever, but has a mental block about getting her GED. With her background and the GED, she could be making okay money once the economy gets out of the toilet. I think she might be getting paid under the table as well, and there is no path to bigger and better things where she works. I’ve been real careful about what I say to her because I don’t want to come across as a rich snob.

A I have not spent much time with. She’s 13, so she’s been hanging out with her friends mostly. She was really impressed that I had an iPhone. T thinks she has a boyfriend. She’s getting all As and Bs according to her ma and grandma. She appears to be just as smart as her mother. But I’ve seen the early signs of this train wreck before. Thankfully, her father and her mother’s boyfriend don’t appear to be abusive. Her father might be a little overindulgent, but that’s true of a lot of kids her age. (And I don’t have much room to talk.) Her grandma is making a big deal of her getting her period last month. So I worry she’s going to get herself knocked up and take up the family business of being a loser.

And I wonder – what can I do to help? I tried being a good example to her mother. That fell flat – I couldn’t spend a lot of time with her then because her father was such an asshole. I think just my going to college intimidated him 20 years ago. When I was here before I had less money than they did, so I couldn’t whisk her away to do things.

I’ve offered to host anyone that can make the trip out to my house. I’m not expecting anyone.   

I had forgotten what a hot mess they were when we reconnected on Facebook several months ago. Maybe I can send motivational stuff to A through there. It will be hard, because I don’t want to disrespect T and C.

Auuugh. I don’t know what to do.

My company is pretty good about sending people off for training. We're located in the middle of nowhere and there just aren't many training opportunites closeby.

For the past three years I have had to pass on almost every off site training opportunity I've been offered because of my mother's health. (Okay, there may have been one or two times where I just didn't want to squeeze my SMO butt into an airline seat.)

ANYWAY, I have an opportunity to go to Chicago in April for training. I have been trying to go to Chicago on a business trip for the past 18 years. I'm jazzed about this. I might throw in an extra weekend back there just so I can hit all my old haunts (I went to college there.)

My husband, however, is freaking out about it. He is scared that he will have to clean up some urine/feces mess that my mom while I'm not here.

I initially looked at having my brother come to take her to an appointment on Thursday of that week and stay around until I get back. I sent an e-mail to him yesterday asking if he can take her to the appointment and hang around for the weekend following. The only thing I've gotten from him since is some flaming e-mail about something the government is doing that he's not happy about. I know he's going to give me a big fat ration of whine, whine, whine.

When I first discussed the trip with my hubbie, he suggested having my underemployed sister come down and stay at our house for the four days before my brother gets here. I called her and asked. If she wasn't in the city, I would have been able to hear crickets over the phone line. She doesn't want to come, obviously. She's working a temp job and coming down here would probably mean loss of income.

So after telling him that I don't think underemployed San Fran sister wants to come, hubbie says he thinks my Mom should go live with one of my sisters in the Bay Area. The one who lives in a San Fran third floor walkup is probably out. The oxygen bottles would be a challenge going up the stairs. That leaves my other sister who I know doesn't want to have Mom come live with her. We've had this fight/discussion before.

He's going away for training next week. I don't have an issue with that in the least, altho I'll be caring for Mom and my 4-year-old solo.

I'm thinking it might be time for marriage counseling. In January, he was talking about getting my 20-year-old dog put down just because he can't make it out the door in time to poop outside. I talked him into restricting the dog to the utility room (where the dog door is). That's working out fine.

Now it looks like it's time to get my 76-year-old mother put down, because I can't restrict her to her bathroom.

I'm trying to get a referral for some local person to come in and help with Mom, but I live seriously rural. Like middle of nowhere, dirt road don't have a sign, more coyotes per square mile than people rural.

AAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHH! 

My husband informed me yesterday that I have a rude tone with servers at restaurants.

Case in point, yesterday:

I order a sandwich that is supposed to come with fruit. She brings my sandwich with a big pile of fries.

I said "I thought this was supposed to come with fruit."
 
"We're out of fruit."

Auughh. "I can't eat these," I say. I'll admit, my tone was not pleasant. Would yours?

She doesn't offer me anything else. Granted, there were four meals worth of sandwich in front of me. But still --she should have offered some soup or a teeny salad. SOMETHING!

Before that she messed up the table's drink order. And there weren't any other customers in the restaurant.

But he sez I had a rude tone with the server. And I've always had a rude tone with servers, but because I tip well he knows I'm not a nasty person!! OMG!

My grandmother, my mother and my two sisters have all waited table. Maybe I just expect too  much. But really.

My mom has been out of the rehab facility since Feb. 5. I'm supposed to be out on FMLA taking care of her for a few days.

February 9 I took her in for labs and got a call from her rehab facility doctor that her hemoglobin was dangerously low. We went to the ER, she was admitted and got four units of blood. I went back to work on the 11th, because on the 10th I was under the impression they might let her out and it took all afternoon to find out how I could go back to work earlier than planned. I worked 1 1/2 days before she got out on February 12.

This morning at 3:45 she got up to go to the bathroom and slipped on a rug or her oxygen line or a mystery goblin. She caught her earlobe on the metal frame for her hospital bed -- almost tore it off. But it wasn't bleeding profusely. I was so happy that it clotted up (THANK GOD THEY TOOK HER OFF THE COUMADIN LAST WEEK!!!!) She had not blacked out and her head landed on a rug.

My hubby and I helped her up (she's a lot stronger than she was before all this crap started or we would have had to call an ambulance). I started to clean the wound and decided that leaving it alone was a good thing to do. I taped a piece of gauze on the side of her head to cover it a little. I got her dressed, fed her something (because she's diabetic and this ain't our first rodeo), gave her her morning meds and got her to urgent care by 6 a.m. (30 minute drive). We sat there until 7:30 before they took her back. After about 45 minutes, a wonderful nurse had cleaned her up and the one doc they had on duty came and took a look. Her medical history took--no joke--15 minutes to do. Besides having every affliction on the planet other than prostrate, she is on 20 prescribed medications/supplements.

Hemming and hawing... tick, tick, tick. Finally at 9:40, two docs were looking at her and I asked about a time limit on getting things stitched up. I remember being told it had to happen within 6 hours or it became much more difficult. They decided they didn't need to transfer her to a hospital and that they could sew her up.

They put in 18 stitches. They let her out. I took her for brunch and the adrenaline in my body just made the food taste like crap.

I had to cancel my precious appointment with my WLS surgeon's office. Somehow I was able to reschedule my 9 month appointment before my first surgeversary -- but it's another day away from work at the end of next week.

This afternoon, Mom is "making" shrimp salad (which means I'm fixing all the ingredients and she's ordering me around). She just had me put a lethal amount of minced garlic into it. Which means, there's no way I'm eating it. Paula Deen is blaring on the TV. Although I've asked her about four times to go take a nap, because she needs the rest, she is now sitting watching TV. My kitchen is a disaster area.

I have to drive her 180 miles roundtrip for a doctor's appointment down in LA tomorrow. She has two appointments on Thursday. And, then, maybe I'll get to go back to work for four hours on Thursday and maybe all day Friday.

Saturday, THANK JESUS, BUDDHA AND ALL THE EVERYTHING IS HOLY, my two wonderful sisters are coming for a few days.

Sunday, I'm going to Disneyland with my hubbie, kiddle and one of my sisters for three days. I have scrimped and saved, having short paychecks for two months dealing with Mom's appointments to accrue two precious days of paid leave to do this. The only way I'm missing this is if an asteroid hits the Earth and wipes out civilization.

My other sister is getting Momwatch. I am going to have a great time.

Then I'm back to work and on Momwatch on the 24th. Do you think they'd notice if I wheeled her into work and put a potted plant in her lap?

Things are maa maa (Japanese for so-so).

Mom is doing better. Her brain seems to be back from it's extended vacation. She was super happy the other day that [TMI alert] she had a good bowel movement. The paranoid delusions about being incarcerated amongst the Nazis have gone away.  She is still pretty weak. I don't know how much longer she'll be at the rehab facility. I talked to my husband yesterday about building a ramp to get a wheelchair up the 3 feet from the ground to our front door.

Unfortunately, with the new year, her copays and deductible have reset. I don't know how much this trip to the rehab facility, her hospital stay last week are going to set us back, but we'll see.

I broke my stall. I am down 1 pound from where I was on December 29.  And my size 28 jeans are falling off. I'm going to try on the size 24 Levis(!!!!) in my drawer this weekend.

My wonderful daughter announced this morning that we can only speak in Japanese when we ride in the truck. Then she sang a song in her made up "Japanese." She's been trying to talk to her Obaachan in her made-up Japanese, but the Japanese grandma doesn't understand. Obaachan and her Papa are teaching her lots of Japanese phrases.

Work is still nightmarish. I found out that I didn't qualify for one of the positions that I applied for last week. I'm hoping the upcoming government openings will be much more specific than the ones they've already opened up.

I'm still missing deadlines right and left. But they won't fire me because they can't hire anyone. A girl from the office has a job in Qatar if our company gets the contract. I'm happy for her, but it will mean that her work will get put on me.

I'm sooooo thankful it is Friday!!

So, I'm barely maintaining my sanity right now...

My mom got out of the hospital and back into the rehab facility. She's in a different room. One of her roommates is Sue, a Kaiser Hospice case, very nice lady. The Kaiser hospice nurse recognized me from Mom's evaluation for palliative care. There are signs posted above Sue's bed not to call 911 if there's an issue. (Choke.)

When my daughter and I visited yesterday, Sue's husband had brought her a bunch of goodies. Mom was sitting in a wheelchair, her mind in the bleachers at Wrigley Field or someplace like that. Sue's husband asked if kiddle could have some candy and I said yes. He gave her a snack size box of chocolate covered caramels. Mom perked up some -- she wanted kiddle's candy.

It's frustrating... Mom has these moments where she's totally present. You can have a conversation with her about what's going on and she's totally there. Then 12 hours later and she's one step above drooling on herself. She still won't eat the meals they provide, but she inhaled the McDonald's biscuit I brought her when she was in the hospital. She keeps going on and on about this hallucination she had where my husband and I had abandoned her at a wedding in Ridgecrest (town about an hour from our house) and they wouldn't let her have any food. She told me one of her nurses at the hospital was a nazi.

The hospice nurse came back later a few minutes during our visit with her glee club daughter, who sang "The Way You Look Tonight." The tears started flowing down my face. Eeesh.

In late December, the postings for government jobs replacing my contract starting showing up online. I have applied for five. I have the results back on three. One, I didn't qualify because I don't have a B.S. degree, but I knew that when I applied. For the other two, I have ratings of 100 and 85, respectively. Unfortunately, for the job I have the 100 rating on (Public Affairs), there were about a zillion military veterans who had equal or higher ratings. So there's no chance at all they can hire me on that listing.  For the 85-rating, there aren't as many vets, but there are still lots. (The vet thing means the government can't hire the contract people who've been doing the work for years. The government HAS to hire veterans because of their hiring rules.) A couple of veterans in our office have been hired. I'm happy for them -- they're keeping very mum about everything.

I'm waiting on my results for the other two positions. One of them had very specific questions about a special program where I work, so I'm hoping I can get on with that listing. The other was another public affairs job, but it was written so broadly that they're gonna get every veteran who's ever made a PowerPoint slide.

Other jobs in the area are few and far between. Jobs in my field are even more scarce.

I'm kind of kicking myself for not applying for a community affairs job at the mine where my dad worked. My rationale for not applying for job was that the mine's union is on the verge of a strike. The last strike in 1974 was really bad -- people got hurt. There was an 'industrial accident'/murder at the mine afterwards involving one of the scab workers. My father would be spinning in his grave if I crossed a picket line, since it's his local that may strike. But when the listing was open, I also had some misplaced confidence in my ability to get hired by the government. I have since learned from one of my mom's roommates at the rehab facility (old union gal from my hometown) that the guy who is currently doing community affairs was shocked to see his job advertised in the newspaper (must be a union job). I have moments where I think there's no way I'd want to work for a company that would be so underhanded. Then I look at the union's issues and several of them make the union look like a cow standing on it's teat, bawling it's head off. And there is the cold, hard reality that I am the primary breadwinner and we won't be able to make the mortgage if I don't have a job.

This is the worst time to try to find a job anywhere. I'm hoping the veterans who are applying for these positions get hired on someplace closer to home. I HOPE I CAN FIND A JOB, IT WOULD BE EVEN BETTER IF IT DOESN'T INVOLVE A 50 % PAYCUT.

Mom moved to a rehab facility for a couple of weeks. My inlaws arrive from Japan tomorrow (my house is a mess). But I did get one of my projects out the door last week. And I've evicted my inner Martha (who came for an extended visit the week before Christmas) -- I'm so sick of her comments. Anyone would be going bananas in my position. I'm just concentrating on breathing. Innnnn  -- Ouuuutttt. Innnn -- Ouuutttt.

I will exercise more than once this week -- I will.

Mom's still in the hospital two hours away. Here it is 3:22 a.m. and I can't sleep. I'm feeling guilty because I don't have the paid time off to go down and sit bedside like other members of my family. I don't know why I'm feeling so guilty. I accrue 8.31 hours of leave every two weeks. Most of that over the past year has been used up taking Mom or myself to a doctor's appointment (oh yeah, I did have gastric bypass surgery this past year!!). I have 9 hours on the books right now -- figured I'd use that to pick Mom up from the hospital. I'm praying I don't get sick.

Anyway, one of my latest dilemmas is that someone I love dearly is dealing with a lot of stress. I can't go into detail because this person is already going to bite my head off for posting the little I've already posted here. (I got chewed on big time for a previous post. And they'll probably write me a very angry letter. Can't wait to get that!) What compounds it is that this person is relatively early out postop, so I'm sure there's some demon estrogen dumping going on. I want to give this person a big hug, but after the communication over the past few days, I'd probably get bit.

Back to Mom. What I understand is that the found evidence of an infection of some kind. It explains why she's been so out of it and hallucinating about stuff. I'm hoping they can fix it relatively quickly. However, she is at the Kaiser hospital famous for dumping indigent patients down on Skid Row in Los Angeles. And I don't think Medicare will pay for hospital hatched infections. Yeeeaaah, we'll see. I was informed yesterday that we need to pay $2000 of her hospital bill by Thursday. (Surprisingly, she has the money. It's just a matter of getting it down to the hospital on a normal business day. I'm going to try calling today.)

Now, I'm going to go back to bed and see if I can fall asleep before my alarm goes off in 56 minutes.

So my sis informed me this morning that they have taken my mom off everything except one IV.

She got off the respirator within 24 hours of her surgery. Preop, they were most concerned about her lungs and talked about her having to be on the respirator for days or weeks. I knew they were wrong. I think this lung thing is why they didn't want to do the surgery 6 months ago.

She's still pretty loopy mentally. She's getting the good drugs. They're putting in a pacemaker this afternoon. She called my sister diabolical -- so I think under the layer of percoset or whatever, she's still in there.

I'm going to go visit her tomorrow. Really hard to concentrate on work!!

Santa came early at my house this year. My family gathered at my house Saturday night. Kiddle left cookies and milk out for Santa and some carrots and corn outside for the reindeer. We had a nice celebration on Sunday. As usual, Santa brought way too many toys, including a big toy “PIE-ANO” that is sure to give Mama (me) incredible headaches while entertaining Kiddle. We will be taking old toys to the Salvation Army on Christmas Eve or Saturday. 

 

Sunday night we took Mom down to Kaiser Los Angeles (really Hollywood) for surgery. Kaiser has a little apartment building down there where we spent the night. We got her into the hospital at 5 a.m. Monday morning.

 

She was in surgery for five hours. They replaced her mitral and aortic valves with pig valves. (I wonder if Mom will feel the same way about bacon postop. Not that she's supposed to eat it. But being diabetic hasn't kept her away from sugar.) The doc said after 48 hours the chance for a stroke will diminish.  

 

We got to see her for about five minutes after she went into the cardiac ICU before they shooed us out. (Her room has an impressive view of the Church of Scientology campus.) Later, we went back for about 45 minutes in the evening before we had to leave because of a nursing shift change. She is hooked up to 6 or 7 dripping bags and bottles.  Lots of beeping and booping going on. She was on a ventilator last night, but that is common for this kind of surgery.

 

She was still out of it, but she appeared to be sleeping. She was pale, but we’ve seen worse with her anemia. Apparently, they didn’t have to give her any blood during the surgery which is wonderful.  

 

They have an RN sitting in her room monitoring everything full time.

 

I came home last night. I will be working the rest of the week. But I’m getting instant messages from the three siblings pretty regularly. 

Feel like total crap, but I have no leave on the books and we need to be able to pay the mortgage.

I started crying this morning when I told Kiddle's daycare lady about Grandma because Kiddle is a little moody.

We should have scheduled this for after Christmas. I had an aunt who died as a child from whooping cough at Easter in 1930 or 1931. As a result, Easter has never, ever been a big deal in my family. In fact, we do things like move on Easter Sunday. I relate this to my Aunt Rosemary's death. We never even had an Easter Lily in the house until 1998 because my mother's family got so many of them when Rosemary died.

I know in the whole scheme of things, it shouldn't matter if my mother dies at Christmas. But this is the kind of stuff you think about when you're driving home from the hospital 90 miles in the dark listening to Christmas carols on the radio, crying most of the way.