We had a real bad day here yesterday. Bad enough that I had to call 911 to get someone here to help get The Curmudgeon up off the floor. Every five minutes he was asking me for something which, of course, meant I had to climb a flight of steps or two depending on what I was doing at the time.  It’s days like this, that turn me into a person I really don’t like one bit.

     I am not a nurse. I never chose to go into that profession for a very good reason. I do not do well with sick people. I don’t do bed pans well, nor do I have any desire to excel at this. I am not a nice person when forced into this occupation.

     It’s like denying me coffee for a week. I get cranky, real cranky.

     For anyone who thinks it will get better. No it won’t, it will get worse. This is Secondary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis. This is not a bad cold, a heart attack, or anything that can cured by surgery or medications. They can try to manage it with medications but there is no cure and things are all down hill from here.

     What he needs is to have friends stop by often so I don’t have to be right there every minute. I have dogs, a house, a garden, yard, and all the chores that go with it that I need to do to survive day-to-day.

     What is beyond me at the moment…I need a leaky toilet replaced, safety bars hung, the mess in my attic that the roofer left cleaned up. I even wonder if I’ll ever get the cleaning caught up. I haven’t yet.

     You all have a good one…