Since you took it upon yourselves to claim my blog posts unfit for your “Community Standards” it seems you gave my blog a hell of a boost in readership.

So, I guess I owe you a thank you.

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It wasn’t just the filthy room.

Nor was it the incessant calls for nothing but trying to fight with me.

It wasn’t even the damned freshly dead mouse in the trap I found after working off and on all day. No, it wasn’t there earlier, I checked…

I am cranky, tired, pissed off as hell, not a happy person at all at the moment.

It was probably being told I needed to see a psychiatrist, because I said I doubted I’d be missed much or for long if I dropped off the face of the earth.

Telling me that? Well, to me those are fighting words.

I worked for a practice and they are crazier than their patients.

My sister told several of them exactly what they wanted to hear and they let her out on a weekend pass so she could kill herself.

I should trust such a person? I should trust a total stranger? Not on your life or mine.

The only person I trusted with my innermost thoughts, and even she didn’t know all of them, died.

Hell, I don’t even trust The Curmudgeon that much and we’ve been married for 45 years.

The more crap I clean out of his room the more I swear I will get rid of things of mine when this is over.

Yes, I will be selling off Halloween props and Bull Terrier stuff. I will purge down to only my absolute favorites and what Bull Terrier art work I can hang on my walls.

Do you LOVE Halloween Props and live nearby? Come see what I have, I can be talked into bargain prices–I won’t give it away though.

Bully People….oh, I know you want what I have. Beat a path to my door and come with plenty of $$$$.

A good thing too. I managed to take apart his bed so I could get the nasty rug out from under it and roll it up. That went out to the curb. Then I scrubbed the bed with Murphy’s oil soap.

Several bags of garbage followed the rug to the curb along with the old desk chair he had wedged between the bed and a closet door making that closet completely inaccessible.

Under the bed, I found a ton of shoes he can’t wear because they are too heavy for his feet. Out to clothing pick up.

I’ll be sorting through clothing too. I know he has jeans that are way too big for him that are taking up space in dresser drawers and closets. Hunting clothes will go too, he won’t be needing them. He’s put this off time and again. It has to stop. I need his room down to necessities only.

I need his room safe, comfortable, and easy to clean.

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The one The Curmudgeon is in for his short term rehab care is as bad as all the rest.

The odor to me is unbearable, but then I have always been over sensitive to odors.

The lady at the reception desk was not exactly sweet and helpful. Gee, sorry I was already turned around from the poorly marked parking lots and entrance ways. It’s not like I’d been there before.

The drive over there wasn’t exactly a breeze what with the insane traffic, the lane changes, the construction that had the street down to one lane in places, and the fact that I hadn’t driven in that area in years.

I gave The Curmudgeon fair warning. I would NOT be visiting frequently. He could call me whenever just not before 10.

So far I have moved 1 book case, a dresser, 4 old useless big speakers, and a broken table out of his room. I have only put a dent in it.

Ugh.

CVS called again at 8:30 this morning to let me know he now had 2 scripts ready. Gee, thanks. Last time you called it was five minutes after I left there so, knowing he had at least one more coming in, I waited. But is it really necessary to call me before 10 a.m.?

However, CVS wasn’t the first call. Nope, The freaking social worker had that honor. She called at 8 a.m. to let me know they were moving him. She’s lucky I can’t reach through the phone. If I could she’d be a dead social worker. I would have throttled her for waking me up since I’d only fallen asleep a mere two hours before.

I was told three times by three different people yesterday they would move him today. He even called me yesterday to tell me they were going to move him today.

Then there was the idiot from some medicare supplemental crap plan that got an ear full since she was truly my last straw.

I pity The Curmudgeon, even though it was after 10 a.m. when he called me, I’d already had too many calls. Yep, I was cranky.

To be honest I have no desire to go ‘visit’ him. I have far too much I need to do around here. Wish I could get it all done as fast as I’d like to, but my back rules how much I can do at a shot.

It’s work for a while, stop and go sit until the back stops spasming, then go back to work, repeat. It sure does make it take a lot longer to get things done.

Now they are trying to bill us for him being in ‘observation’ all this time.

Nope. You told us you were admitting him. AFTER you tried to send him home too weak to get into my car.

The doctor said she was admitting him. That is why I felt comfortable enough to go home.

There’s a Federal Law about this sort of nonsense.

Any of my lawyer friends interested in this?

Please, Fates grant me the time to get his room fixed up before he gets sent home.

Please grant me the energy to get the work done necessary to make his room safe and comfortable for him when he comes home.

Please grant me enough pain free, or at least less back pain time, where I can work on getting his room cleared out, painted, and rearranged to a safe and comfortable space for him.

I made a decent inroad today. I can only hope I get it done quickly before my back caves.

Please Fates, grant me enough money in the bank account to squeak out the paint and carpet squares to make his room a safe and comfortable place for him when he gets home.

My next magical trick will be to see if I can talk one of the MS foundations into some more safety bars and or other forms of equipment or HELP.

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So I guess the plan is sometime tomorrow they will be moving The Curmudgeon to a rehab hospital.

He’ll stay there for a while getting some physical therapy and such until they decide he is in good enough shape to come home.

This means I get a bit of a break. Yeah, not really.

I’m hoping to clear out his bedroom. (He has far too much crap in there.)

Next, I want to paint it. Then put back only his bed, a dresser, a side table, and his walker. His TV will remain on his built in desk. This will make his room safer and easier for him to navigate. Also it will make it easier for EMS to get him out too.

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In the hospital so far. By evening he sounded improved, but I do hope they keep him another 24 to 48 hours to make sure he’s walking well enough to come home.

Sending him home too weak to walk from the car to his chair would not work.

I am not equipped to care for him in that capacity.

Oh, hell. I am not equipped to care for him in any capacity these days. As it is I am scarfing down Tums like candy along with my long term stomach medication.

Oh, yeah. Stress is fun.

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So what began as a typical day did not end as one.

I went for a hair cut at one.

Came home and all seemed normal.

He was upstairs for his nap.

I took Lucy out and when we came in, we heard crash, bang, boom, bang, bang, bang!

The Curmudgeon fell down the steps!

I found him wedged at the bottom, upside down, in a ball, trapped against the gate. I couldn’t move him.

I called 911.

By the time they got here, he had managed to unroll himself but was not up.

He refused to go to the hospital.

A few hours later, he was back in bed and found he couldn’t get up. He had me call them back. Oh, duh. Do you think maybe you should have gone when they were here the first time?

I sent him along with his paperwork. Figured they call me if they admitted him him or were sending him home.

They decided to send him home so I went to pick him up.

He was in no shape to come home. He was too freaking weak to climb into my car much less make it up the steps to the house. I went back in and told them so.

I took him back in. A different doctor looked him over.

She admitted him.