He doesn’t shut up! I haven’t had a second of peace since they put him back on the stuff.

And I can’t stuff a rag in his mouth, that is not acceptable behavior. Can’t use duct tape, again not acceptable behavior.

I put my earplugs in and he talks louder.

Beg him to shut up and he gets whiny.

I can’t send him back to the hospital, he isn’t sick.

Me while aiming Minion fart blaster at The Curmudgeon: “Ve Haff ways uff making you drink the thickened stuff.”

Him: “Yuck, noooooo!”

Fart blaster farts a juicy, extended fart.

Him: Laughs.

Me: “Just try it. Please?” This is going to hell on wheels. Rolls eyes.

The Curmudgeon’s health was much improved when I went to see him yesterday.His doctor was quite thrilled with how his chest sounds.

I met the two gals who are trying to find a solution to his choking on food and drink problems–probably why the pneumonia started in the first place.

Now they are telling me they think the drooping of his face that night was from his high fever and infection and not a mini stroke.

It looks as though they will send him home today. However, that won’t be until late afternoon it seems since he’s scheduled for a test at one.

In the meantime I have to run my car to the dealer in the MORNING (I don’t do mornings!) and then get to the hospital for him.

So much for G and I running a couple of errands.

Phoned 911 around 2 a.m. and had them come get The Curmudgeon. His speech ranged from crazy to incoherent. His face sagged on one side. His legs were stiff and he couldn’t move when asked to do so. He put me into panic mode.

Around nine in the morning the hospital phoned me. The Curmudgeon had run a temperature of 105 degrees. They say pneumonia and a possible mini stroke.

I’ve had maybe three hours of sleep since yesterday. Too wired to do anything but doze on the couch with Lucy for short periods.

A friend and her husband are making a two-hour drive to get here later just to help me rearrange furniture so The Curmudgeon will have it easier and when EMS comes I don’t have to move a couch and a coffee table.

Now that’s a friend.

I love you Paula (the shark.)

I am so stressed out I can’t even keep my bill paying straight. I’m not sleeping well and watching him go down, down, down the well of secondary progressive MS is going to kill me before it does him.

I am a wreck from every little bump or thump I hear thinking he’s fallen again. I’ve run up and down stairs so many times I think my legs are going to fall off the next trip.

I’m not a nurse. I am so sick of emptying pee bottles, I did not choose to do this but this is all I do lately. I wait on him and run myself ragged.

Is there help out there? Not for us it seems.

This is not life. This is a slow death.

So the day began with The Curmudgeon having a great deal of difficulty walking. At one point I had to help lift him into his bed. Yep, there went my back again.

Then I had to leave him alone to go to my doctor appointment. Yes, I worry but I can’t cancel last-minute. I have no choice but to leave him alone.

I came home loaded with a new antibiotic and a sore arm from a shot. They did a quick throat culture to rule out strep. Strep is deadly for The Curmudgeon it makes his MS do an intense flare up. I don’t have strep. Whew.

I think it is time for a little….

Maybe if I were younger. If I didn’t have my health problems. Maybe then I could do this.

I don’t have the strength to watch him leave piece by piece. So much of who he was is already gone.

I cry every night after he goes to bed. Body wracking, red-nosed, snot running, tear-stained face, ugly cries. I’ve cried for years. Hard to believe the tears still pummel me. I wonder when they will stop. Will they ever stop?

I miss this guy