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Archive for the ‘ Apocalypse ’ Category


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OK, half the post is in the title.  Whatever.

Remember this?  Crystal the caregiver provider from hell was all we had and we were pulling out our hair dealing with her the best way we could.  Until I fired her and changed companies because they were understaffed and didn’t have anyone else to fill her spot.

Welcome to my world today.  Where, once again we have the same company, (due to a long list of reasons) and we, somehow, I lost my freakin mind and someone should beat me within an inch of my life ended up with Crystal.  Again.

She was pregnant with twin boys the first time she was “working” for us.  She was in her first trimester and SO incredibly sleepy all the time.  Man, I remember that feeling.  And I sympathized with her.  I really did!  But she spent almost every moment she was here either on her cell phone texting her husband and friends or falling asleep.  Not to mention the main part of the reason I let her go was her penchant for not showing up or being an hour or so late.

Well, surely things will be better this time, right?

Wrong.  She has delivered identical twin boys, and that right there would make me want to slit my throat, but for some reason that has yet to become clear I thought things would be better now that she’s not pregnant anymore.

She showed up here Friday and was a sobbing, soggy mess.  She had obviously been crying hard for a while already.  I had her come in and sit down and spent about 45 minutes talking to her and helping her get her composure.  The VERY LAST THING I needed was her going in and letting on to H about ANYTHING that was upsetting her.

Guess what it was.  Go ahead, guess. Never mind, you never will.  Crystal who has one month old identical twin boys and another 3 year old at home is pregnant again.  She and her husband had been fighting about this latest revelation, though, at that point I don’t really know what there was to fight about.  She said her husband had “forced her out of the car at the entrance to the subdivision”, and she walked the rest of the way to my house.  She had left her phone in the car and he drove off with it.  Yet, somehow she had her charger in her hand and she had thrown it after him as he left.  He drove over it and smashed it.

Yes, here, in my little neighborhood of quiet, mostly older people who all know each other’s names and no one ever even speeds.  people return misdirected mail directly to you at your door.  Along with any escaped dogs.

This is NOT the kind of drama I want or need.

She repeatedly called her house and talked to her SIL over and over and she wouldn’t let her speak to her husband.  She was screaming profanities at Crystal over the phone that I could clearly hear just being in the same room with her.

She managed to get herself pulled together and went in after I made it very clear that she wasn’t to tell H anything about this.

I was going to go over to Lisa’s house, but I didn’t feel comfortable leaving at that point so I stayed.

I called the agency today and talked to someone who was very apologetic and they said there will be a new person out tomorrow!

Thank you God.

Essential Door Decor


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How to put this…?

Several times in the past few months there has been a little… eh, afternoon delight going on in the HalfAsstic boudoir when, WITH NO WARNING WHATSOEVER, there has been a knock on the door.  Or worse, a rattling of the doorknob.  (Which is always locked because hey, we may be naive enough to think that we can actually get amorous while the others in this house are awake, but we’re not totally storybook-stupid.)  And then there’s always the ubiquitous ringing of the damn bell from Henrietta, but there’s nothing to be done about that.

Aaanywaaaay, over a month ago I told Lisa that we had a Lucy and Ethel mission to go on that would only rate a 1 on the five star Lucy and Ethel Absurdity Scale, yet, it needed to be done.

Nay, it MUST BE DONE.

I could tell that she felt like I might be just wasting her time with a measly one star mission, but, in true BFF fashion she jumped on board.  When I explained the situation and what needed to be done to remedy it there was no question.  Appropriate measures would need to be taken.

My first instinct was to head to the local Motel 6 and just steal one off any old random doorknob.  Lisa would be the “get away driver”.  (Like I said, a dismal 1 on The Scale.)

Before any of this could happen Lisa left on a cruise with a few family members.  Her aunt knew about what I was in need of and though about me while on the ship.  Lisa returned with the very best “I went on vacation and you got stuck here changing shitty diapers and hauling an old lady around gift” ever.  For me anyway.

Kinda sucky Valentine's Day


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John went to work this morning at the butt crack of dawn.  He is expected home sometime within the next hour or two.  It’s 8:00PM.  Being a holiday, he has to work twice three times as hard selling flowers and food and crap like that, that people want on holidays.

This is totally unfair to ME.

And that’s what it’s all about, right?  OK, shut up.

Around here holidays are something to fear and loath.  Something that takes away the husband/father and spits him back out, after the date has passed, a used up, hull of a man.  A man who only wants to sleep and get some decent rest.  When he passes out nods off in his comfy chair in the living room and we mess with him because he is totally defenseless and cannot wake up and protect himself say something to him, his response is something to the effect of, “Go clean up the back room and then start reorganizing isle 9.”  This without ever opening his eyes, of course.

And if you ask him questions?  You can even get him to argue with you.  This is one of our girls favorite pastimes.

Daughter: “What do I use to mop up the soda with?”

John, never moving a mussel or cracking an eyelid except to speak: “A MOP!”

Daughters and wife: massive giggles.

Daughter: “Can I go home early, Mr. Lopez?”

John: “No!  Get back on that check stand!  Now there’s a line!”

This can go on and on.

It gets them to snickering and laughing everytime.  And the only thing I feel badly about is the fact that when we are having close, fun, family moments like this… he won’t remember them.  Completely absent.  But at least he is HERE! 😉

Urine for it now.


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Not really.  I was just really trying hard to be clever.  Relax.  It’s passed.

Monday morning, 4 AMish, H rang the bell and I went in to see what was up.  She was having a very bad anxiety attack, with her whole body shaking violently.  She has done this a good many times before so it was easy for me to recognize.  Like always she insisted she was having a heart attack.  (I am assuming she always thinks this because her accelerated heartbeat.)  I assured her it wasn’t a heart attack and went and got her an Ativan.

She ate it and I sat there with her for about 10 to 15 minutes while it took affect and she stopped shaking and went to sleep.

Monday about noon I went in to wake her up and see how she was feeling.  Her speech was slurred and, what I could understand wasn’t quite making sense.  The catheter bag was full of darkish, cloudy urine.  (Though, not the dark pumpkin colored pee from yesterday.)

I called the EMT’s.  (Pay close attention, SSG), They sent out a couple of them and one was entirely too cute.  They gave her the once over and announced that she has a urinary tract infection.

Ya think?

So they hauled her bony butt to hospital and I rode up front and this was about 2:00 PM.  Last night at one in the freakin’ AM, John and I left her there in the ER, because they promised she was about to be put in room 428 and she had finally gotten some antibiotics about midnight.  John was dead on his feet and I was in no mood to be expected to be nice to anyone.  John and I had just had a big, whispered fight in the ER exam room while H dozed off and on and I didn’t want anyone else to have to be admitted. (John)

*side note: whispered fighting is harder than it should be.  Avoid this at all costs in future.*

So there it is.  I will be off to see her here in a little bit when Kes drops me off at the hospital and I will stay until John gets off work at 8:00 or 9:00 tonight.

Here are a few pics of Henrietta, cute EMT/firefighter (BONUS!), oh, and John.

Henrietta’s not too happy to be here.  Must have asked me a million times when she was going to be put in a room.  LIKE I KNEW.

Here she is trying to muster up the strength to flirt  with this cute EMT.  This is NOT something that is beneath her.

And finally, John after being up for the last 20 hours.  Literally.  He’s tired.  And we’re both feeling poopy.  Spell check says I misspelled poopy.  Clearly, they don’t know us.

Don’t forget to go here and do the unconscious mutterings thing to be entered in my giveaway!

It is raining shit up in here!


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This morning long before H was up the nurse called and said she was bringing by some supplies for me and doing a “supervisory visit”.  Well, this is all new to me.  I told her that the other nurse was just out here day before yesterday and they only come about once a month, unless there is something wrong and I call them.  She was surprised and said she was just supposed to bring by some supplies anyway.  I couldn’t imagine what, but told her to come on along.

She showed up in a few minutes and went on in to wake up and see H.  I went about my business and saw no reason to go in as there was no need for me to stand and scream what the nurse was saying at H because the nurse is too lazy to raise her voice and do it herself interpretation.  Sometimes Henrietta is having a particular complaint that she wants to address and so I go in and relay the answers back to her, but not today.  Not that I knew of.

She stayed back there talking to her, taking her vitals and getting information about the frequency, size, shape, color, smell and over all IQ of her stools.  I know this because the neighbors at the end of the street could hear her screaming the questions.  When every last bit of info about the poo, (classified and otherwise), was gathered.  She emerged victorious and held out two plastic bags to me proudly saying, “Here, I brought you supplies.”

Does it make me a bad person that my gut instinct, first response was, “You got booze in there?”

I took the bags and judged by weight and size of the bulges that there were several catheters, a box of latex gloves, and about 3 sterile catheter kits.

The latex gloves were a bit of a surprise and I am guessing the nice lady in the office, Paula had included them for me as that’s not part of the deal.  We are expected to buy our own gloves and I go through a shitload of them.  Hahaha!  Did you see what I did there?  I use the gloves to change shitty diapers and empty bedpans and I said I go through a shitload of them!  Hahahaha!  OK, maybe the shit jokes are a bit dense around here, but so is the shit.  (I bet that nurse didn’t even ask about density….)

Then the nurse leaves and almost immediately Henrietta rings the bell.  I go to see what’s up and am a bit surprised she rang and I hadn’t had time to get her breakfast in to her yet.

“Krissa, I hate to tell you this, but I have a dirty diaper.  That stuff just came out all of the sudden!”

It’s always called “that stuff”.  She has never referred to the poo as anything other than “stuff” once it has happened.

I must admit it helps to think of it this way…

So I assure her that it’s all OK and we set about the business of cleaning it up.  I see fairly soon that the reason she was so unaware of the situation is that it’s very loose.  (Am I getting too graphic, yet?  Cause I don’t mean to be, but really… YOU weren’t here cleaning this old lady’s butt up and changing gloves and swiping her with the required lotion.  SO DON’T JUDGE.)

We got done with that and I brought her the first course.  Oatmeal with a few cut up prunes and a dose of Miralax.

Now I know what you’re thinking.  Why would Krissa give H the Miralax if she just had a U. P. that was loose?

Well, my pretties, it’s like this.  It doesn’t matter what I do.  I’m screwed.

I have tried cutting off the fiber and shit-making producers as soon as there is any kind of disturbance in the digestive-go-about before.  It is all for not.  There would be an Abrupt Poop Stoppage and massive discomfort.

So we don’t do that anymore.  I mean the APS wouldn’t happen until the next day, but it WOULD happen.

Aaaaanywaaaay, I got her all cleaned and lotioned up and she has the rest of her breakfast.  An egg, breakfast sausage and an oven roll with a bit of jelly.   Of course, the U.P. has set her off her game and she prefers to stay in bed for the rest of the day.

Whatever.

A few hours later she rings for me to come in there and she has had another poopy diaper.

Well, shit.  I am just elbow deep in it today.

The day progresses and eventually I bring her in her supper.  (She never eats lunch and considering she doesn’t get up until noon, I can pretty much see why.

Remember she is being sickly today and playing it up big time.  No other complaints other than she is poopy.  Literally.  She wonders aloud numerous times what is the matter with the poops and why “all that stuff just keeps coming out…”.  I clearly have no new answers and have told her repeatedly that it’s OK.  Nothing to worry about.  Same ol’ same ol’…

Well, tonight I took her in the loaded toothbrush, fresh water, her two pills and a napkin and spit bowl.  She told me that when she was coughing during her soup she may have messed up her diaper.

So I peel it all back and there it is.  POOP.  From The Endless Font of Poopage.  AGAIN.

So I changed her again.  And ran like hell.

I want the hell out of here people!  I need a makeover!  WITH NO POOP!  Or even mudpacks, cause I don’t even think I like chocolate anymore due to the color and texture…..


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