...Let me tell you about my week.
This is a rather lengthy post, but I need to vent. And there will be no proofreading. So if I fuck it up, sorry. That's the least of my concerns right now.
Some of you know what's been going on, most don't. But you may have noticed that I've been rather sparse at posting as of late.
Last Thursday night, I was awakened to screams by Mrs Curmudgeon to the effect of "NO! OH MY GOD. NO!". This went on for a couple minutes and she eventually hung up the phone. Turns out, it was my sister-in-law telling her the ambulance was trying to resuscitate her fiancee (I'll refer to him as "J" from here on out), whom she had known for around 4 years. It appeared to her that he had a heart attack.
Of course, we got dressed and drove with a quickness to SIL's house to find a couple ambulances and a handful of EMT's running in and out of the house, with fiancee laying in one of the ambulances getting CPR.
Shortly thereafter, they took him to the emergency room where he was pronounced dead. He was 56 years old.
Only 56 years old, and he had "The Big One".
Come to find out, he had had signs, symptoms, whatever you want to call it, for several days, but obviously didn't recognize it as being anything serious. At least serious enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. Big mistake.
Now, I want everyone reading this post to do yourself a favor and go read this:
Infarction By Any Other Name.
It is a well written (as he always does) article on the signs and symptoms of a heart attack. It starts out sounding like it is written specifically for women, but it isn't. What it is, is a very good description of what one would feel, see, or generally experience when witnessing or feeling a heart attack, from the perspective of an EMT with tons of experience.
Go ahead. Read it. I'll wait....
.
.
.
Okay. Got that taken care of? Good.
So we were at the hospital for a couple more hours, where we had some great friends show up and keep us company while waiting to finalize paperwork and miscellaneous details. We eventually made it home, where not much rest was to be had. But again, we had support from some great friends.
After tons of calls were made to friends and family, SIL's BFF and "J"'s son and daughter decide to fly out and be with SIL and us. This was fine, I actually don't mind having a houseful of good folks around.
SIL had been living with "J" and mother-in-law in their house, and of course, they didn't feel much like going back to the house, so they both came to our house. Of course, they bring their dogs with them, which is a "joy" in itself.
We have three rather large dogs - a german shepherd named Heidi, a german shepherd/something else mix named Buddy, and a rottweiler/something else mix named Shamu.
MIL and SIL's dogs consist of a miniature dachshund, a pug, and another small dog which I can't remember the type of, but it is similar to miniature collie.
Our shepherd doesn't get along Shamu, so they must remain separated. Shamu doesn't get along with the pug, so they must remain separated. Our dogs are housebroken, their dogs ain't, so they have to be kept an eye on when they're in the house or they piss and shit all over everything. Being males, it is usually any corner of anything - wall, chair leg, sofa, you name it. They would also rather find a nice soft spot to shit on like a chair, a sofa or a bed, than go outside in the dirt or grass of the back yard.
Now add to this scenario the fact that Heidi most likely got fed some table scraps from all the food brought to the house, which immediately gives her the screaming shits, and you'll see that a lot of my time has been spent serving food which had been donated by a lot of very gracious people, washing dishes, keeping clean towels at the ready, choreographing the changing of the dogs for potty breaks and feeding time, cleaning up shit and piss, attending services, sitting in hospitals, running errands and trying to stay sane.
During all this time and in between tears and hugs, on Sunday we met with the funeral home on Sunday to make preparations and decisions. The funeral would be the following Tuesday.
So I go to work Monday, with the intention of leaving a bit early since Mark was also going to be coming up to assist with chores and offer moral support. Which again, I say "Thanks Mark".
Well, I get home Monday afternoon to find MIL sprawled out on the kitchen floor with Mrs C asking her if she was alright. She had tripped over one of her dogs, fallen on the hard-assed tile covered concrete floor, and yes. She broke her hip. She's not all that old, but she is around 70, and hasn't taken very good care of herself over the years. So more ambulances, more EMTs, more emergency room.
The next day is visitation and funeral day. 6 hours of visitation, followed by a service, with the possibility of MIL having hip surgery at any moment looming in the air. Yes, 6 hours. "J", SIL and Mrs C have a lot of friends. Of course, during the 6 hour visitation, Mrs C, SIL and various people would go to visit MIL, grab a bite, and head back to the visitation.
The service went well, and everyone headed back to our house for a small wake of sorts. It wasn't a big deal, just have a brew, socialize a bit and eat some food.
But now that's over, Mrs C and some other folks can go back to the hospital and be with her mother.
So now we get to Wednesday, where I can go to work, possibly for a full day this time. Nope, it's time for hip surgery. So I bail from work and head to the hospital.
MIL doesn't have to have a hip replacement - Allah be praised - just some rods and screws. That only takes the surgeon about an hour to complete, and she comes out of the surgery just fine. Other than the very interesting hallucinations she is 'enjoying'.
So that's pretty much been my week so far.
This Saturday, my nephew is receiving his B.A. degree and we're having an after-graduation party which we've been planning for several months. He's rather bummed that the timing is so bad, and MIL is rather bummed she wasn't able to attend the funeral and won't be attending the graduation, but with any luck, there won't be any more excitement for a spell.
Some folks say 'He' only gives you what you can handle. And yes, we've been able to "handle it" all so far. But good gawd. I'm just... tired.
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