MIL Chronicles- January 2018

MIL Chronicles.

Before we start I think it’s important for you to know that MIL has ZERO dementia. Mentally ill, likely but no dementia, no Alzheimer’s, no alcoholic brain (tea teetotaler) and has had not strokes, TIAs ... nothing. This is her character. So all you bleeding hearts out there know what time it is.

When last we checked in with our villain, you’ll remember that it was a meeting to have her stop shenanigans of being nasty. I mean, temporarily. She can’t stop because it courses through her veins. Anyway last week her caregiver Olivia texted me on Tuesday or Wednesday and said I’m sorry for the short notice but I’m done Friday. I can’t take her anymore. I get that. Totally. Thank goodness she was able to hold on that long.

Another anti-nasty meeting was had Friday night. The kind where Big is speaking quietly and I am seething quietly. She paints a broad brush of people not doing for her, not taking care of her, blah blah blah.

We didn’t tell her that Olivia quit because MIL is a monster to have to be around for that long. It was tempered with other truths. The conversation went all over and off the rails only mildly. Also, note to all the ships at sea, if I am silent, you should run.

Net effect is MIL is cheap. Sees no value in having someone there. She can do it herself. Oh. Really?  Ok so the new deal is she will get a shower by the aide from hospice 3x a week. Other than that she will take care of things herself. Yesterday was day one.

As I am getting off the plane, our day begins.

Ringtone for MIL sounds. It’s from my favorite movie. I’m gonna have to change it because it’s making me angry when I hear it. The movie doesn’t deserve that.

MIL: hey Deb. The green light and the yellow light are on.

I’m gonna make her work for EVERY. DAMNED. THING. from here on out. I know what she means.

Me: what lights?

MIL: in the machine

Me: what machine?

MIL: (becoming irritated) the oxygen

Me: ok well I looked at it yesterday and the number for the company isn’t on it. You’ll need to call your nurse.

Her nurse is a lovely young woman and kick ass hospice nurse whom MIL thinks hung the moon but who I suspect is starting to get the real flavor for MIL

MIL: oh. Ok.

Me:  do you have Carrie’s number?

MIL: no

Me: got a pen?

MIL: *silence for a couple seconds. This is the part where I am supposed to do all the leg work*

Me: you there?

MIL: oh yeah let me get a pen

Cue sounds of rummaging, groaning and general sounds of displeasure at having to move and potentially GET THE FUCK OUT OF THAT CHAIR.

MIL: ok

Me: 123456789

MIL: let me say it back.  123456789

Me:  right. Call Carrie and let her know what’s going on. She will call the company and they will come and look at it. They will fix it if possible or just replace it. Now, the likelihood that they will get there while Carrie is there is slim so you are going to have to go down and let them in.

MIL: oh, ok

I fill Big in and forbid him to do anything about it, guide her, call a damned soul. No worries there. He’s right on the same page. Further I tell him since she’s gonna have to go to the door I hope she puts in pants. That won’t happen. Hope in one hand...

Big: oh no, I’m not gonna do shit. She’s got her ass on her shoulders about being able to do everything. Let her.

Later Big checks on her by way of camera. She is legit at the dining table ranting and yelling and slamming shit in a tirade. Wisely, she calls no one in this tirade. She must have an ounce of self preservation.

I talk to Big before he goes to bed.

Me: so I know your mother had some sidewise comment tonight. Go ahead. Hit me.

Big: well, she’s beefed with you because you didn’t call her and tell her when the company was going to come look at the oxygen and she had to go down and let them in. She didn’t know what time so she had to rush.

Me: you know damned good and well I told her she would have to go let them in.

Big: oh I sure do. Absolutely. But you were supposed to call her and tell her what time.

Me: I had NOTHING to do with the process except to give her Carrie’s number.

Big: I know. But like you always tell me, you can’t apply logic to the illogical.

Me: no, but you can fantasize about violence.

That was just MONDAY. What does Tuesday hold...