15 cat bites, poor Pathfinder

07-26-04 mayatime: 12.19.11.8.10 2 Oc 13 Xul (portal)

The adventures of the fabulous dad continue! It turns out that the medicine given to Dad by the doctor on Friday made him sick to his stomach, which the doctor warned him it might. Instead of calling me or calling the doctor, he and my mother just halved the dosage. Of course, that doesn’t work with antibiotics! So when I saw him last night at Grandma’s his hand was even more swollen, to the point where it looked like it would have to be drained (skin red and shiny and stretched).

So today I took him back to the doctors. Another $25 co-pay which is bullshit; he was just there on FRIDAY (yesterday in working day terms, today’s Monday) for the SAME THING. It did not need to get lanced. The doctor said there’s no pus, only fluid (rather like my leg, so I understand–if someone could lance my leg, I’d do it). He cleaned it again, and gave a new prescription for tetracycline. I’m not fond of the drug–look what it did to my Lance-bird, almost killed him in quarantine–but for this type of virulent infection I guess it’s the only other option.This makes him sensitive to the sun–the instructions were “don’t go to the beach.”

Then we had to fill the prescription and my father didn’t know what pharmacy he uses. I tried to call my mom at work but my cell phone batteries have been stupid lately (go from fully charged to low battery in about 1 minute of talk time) and before anyone answered the phone in her department the phone was dead. I was just going to go to Brooks’–it’s the closest to his house–when he decided that Stop and Shop was where to go. So to Stop and Shop we went. We dropped off the script and then I had to get apples for the birds. I said, “let’s go get apples now” and Dad agreed so I walked away. I became aware that he was not following me and he had vanished. Missing: one dad, slightly Alzheimer-ish, description: blue eyes, brown hair, mustache, blue Hyundai shirt, shorts, grey sneakers colored chartreuse with a high-lighter. . . last seen in pharmacy area of Wallingford Stop & Shop.

I knew he wouldn’t leave the store without his prescription so I got my apples and paid for them and then found him chatting with a woman in line at the pharmacy. She called him Bob so she might have known him, or he might have introduced himself to her (anything is possible). I asked why he hadn’t followed me, and he said because his prescription wasn’t ready. That’s right, they said fifteen minutes, plenty of time to buy a bag of apples. So we sat on the bench next to an unfriendly old man (who glared at us and left as if we’d kicked him off, although there was plenty of room for three) and waited for a while.

On the way home, I tried to engage Dad in conversation about the broken air conditioning in my car. Although he sold cars for my whole life, and we won’t discuss how many years that’s been, he never learned anything about engines or engine parts and he refused to speculate. It was really just an exercise in using his mind. Hey, I tried. The list of things my poor old Pathfinder needs done keeps growing: A/C, radio (only 1 speaker works), the struts or exhaust studs or possibly both, the headlight with the bullet hole and the mold and the water inside, and an oil change. It’s only at 110K miles, plenty of life in the old girl yet. I priced out a new Jeep Wrangler online, one of the “long” ones, and it’s $28K with a hardtop. And the long ones don’t come in purple which is what I want. The Pathfinder was $28.9K ten years ago. I thought Jeeps were cheap. Then again, look at our last Jeep. No, don’t, that’s a story for another day! (678)

14 editing, telemarketing, father-biter cat, locked out mom-in-law,

07-23-04 Mayatime: 12.19.11.8.7 12 Manik 10 Xul

Things are starting to open up for me. It’s about time! I just got a call from a writer I’ve worked with before about possibly doing TWO BOOKS a year with him for actual money, not just trade or credit. I made 17 appointments at work this week (goal is 6-12) and I get paid per appointment. I went on a job interview for a job I’m highly qualified for, in a building near where my husband works. And supposedly I’m on the short list (1 of 2) for a job I thought I was out of the running for. And I have a new Shamballa student (also for actual money) When it rains, it pours.

I had to go over my parent’s house to help my dad make some phone calls today. We were sitting on the couch and he says, “look at my hands” and his hands are covered in Band-aids and swollen tight up to his wrists. I was horrified; I asked if he’d gotten stung (a long time ago, my then-boyfriend ran his hand through his hair at the beach and a yellow jacket nailed him between two of his fingers and by the time we’d driven home, about 1/2 an hour, his arm was so swollen he had to go to the emergency room). He said no, that he was walking the cat (he walks the cat on a leash like a dog, but doesn’t want another dog--go figure) and Jasper saw “the white cat” (I assume this is a cat who lives near them and not MY white cat) and they wanted to fight. The story becomes confused. “Did the cat bite you.” “No, they didn’t bite me.” “So they just scratched you?” “No, they bit me too.” “Which cat bit you? Did the white cat bite you or did Jasper bite you?” “We didn’t go near the white cat.” “Did the white cat scratch you?” He then does a dramatic impression of a cat scratching and clawing and biting at him, (“like this, like that”) but it unclear which cat. I call his doctor, make an appointment for today, then call the vet and make sure Jasper’s rabies’ shots are good (they are). Dad said more often than not that it was Jasper who bit and scratched him, not the white cat, so I am going with that. I hope I am not making a big mistake. It will suck if my dad gets rabies on top of Alzheimer’s.

On top of this, shortly before I left to meet Will for lunch, his mother comes over and asks to borrow “a phone and water.” For some reason she decided to lock the door when she was going outside to work in the yard. The door wouldn’t shut so she forced it and turns out the night lock was on and therefore she can’t get back inside, even though she had the keys. She couldn’t get through the window so she came over. The whole time I was eating with Willy and helping my father on the phone and getting some version of the cat scratch story and taking the call from the author, she was waiting at my house for the locksmith to call back. (The water was to wash her face and hands.) After almost 3 hours, we located a crowbar in my garage and she pried open the window. The locksmith still has not called back.Now I am off to bring Dad to the doctor, then have dinner with a friend before taking a class with her. Busy day.

The resolution of Dad’s doctor visit: kind of scary in a funny way. Dad’s communication skills are severely lacking and he doesn’t listen to what others say. And the doctor is Korean with a strong accent. I was the middle man. The doctor would say something to my father and ask if he understood. My father would look at me in confusion. I’d tell him that I understand. And so it went. Then I had to tell my mom everything. Basically, because his hand swelled up within 24 hours of the bite, it’s a virulent infection needing special treatment. So the doctor put my dad on some mega-horsepill antibiotics (2 pills twice a day) and gave him a tetanus shot. My father who has given GALLONS of blood to the Red Cross complained mightily about that one little tetanus stick. And of course he had to tell the doctor the story of what happened to him last time he gave blood...my wrists and ankles are queasy just thinking about it...I’ll make it quick...they hit an artery instead of a vein and his blood was spurting...the bruise on his arm was enormous and the Red Cross even CALLED to make sure he was OK a few days later. God, I hate blood stories!

So Dad’s hand was re-bandaged with yards of gauze and tomorrow I have to go over and remove the gauze, wash the wounds with disinfectant, put antibiotic ointment on them, and then band-aids. The washing/antibiotic/bandaids have to be done twice a day (that can be mom’s job after tomorrow morning). And I told Jasper he is a VERY BAD kitty for biting Daddy. He purred. Moron. I told Dad not to take the cat outside the yard anymore. Not like he’ll listen or anything.

My sacred geometry class was fun. One of the other students is a builder and we talked about building some Solfeggio-scale wind chimes.

I feel good. I got that call today about the editing work, I’m doing good at the telemarketing job and I feel confident I am going to get one or both of the jobs I’ve interviewed for lately. It is about time something went my way. (976)

(picture) Jasper the Cat

Jasper the fatherbiter cat

(picture) Grandma

Grandma

13 gods hate me, blind gramma, strong women, new moon magic

07-19-04 Mayatime: 12.19.11.8.3 8 Akbal 6 Xul (portal)

I have this sneaking suspicion that the gods hate me. All right, that’s negative thinking and I’m trying to banish that. The gods LOVE ME so much they’ve added another fun test to make me even stronger and more like them. That’s the way to look at it.Today is 8 Akbal, 8 Darkness. I am a child of darkness, a 4 Akbal baby. Seems appropriate that today I write about my new test, my new bit of learning. Last night my grandma, you know, the one who’s sharp as a tack, told me she’s got macular degeneration. That’s when you go blind from the center out. It’s like reverse tunnel vision. You can only see things around the edges, and that black center keeps growing. And it’s genetic too. What a cocktail I have in my DNA spirals. Another reason not to have children.

Yesterday was Beth’s baby shower so I spent a fun afternoon taking digital photos of the event and today I cropped and re-colored them so I can give her a digital album. It was a pretty good day, and then I went to Grandma’s for dinner. My mom was telling me how much my father’s Acricept (however it’s spelled) costs (over $120 for 30 days supply but the insurance paid for part) and Grandma hands me a package and says “this is my new medication” and while I’m looking at it, trying to figure out what it is, she says “I have macular degeneration” (only she calls it “immaculate degeneration” for some reason–her friend Jenny has it too). She was very calm about the whole thing.

I asked her about driving, and she said Jenny drove for six years after she was diagnosed (she’s had it for 12 years) and my grandma was going to give up driving when she was 92 anyway.

I know the first Reiki principle: “just for today, do not worry” but how can I not worry when both my dad and grandma are still driving? In my heart I know they are still capable, but there’s always that core of fear. I know I don’t trust the universe enough. I can only put so many bubbles of white light and clear light and silver-blue-violet light around them for protection.

I am just so sad. I feel so beaten down. It’s ridiculous, I know. Grandma can still see, Dad still knows who I am. I was up until 2 a.m. crying last night (and got woken up at 6 when Will got up, and at 7 when he went to work, and at 9 when his sister called to tell me Godsmack’s coming with Metallica in October to Boston) so I got little sleep.

Willy pointed out that the women of my family are strong. I’ve already talked about Aunt Bert, how she took care of her invalid husband for over ten years, did all her own yard work and shoveling and then walked 5 miles for fun after dinner. My grandmother took care of her mother when she was blind (glaucoma) and unable to walk (broken hip) for many years, and then took care of her husband at home when he had cancer (with the help of Hospice).

And if this sucks for me, think of my poor mother–it’s her husband and mother that are affected.I am hoping that my grandmother’s disease will progress slowly and she will be able to live alone (well, alone in her apartment–the senior citizens there are never really ALONE like Aunt Bert is) for a long time. I don’t know what will happen with my father. I envision selling my house and my mom’s house and buying a large house and living in a 3-generation 5-person commune. I guess I’d have to learn to stay dressed all day again–which I hate.

My dad is still mostly himself, nothing new to report. Someone from Alaska who posts to the Yahoo AD group said her father is very lovable, and has no sense of time–he thinks he’s in Alaska for a visit and has only been there 2 weeks when it’s been months. My father’s always been a nice easygoing guy. Dare I hope he will stay that way, like this lady’s father?

I read something else cool on that group. I told Will about it and he agreed that it would work. This woman’s father refused to give up driving. So she took his car keys and filed down the ignition key so it wouldn’t work. (She kept a good set.) When the key didn’t work, she said, “If I can get the car to start, I will drive” and of course switched keys and the car started fine. It only took a few days for him to stop trying to drive. Very clever, no confrontation, no loss of face. Obviously if he can’t get the key to work, he can’t drive. Problem solved.

If I can’t stop being so sad, I am going to have to go to the doctor and get put on anti depressants. I wonder if there’s one whose side affect is loss of appetite or weight loss? I won’t take one that makes me gain weight. I feel so muzzy in the head, “mimsy in the borogrove”, when I cry all the time. It makes me stupid. I can’t write when I’m stupid, and writing is what makes me happy. I am unmotivated to exercise, or even to work on this journal or my web site or apply for jobs.

I feel so, old, used up, and it doesn’t help that due to reduced financial circumstances I couldn’t celebrate my birthday. Will bought me an Isis oracle on sale for $8 (which I picked out) and I got myself the Cthulhu book, Beth took me to the $5 movies, and my parents took me to dinner. Will’s sister Sue gave me a fart card saying I was an old fart. My astrologer friend Janet Booth sent me a nice birthday card with a note about my dad’s condition. A couple of on-line cards, that’s it.

I saw my college friend Michele this weekend; she had a tag sale. There is a job opening where her husband Pat works. It’s not a buying job (although sourcing is part of it). I applied this morning. Hey, maybe knowing Pat will help me get in the door. Will really wants to work there, if I can get a job there maybe I can get him one too. Pat makes bucoup bucks as a programmer. Actually the building is right next to where Will works now. It’s an internet company which sells DVD and music CDs.

I’m feeling terribly selfish. Will tried to remind me that he never knew his dad, that my dad is still walking around, even if it is at reduced capacity. That his most beloved Grandma Ag lived in Florida and Michigan and he didn’t see her at all between when he was about 8 and 25, and then he saw her only twice before she died. (That was his sucky birthday in 2000–I was released from my Hell job on his b-day and his Aggy died 2 days later.) He had a Wallingford grandma (Neena) who died right after we got married. (I didn’t have 2 grandmas, of course, I had Grandma & Aunt Bert. And Big Nonnie, who was my mother’s maternal grandma, and Big Poppy who was my mother’s paternal grandfather.) I did not want to hear his arguments, his problems. I know that complaining to him just makes him feel bad or angry or both. There is nothing he can do to help me. There is nothing anyone can do to help me–except publish my writing for gobs of money and/or give me a job making gobs of money so I can take care of all the expenses for these various ill relatives of mine. Or give Will a programming or gaming job making gobs of money so he can take care of me and my family. I know lately he’s been really glad he married me. Could you hear the sarcasm there?

I have been doing Jan Spiller’s New Moon Astrology stuff since last September and this New Moon on Saturday was part of my Grand Daddy Power period so I got to make extra requests to the universe. I’ve had some luck with her methods and I am trying to stay positive, although I feel so heavy (mentally & physically) and like I’m caught in mud that it’s difficult.

Some good news-Beth wants me to go into the delivery room with her and do reflexology on her while she’s in labor. I am terrified of course. I don’t want to watch the child come into the world and I know they will make me. That is more information than I need to have about my best friend! It’s one thing to change into bathing suits together at the gym and another to see a kid popping out. I want to stay close to her despite her new child and if this is what I have to do, I will do it. She also wants me to teach the girl how to read. I think this is premature since she’s not even born yet! (1561)