"What's your emergency?"
"What's your emergency?"
"My husband is threatening to overdose on Tylenol".
I woke up about 2 AM with a vicious headache. I took some aspirin and went back to sleep. I woke up 4 hours later. It was worse. I took some Excedrin and want back to sleep.
I got up a couple hours later. Still there. In the meantime, Ron is literally groaning with pain in his room. He had neuropathy pain in his ankle.
He drank. He took Tylenol (I begged him not to combine the two). He laid down again, groaning some more.
About this time I hit my 4 hour mark for my medication and took some more aspirin. Ron got his vibrating massager. No joy. Groan.
He started threatening to take more Tylenol. If I had thought he would have, I would have called 911. I prayed. I didn't hear any pills rattling.
Pretty soon he called some friends and talked to them for a while. His voice sounded better. The next thing I knew, he was snoring.
I didn't do anything. I didn't do my God Time, take a shower, or even get dressed. I did feed the cats. I watched Supernatural - Sam and Dean battling various Bad Things. I watched a couple episodes and went back to bed.
I slept for a couple hours and woke with a slightly better headache. I ate, drank some milk, and took my medication. By this time Ron was up and feeling better, I can always tell if he's feeling better because he plays music.
He did that for a while, until I suggested he keep the bass down "We don't want to give the neighbors any ideas". He's also watching TV, some old classic comedy reruns.
I wasn't allowed to watch much TV when I was a kid. I couldn't watch TV, but I could watch "movie night" on Friday night when we rented videos.
Then, when I lived on my own, I didn't own a television for a long time. I only found out about Waco at work. One male coworker was almost in tears when Selena died but I'm not into Tejano music anyway.
I never watched Friends, Will and Grace, or any of that. I was happy reading and renting the occasional movie. Funny, I did a Google street view of my old neighborhood and the video store is now a vitamin shop.
I'd probably love shopping there.
I watch Law & Order (the original, not that horrible "women raped" series), Supernatural, and Hoarders. That's about it.
I'm just not interested in following a lot of shows. Generally speaking, if it means getting my sleep or watching a program, I'm going to get my sleep.
The neighbors have all been pretty quiet. I still have to deal with #6's side yard light, which shines in my bedroom, but other than that it's been OK. I hate typing this, just knowing chaos will erupt, but there you have it.
Biscuit is hovering at my feet, rubbing against me and purring. I can hear him purring from up here in my chair. He wants his supper. I'll give it to him in about 20 minutes. I try to feed him at 6:30 and 6:30. He's a patient boy, he knows I'm good for it.
I wonder if people with dementia feed the same meal several times a day, or forget to feed at all? A friend of mine with an elderly mother is looking at her going into a nursing home. She will not be able to take her cats with her.
So he plans to add her 3 to his existing 3. Thankfully, for him, he doesn't have deed restrictions. I'm sure the cats will get much better care, too.
I have always been afraid to keep my cats alive too long. My childhood cat developed diabetes. Since my Dad had only agreed to one cat, as in "No more after this one dies", my stepmother had a very hard time letting him go. He became incontinent and had to live outside for a while before he finally died. I thought that was too much.
Frosty and Bubba were very clear cut cases for euthanasia. There was nothing that could be done to save them, not in the long term. I didn't want to keep them "alive on machines" anyway. So I let them go.
Gravy was so much harder because what he had wasn't fatal, but would have caused him severe and chronic pain his whole life, no matter what I did. So I made the decision to put him down.
He was so freaked out by his time in the hospital. In the future, I wouldn't leave him there overnight, it was just cruel. He was so relieved to see us he licked both our hands (that was his thing). When he died his tongue was hanging out. It would have been comical if he wasn't dead.
Sorry to be so grim.
You know, it's hard to believe, but when I was a kid my parents let me walk to my friends' houses. I was allowed to go hiking in the woods by myself. All of this was totally normal. I rode my bike a mile to the store and back to get treats, and when I was a little older, cheap makeup.
I don't wear makeup. I was only ever interested in it when I was manic, and I wasn't good at applying it. I can slap on some mineral makeup and look OK but I don't, as a rule, because I would just sweat it off at work anyway.
Same with my hair. I never really learned to "do" my hair and my stepmother always kept it short. Short hair can really only be brushed. I started growing it out in '92 and did that for a few years, but once it got longer I didn't know what to do with it. So I wore it in a ponytail, or more rarely, down. I'd grow it out, cut it short, get tired of having to get it cut every month (my hair grows fast) and repeat.
Biscuit gave up on me, and is eating breakfast leftovers.
Clothes. I know how to match, but I am not a fashionista. I wear basic stuff in neutrals, generally, unless I am manic. Then I wear brighter colored t-shirts. I always felt I had trouble, working in an office. Do I tuck in the blouse? Do I wear sneakers to work and then change (that's what I would do now)? Hose, I'm told, are not necessary any more. I don't even have formal stuff that fits.
I have a black dress I would wear if someone died, but that's about it. The rest of my wardrobe is casual.
Then I get depressing thoughts like if Ron died, would I try to work in an office or what would I do for a living? I think I would try something in retail. They are more forgiving and there is generally a uniform involved.
That's always safe.