That Was the Week That Was

Any time you start a conversation with "So first of all, [person] is is okay," you know the story is going to be interesting...

So first of all, mom is is okay. She's home now, and everything seems to be fine in the short term. That said, here's how my week has been. 

Early Monday morning -- around 8 am, I think -- mom was out in the yard doing yard work and pruning hedges. She'd been working maybe 15 minutes when she felt a terrible pain in her chest, like something very heavy was crushing her. She sat down for a few minutes to see if the pain let up.  It didn't, and she was getting light headed, so she knew she had to get inside. Fortunately it was only 10 feet or so to the door, so she made it in, but she couldn't make it to the phone and had to lie down just inside the front door. After lying there a few minutes, she involuntarily soiled herself with urine and feces (I'm not saying this to be crass, it's relevant to the story later) due to the pain. If she wasn't going to call 911 before that, it certainly changed her mind. 

HOWEVER, my mother is a Proper Southern Lady, and it Just Wouldn't Do for the EMTs to see her in such a state, and besides, she didn't want to be a burden to them by smelling of feces and being soiled, so she went to the bathroom, cleaned herself up and changed her clothes, and then called 911. Then she waited outside for them so that our dog, Precious, wouldn't attack them in an attempt to protect mom/ward off the intruders. 

Now you may well be wondering "Where was Erin during all of this? Why didn't she help?" Well, that's an excellent and fair question. The answer is "She didn't want to bother me while I was sleeping, for exactly the same reason that she didn't want the EMTs to deal with her being soiled."

Yes. I facepalmed at that, too. 

So when I got up Monday morning at my usual time (about 10 am), I noticed a Post-It note on the bathroom door with the terse message "GONE TO ER" on it. I checked to see if her car was still here, and it was, so that told me she'd gone via ambulance and that meant it was serious. 

Now, one of the things you need to know about me is that it takes my brain time to wake up. I can do basic "move around" things, but actually thinking, especially making decisions, is something that takes at least 30 minutes and at least one cup of coffee. So as I drank my coffee -- because what else was I going to do? She'd taken an ambulance, she was in good hands, there was nothing I could do at that moment anyway so I might as well get my brain online -- I pondered what to do next. 

I contemplated calling the ER, but I didn't know when she'd left. It might have been 5 minutes before I'd woken up, and she might not have arrived yet. I could have jumped into the car and driven there, but sure as I'd done that she or the ER would call the house and I wouldn't be there to answer the phone. I'd come to the decision that I'd wait to hear more, either from mom or the hospital, when my cell phone rang. It was someone from the ER who told me that my mother was in "the cath lab" and would be admitted to the ICU after the procedure was done. 

My decision made, I got dressed and was almost out the door when the phone rang again, and this time it was an ICU nurse telling me that mom's procedure was successful and telling me her room number. It was at this time that I finally had the presence of mind to ask just what the hell was going on. I was told that mom suffered what's called a STEMI, which stands for ST Elevation Myocardial Infarction. I'll let you look up what "ST Elevation" means, but "Myocardial Infarction" is fancy doctor-speak for what you and I would call a heart attack. 

Apparently mom had 99% blockage in some very important artery whose name I can't recall but I think had a three-letter acronym, and a 50% blockage in another. They put a stent into the 99% blocked artery in "the cath lab" and the procedure went well, and she was recovering in the ICU. I went to see her and she looked beat up but about as good as someone in Intensive Care recovering from a heart attack and an operation could look. She was sore, but coherent and in generally good spirits, so I kept her company and asked the nurses lots of questions and contacted my sister so she could call mom. Later in the week I sneaked mom a Sausalito cookie from Pepperidge Farms -- for "morale purposes", you understand, because she was on a low-everything diet and hospital food isn't very good -- and she came home on Wednesday. 

So like I said, she's fine now. Despite her little stunt of not calling 911 until after she'd cleaned herself up -- oh, and we had A TALK ABOUT THAT, let me tell you! I told her the next time something like this happens, she is to call 911 before she does anything else because she could have collapsed in the bathroom and died! And she is to WAKE ME UP! -- despite all this, she seems to have gotten to the ER within the "golden hour" and is recovering well. She has a follow-up appointment with her cardiologist on Monday and we will discuss how this happened, because the last time she'd seen the cardio was earlier in the year and none of this was detected. 

The pet theory we have is that this has been caused by all the stress we've been under this year. For those folks who haven't been keeping track, and I confess I haven't written about a lot of it on this blog, but here's the highlights:

• Water leak in master suite which caused damage and mold
• Furniture was removed from master suite, all carpets and a lot of drywall removed
• That was in February, it's now October and our insurance company STILL won't pay to make those rooms livable, and we're tripping over the furniture that was moved out
• My father died in June, the day before my mom's birthday
• We had to put our other dog Daisy to sleep because her congestive heart failure got to the point where she was struggling to breathe and couldn't sleep
• All sorts of minor crap involving bills and funeral arrangements and the assorted aches and pains of getting older

So yeah, if mom's heart attack is partly the result of our insurance playing fuck-fuck games with us for 9 months, I'm gonna get a lawyer and sue the ever-loving SHIT out of them. 

That was my week, and I'm only now recovered enough to recount it. I swear to God, this year is the worst I've had this century, and if things don't let up soon I will likely end up in the hospital, the jail or the morgue. 

Before you ask if you can help: you can't, unless you have a magic wand or a million dollars or a Florida-licensed lawyer who's willing to work either pro bono or for a chunk of the settlement. 

Now I'm gonna post Monday's podcast episode on social media because all that went out the window when I went to the ICU and I'm only now getting back on schedule. I missed the Patreon deadline for it for September, but oh well. 

And goodnight, America, wherever you are...

February Showers Bring Mold Flowers

So in part 1, I talked about how March beat the crap out of me politically. In this part I'm going to talk about how it abused me personally, but it's going to take some backtracking in order to set everything up. 

As I've mentioned before, my father was a hoarder on the low end of the scale. He didn't save trash, but he kept boxes of every bill he ever paid and every pay stub he received, going back as far as the late 1960s. He also collected items of dubious value, like cheap knives from BudK and anything with Ronald Reagan on it. When he ran out of room, he'd stack them in piles on the floor. When we eventually got him into the VA home, the only part of the floor we could see was a footpath from the door to the bed and the bathroom / walk-in closet. 

Cleaning all this out and throwing away what is junk and trying to sell/donate what is not would be a full-time job, and neither mom nor I have time for that, so we've been working on it piecemeal. In the year-plus he's been in the home we've cleared out the junk and are working on selling or donating the nicer things. In an effort to have more room for me, the first things we did was to clear out the bathroom and closet so I could have those. I continued to sleep in my bedroom while we worked on clearing out his. (Also, I wanted a new mattress, because he was both kinds of incontinent. Ick.)

First, a quick sketch. 

|

Walk-In Closet    |   Bathroom        

|

‾‾‾‾‾‾‾

Linen Closet

The linen closet is separated from the bedroom by an archway. It's important to note that carpet covers the entire walk-in closet, half of the bathroom (where the lady of the house would put on her makeup) and the interface area linking all three rooms, including the bottom of the linen closet. The pipes for the shower are in the shared bathroom-closet wall. 

Around the first of February, I was putting something away in the bottom of the linen closet when I noticed that the floor was damp. I knew this was Not Good, so I hauled everything out of the bottom area and noticed the entire carpet was like that, and there was some mold growing on the back wall of the closet. Fortunately, nothing in the closet was damaged by moisture. We called in a plumber who said there was a pipe that had been leaking into the shared wall, and that there was mold everywhere in that space. Joy! Still, things weren't too bad, and even with my allergies I wasn't affected by the mold, so we relegated this to the category of "We will deal with this when it becomes necessary." This was likely a mistake. 

About 2 weeks later, when I was packing up for my trip to Utah, I was getting clothes out of the closet when my bare feet stepped in wet carpet. My reaction was "Well, FUCK." I then spent most of the time that I had set aside for packing instead hauling things out of the wet parts of the closet. 

Unlike the linen cabinet, this was bad. I had boxes of books and collectible trading cards (Magic: the Gathering) stored there which were not only damp and stuck together, but also had mold growing on them. This, as you might imagine, destroyed their collectability and so I ended up pitching a longbox worth of cards. I'm pretty sure I didn't lose any of my super-nice ones but I have no idea of the value of what I lost, and frankly I didn't want to know. The books were less heartbreaking, but it still pained me to throw away formerly nice hardback books. 

If you're going to leave a comment saying "You shouldn't have thrown them out, there are things you could have done to save them," please don't. They are long-tossed and you telling me that would only cause me more grief. 

Once the boxes were out, it was clear that there was mold growing not just on the walls but also on, or maybe even in, the carpet. Apparently the water which had leaked into the linen closet had also leaked into the walk-in. The weird thing, the part which was completely unexpected, is that the walk-in closet wasn't wet near the linen closet; instead, it was wet in the far right corner, and had spread along the back to the far left corner. Apparently there's a slight incline in that wall, and water follows the path of least resistance, so naturally it pooled in the far, out of reach area instead of in the area where it would be sensible to check (because, well, I did check when I discovered the linen closet mold). 

What followed was the usual circus:

• Contact homeowner's insurance company to make a claim.
• Insurance company sends out mold testers.
• Mold testers agree there's mold and water damage and people need to come out and tear crap apart (the term "total demolition" was used).
• We find a mold remediation company to come assess the situation. 
• They give us an estimate, we run it past insurance. 
• Insurance says yes, cuts us a check, we hire mold techs to come out. 

On March 27, we got a phone call from the mold techs that said "We'll be out there bright and early tomorrow morning. Have everything moved out of room by the time we get there."

So, because dad has a bunch of crap and we have nowhere else to put it, mom backed her car out of the garage and we started stacking things there. When we ran out of room, we stacked things on the dining room table, and then on the floor. 

Mom and I worked for over 12 hours clearing that stuff. We were exhausted, my back was screaming, and we still weren't done. So Tuesday morning, mom did the "I'm just a little old lady, I couldn't move all this stuff" routine -- which isn't a lie -- to convince the mold techs to help us move the rest of the stuff. After 90 minutes or so, everything except the big furniture like bed frame, dresser, chest of drawers, etc was moved out of the bedroom, the techs have taped off the bedroom like it's a hazmat cleanup (which I guess it is), with a zippered plastic sheet over the door and industrial air purifiers running in both the bedroom and the dining room, and my back hurts so much that I'm legitimately worried I might have injured myself. (Thankfully I hadn't.)

For the next three days, the techs were in and out, tearing everything up and hauling it out, starting with all the carpet and then the moldy drywall. The big furniture which couldn't be moved out was put up against the wall after they'd torn up the carpet, and then had a plastic sheet taped to the wall over it like a giant plastic cocoon. 

Thursday we had to leave the house for an hour while they filled the house with ozone for some reason. Fortunately the weather was nice and we took the dogs to a nature walk, which they enjoyed. 

Friday they were done, and they had the mold sensor people come back to take readings throughout the house to determine if the techs had done a good job or if they'd missed some mold and would have to tear up more of the house. 

Monday, April 3, we got the first bit of good news in a long time: they'd gotten all the mold, so the techs could take their stuff and go. 

 

Now we have the space back, but it's completely unlivable, and we have schedule a different work crew from a different company to restore/renovate the suite so that it can be inhabited. Then, and only then, can we start moving stuff back in, and maybe if I'm lucky I'll be able to move in there. 

You're looking through where the linen closet used to be, into where the shower used to be. 

I say "maybe" because around the time this was happening (a week ago as of this blog post), mom received a phone call from the Veteran's Administration Nursing Home where dad is that he's basically dying. Keeping in mind that I only know what mom summarized for me (I wasn't on the call) but he has some kind of bronchial infection, plus because of Parkinson's he can't swallow, so while they can give him IV antibiotics he can't take his other meds and refuses to eat, partly because of the difficulty swallowing and partly because everything needs to be pureed for him to eat it and he's probably sick of that. When I had my face mauled by the family dog back in 2017 I couldn't open my mouth to chew for a few weeks, and by the time I had my stitches out I was sick of eating soup and applesauce and other runny foods. You don't realize how important texture is to food until you have to eat the same texture over and over again. 

Before you ask "Why isn't the VA giving him his over meds via IV or whatever?" it's because he's hospice care. 

So when he dies, mom loses a significant chunk of income: half his Army pension and all of his service-related disability, plus I don't know how much of his Social Security. Given the financial hole he put us in that we haven't dug ourselves out of, plus the state of the economy in general, I don't know if mom will be able to keep the house or if we'll be forced to sell it. 

I'm not worried about what happens to me. I have friends and I have skills. But mom is 83 and doesn't want to leave her home, her garden, her memories acquired over decades. But that's a problem for Future Erin, because right now Present Erin has way too many problems already on her plate. 

Latest Mom Update

The neurosurgeon in Orlando looked at her and her tests and said "You definitely need surgery but it's not an emergency. Go home, we'll have the operation in 2 weeks."

So she's home for New Years, which is cool, and she's definitely glad to be out of the hospital, stretching her legs and wearing real clothes and playing with the dogs. I imagine the delay is due to hospital staff being on vacation, but regardless we are going to make the most of it, as we now have time to actually prepare for a hospital stay and convalescence: in addition to making a "hospital bug-out bag" that includes toiletries, books, etc, she's going make sure we have lots of meals prepared and frozen before the operation.

My track record with cooking in the kitchen is terrible -- the smoke detector is less than two feet from the stove, and any time something gets on the burner and lets off some smoke, the alarm WHOOP WHOOPs like the house was burning down. Worse, this is not an easily movable alarm: it's hard-wired into the house system, and because it's tied to the security system, it auto-alerts the local fire department.  I'm actually 2 for 2 when it comes to cooking and summoning firefighters.

Look, I promise I'm a self-sustaining adult! I just can't be allowed anywhere near a stove.

Anyway, she's home and both the dogs and I are relieved. Things are going to be hectic/hellish in the month of convalescence following her surgery, but at least there will be time to prepare for that rather than have it sprung on me.

Mom update

Just got off the phone with Dad.

Mom's been moved to the neurological ward, where she's going to stay at least another night.

Turns out surgery IS necessary, but it's not emergency, so there's the possibility it can be scheduled for sometime in January so she can come home, relax, and then make proper preparations for a hospital stay. Not sure what kind of restrictions she'll have on activity.

The surgery is disk replacement rather than spinal fusion, which is great news, because I haven't heard anything good being said about fusion. It's expected to be fairly outpatient if things go well -- surgery in the morning and back home by evening or the next day -- but I don't expect things to go well, because life.

So, that happened

There's too much blood in my caffeine system to be properly coherent, but stuff has escalated to the "Oh shit, time to notify family members" step so I might as well get it all out at once rather than have to explain it multiple times.

Forgive me if I sound snarky. I'm exhausted and stressed and haven't had enough sleep.

On Wednesday, my mother (unbeknownst to us, because she's a tough old bird who doesn't like to talk about her ailments) thought she was having a TIA. This was not an unreasonable assumption since she is 73, there is a history of stroke within her family (her grandmother died of one at approximately her age), and she was experiencing the following symptoms:

• Tingling/numbness in one arm
• Weakness/loss of feeling in both legs
• Throbbing pain in the neck that was parallel with the carotid artery and up the side of her head
• Difficulty swallowing

So she got in the car and went to a local urgent care facility (Why? She's stubborn) where they told her that she needed to get her ass to the ER. My father had to drive over to the urgent care place and take her to the ER because at that point she was unable to drive herself. 

The ER took her, ran a batch of tests including a CAT scan, and while the tests came back good they decided that given her age and symptoms and possibly other things they would keep her for 24-48 hours for observation and yet more tests. They admitted her to the hospital Wednesday night. She was in good spirits and the symptoms were receding at this point, probably due to the psychology of "I'm in a place where people can take care of me, and they say I'm not in danger, so now I can relax and stop worrying."

Thursday morning she met with specialists and therapists and lots more technicians for tests, including an MRI. Thursday afternoon she thought she'd be coming home that evening. 

Thursday evening we were informed, "Good news! It wasn't a TIA or a stroke."

Bad news:  it's worse. She's been diagnosed with Spinal Stenosis, which is basically when part of the backbone starts putting pressure on the spinal cord. Left untreated, this can result in paralysis from the neck down. 

Continuing the trend of bad news, the hospital she was in didn't have a neurosurgeon, and so last night she was transferred via ambulance to a hospital in Orlando. This means that what was a quick 15 minute drive to see her now requires a 2-hour round trip, and that's assuming no traffic whatsoever -- and when dealing with Orlando, that's a false assumption. 

The only good news to come out of this is that it was caught very early, mom is great shape for an old lady, and that the neurosurgeon is one of the Top 10 in the nation. She's in good hands and is expected to make a full recovery. 

The question, of course, is if she'll need surgery (probably) and what kind (artificial disk, spinal fusion, etc). The time spent in recovery and rehabilitation from surgery is a definite concern to everyone. 

Dad is spending most of his time in the hospital, which is frankly a blessing as it keeps him occupied. Meanwhile, I have become Chief Hausfrau and babysitter to three needy dogs. Fortunately I can do my own laundry and am reasonably adept at keeping house, but I never learned to cook beyond the defrost/ open cans/ use microwave skillset (truefax: I once set off the fire alarm scrambling eggs, which resulted in a fire truck arriving at our front door within minutes) and if I need to go shopping for the household I need to have Dad come along so that he can pay for it, because I am a writer and that means broke-ass poor. 

On the good side, this is at least a nice reminder to my father that yes, I am useful to have around the house, because wouldn't he be screwed if I wasn't here to look after things? He needs occasional reminders like this lest he be tempted to consider me useless and worthless. We have such a special relationship, he and I. 

So I'm stressed, worried, operating on too much caffeine and too little sleep, trying to keep the house from descending into entropy without going nuts. Blog posts are going to be rather erratic until things resolve themselves into some semblance of normalcy. 

If y'all were local, I'd ask you to bake me a casserole so I could simultaneously stave off grocery shopping and avoid cooking, but since you're not I'll have to settle for asking for prayers for mother's speeding and complete recovery, and the retention of my sanity. 

Thank you, and WHARRGARBL.