The Rock and the Hard Place

Aneeda72

Aneeda72

Well-known Member
Yes, I am back for a bit. My life, as usual, a nightmare. Some history. As many know the death of my mother hit me hard. Not her dying, she was 97, a horrid person who never liked me; but I loved her. I wanted to tell her this before she died. Something I couldn’t tell her unless she was dying. I was robbed of the opportunity to do so by my brother. Anyway, something had to change-me, I had to change.

Husband and I had moved to a 750 sq ft apt. We were priced out of our house, then priced out of the two bedroom apartment. He had the master bedroom, I slept in the living room. His clothes were in the master walk in closet, mine in the small hall closet. Anyway, not rehashing old stuff, as our relationship remained difficult. But we actually got along better in the smaller space, cause he was so angry with the move, he pretty much stopped talking to me. 😊. The apartment cost 1650 dollars a month, and a raise was coming. We would be priced out of this place as well.

I gave myself a long look. I gave my life a long look. I gave all my relationships a long look. I was a caretaker. I took care of everyone but me. I was 77 years old, married 53 years to a very difficult man who lately had begun telling, when he talked to me at all, that he didn’t love me, never loved me, and was completely indifferent to me. While I continued to take very good care of him, while I continued to put up with all his crap, as I always had.

My daughter had moved to Texas, and after being quite ill was now well, and her family was fine. My oldest son had gotten a nice raise, had a long term relationship with his SO, and was doing the best he ever had. My two disabled sons were well as they could be, and relatively happy in their group homes.

My doctor was continually pressuring me to make plans as to what I would do when my husband died. At some point, the inactive lung cancer tumor that my husband had would activate and he would die. I would be very low income. I needed to make plans. So with the knowledge that my children were doing well. I did. I made plans. I finally made a plan solely for me.

I decided to buy a mobile home.
 

Thanks for the warm welcome back.

I started this because it has been 3 weeks since a son has been in the ICU. 3 weeks since I wished I had had a decent mother. I could sit by her grave, tell her this story, cry, and believe she heard. Find some comfort that my boys would join her far too soon. LOL as if.

Well, gee, that obviously is not happening. She never even acknowledged them as her grandsons. So, here I am.

I had to leave. As I wrote the last word, my phone rang. It was Jonathan’s group home manager. Jonathan has been taken to the ER via ambulance. He will be admitted to the hospital. We went, had discussion, made decisions. And it continues.

See, this is Jonathan’s story, and my story.

In November of 2023 when I made the decision to buy the mobile, a totally selfish decision, I didn’t know what I didn’t know. None of us did. I didn’t know that Jonathan had started his journey to death in June of 2023. I didn’t know it would be a long painful journey.

See, this is Joey”s story, and my story.

I didn’t know in November of 2023 that in January of 2024, Joey, my favorite person in the entire world, would start his journey to death. A faster journey than Jonathan’s, a less painful journey for sure, but death sooner than later.

They both know they are dying. Jonathan is a believer, he looks forward to heaven. He looks forward to the end of his journey. He is 41. Joey really doesn’t understand. And there is a slim chance, he will be ok. A very slim chance. He is 38.

See, this is my son in laws story and my story. He is in denial. My daughter is in denial. Better they stay in denial. The reality is unthinkable. Perhaps he will survive.

I didn’t know in November of 2023 that my son in law, husband of my only daughter, adopted father of his granddaughter who is now 6 years old, would, in February of 2024, start his own dramatic and very expensive journey towards death. It’s odd, a loved one is dying and one has to worry about and deal with an over 200,000 dollar hospital bill that the insurance company is refusing to pay. The reality of life in America. Why anyone wants to come here is beyond understanding.

I didn’t know in November of 2023, that in December of 2023 the ground would open up and we would all fall into hell.

So this is the story of my buying a mobile home, and what came after. Personally, when I look back to 2022, when I agreed, finally to get the new pacemaker despite several reservations; I am so sad. I wish I had not. I wish I had died and spared myself what came later. Another selfish wish.

As for Stella, my little dog, perhaps that was the start of this story. She is fine, but no longer lives with me.

Anyway, I will write this over time, a short time, as I want to get through it. Read it or not. It might be upsetting or not. But I feel I need to write it, so there it is.
 
Aneeda 72, selfish? No. We all do best to face and "write our own true story". To ourselves, or share it with others who could gain from it knowledge that could help them best get through troubles of their own? Our pain, whatever be the cause, emotionally or physically, needs an outlet for us to survive in a world plagued with sorrows. God bless you and sustain you emotionally and physically to rise above all you've gone through and may He not allow any more sorrows to come upon you.
 
November 2023.

Talked to my daughter, yes, mom buy the mobile. Talked to my doctor, great ideal, talked to my son, be careful about what and where you buy. Yup. Did my research. Meanwhile, my friend”s dog died. Her husband was heartbroken, she was sad; but I have Stella to visit, she said.

And she visited Stella all the time. In retrospect, I think Stella was her friend. She coveted her, loved her, and when I decided to move, despite her husband not wanting another dog, I gave her Stella. Good thing. Her husband had leukemia. He died in January of 2024. Stella saved her.

I look back on that, the way things occurred. Was it all just God’s plan? Carefully orchestrated so Stella had a nice loving home when the shit in my life hit the fan? Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. Stella is a dog. Stella has a good life.

I told my husband I was buying a mobile home.

Yup, brains on the ceiling, the word no, and, I am not moving. And on and on and on. My response. YAY. Don’t move. Fine with me. Stay here or there or anywhere. I DO NOT CARE. And I didn’t. I did my research. I carefully chose a mobile home and a mobile home park. And I took every single penny we had, plus I sold our paid for new Subaru, (bought a new different one with small down payment). Took that money, all the other money, did a balance transfer for more money, and paid cash for an older least expensive mobile home in decent shape that I could find in a nice senior mobile home park 5 minutes away from a hospital. Cause with my heart, I needed an ER.

He, of course, moved with me. Cause I realized that as mean as he was and as much as he complained about me to me, he had a good thing going with me. He wasn’t leaving, ever.

So we moved In December.

And that’s when the first phone call came from Jonathan’s group home manager.
 
Jonathan was taken to the ER.

The story kept changing. This is as close to the real story that I’ll get. It has been pieced together from a few sources and several retellings. He had a sore in the outside crease of his hip. The sore would not heal completely. It would heal, reopen, drain, heal, reopen drain; repeatedly for 6 months.

We were never told about it by his staff or Jonathan himself. 6 months. He has a house doctor group. They occasionally gave him antibiotics for it. They claimed they never saw it draining. Let me scream this. This is important. Cause the group home staff saw the sore, the day care staff saw the sore (Jonathan is diapered), and the doctors and nurses saw the sore, and the aides who bathed him saw the sore. Lots of incredibly stupid people saw the sore, and saw it draining.

If you have a sore that continues to drain, for the love of God, GET THE PUS TESTED. It’s simple. The medical stupid professionals swab the pus, put it in a bag, and send it to the lab. Even a trained monkey could do this. No one swabbed the pus. 6 months.

When I noticed the day after I got my pacemaker, it was draining bit of white, I called the doctor. It’s nothing he said. 🤬. Really? I went to the ER, saw a doctor with a brain. She swabbed the pus. Staff (misspelled) infection. Into the hospital I go, IV Antibiotics, and the pacemaker was removed.

Sorry, let me scream this again. GET THE PUS TESTED.

He was taken to the ER because the sore broke open, again; and a lot of pus was draining out. He was admitted to the hospital. The pus was tested in the ER. While they waited for the results, it took 3 days, he was put on a variety of antibiotics. 5 bags of IV antibiotics were hung. He was very sick.

If he had an infected hip, that would have been bad as he had mental in that hip. But he didn’t have an infected hip. The test results came back.

He had an ecoli infection for 6 months. Yup, it was something he was fed.

The ecoli had infected the muscles in his back, and his kidney, an internal drain path had formed down through his gut, and everywhere the pus drained, everywhere the pus touched, that place became infected. His intestine stopped functioning and he had an intestinal blockage; an enormously swollen stomach, and the infection, as it grew, drained out of the sore in his hip.

On and out of the hospital, in and out of the ICU, in and out of a nursing home. Unbelievably pain. They got him well enough to remove the kidney. It had to go or he would die. But not only the kidney, once open all the infected bits and pieces of him had to be removed.

The doctors had to leave a chunk of kidney. They couldn’t remove the last bit without him bleeding to death. That bit was still infected. In and out of the hospital, of the ICU, the nursing home. Until he was well enough to have that last bit of kidney radiated to kill it off. The sore finally healed, was the last thing to hea. And he was pronounced well. He could get back to his life.

Only he wasn’t and he couldn’t. It was about 3 weeks later, he had not returned to work yet. We got a phone call.
 
So. (Don’t hold me to any time lines. It was all so confusing, so emotionally difficult that I did not and can not track tome lines.) It is January 2024. Middle of the night phone call. Joey has been rushed to the ER by paramedics. Pneumonia.

Mistakes were made with Joey’s care. Mistakes were made with Jonathan’s care. The group homes hire a variety of staff, a range of ages and nationalities, a variety of backgrounds, and intelligence. Some people while intelligent are simply stupid.

The group home owners, national corporations, train the staff and hope for the best. As soon as the staff members have held a job long enough to get some savings, they move on. It’s a job, not a career for most of them.

Joey had Covid in 2020. He was left with long Covid. His lungs were hashed. According to the lung specialist, his lungs were healed. He was released from treatment. He was fine.

In January 2024, he got pneumonia. Then he got Covid. Then he got pneumonia. Then he got Covid. Meanwhile, Jonathan is doing his in and out of hospital, ICU, nursing home thing. I was worn out. We saw Jonathan daily, went to his doctor appointments. Saw Joey during his hospitalizations.

Then Jonathan was “well”. Joey had a non hospitalized pneumonia, finished his meds, and was well. All was good. Then we got a phone call.
 
It was the middle of the night. Another paramedic visit, another rush him to the ER. But this was different. Joey, who had finished his last antibiotic, and was well. A couple hours later, he crashed. He could not breathe. Admitted directly to ICU.

His room directly across from the nurses station. His curtains kept open so he could be watched by everyone. Five days, touch and go. He healed. Was sent home on oxygen. 3 weeks or so later, off oxygen. Everything fine. Except it wasn’t.

Couple weeks later we got a middle of the night phone call.
 
February 2024

Our son in law who never gets sick, is not feeling well. His wife takes him to the instant care. He is rushed to the ER. Chest pain, he cannot breathe. Hospitalization. It’s his heart. He is sent home in a/with a resuscitation vest.

About six weeks later, rinse/repeat. And again. The medical bills are mind boggling and the insurance company is giving them grief. As if the stress of him almost dying 3 times isn’t enough. Eventually the insurance company pays.

If it happens again, he will have a defibrillator installed. My daughter wanted to come see her brothers. Took vacation this week to come see them. Wanted to see them before they passed. Wanted to see them because we don’t know how long they have. She cannot leave her husband, in case he passes.

We feel we cannot leave our sons to see our son in law.

😭
 
As I write this, Jonathan was admitted to the hospital this morning. He has another small intestine bowel blockage. When I went this morning we talked. He agreed to surgery if it was offered.

My oldest son went and saw Jonathan a half an hour ago. Although Jonathan was admitted to the surgical ward, in case he needs surgery, he is now refusing surgery. I understand, I truly do. He is done with this life and ready to move on.

He believes in God, in heaven, strongly. He is ready. We will respect his wishes. There will be no surgery unless he changes his mind. Meanwhile we simply wait.
 
If the time ever comes when you no longer have the emotional nor physical strength to release your pain through writing about all the trials you are suffering through, know that in our hearts all we who care will forever hope that your life will at last find happiness.
 
Let me go back to the mobile home in a bit more detail for hollydolly, and a break from the boys and some of the the sadness.

So husband had several melt downs, and usually I cave just to shut him up. But I am 77, and his PTSD is at its worst, he’s mean and nasty and saying really hurtful things, and I find I am just tired of his crap and tired of being understanding and tired of his infantile ways.

And I am tired of being triggered, and tired of my own over the top anger, and tired of my infantile ways. And I really don’t care. He is an old man. I think he has an inactive lung cancer, I think it should activate, I think he should do me a favorite and just die.

Then, with the insurance, I could buy a really nice mobile home. 🤦🏻‍♀️. Yup, I am not a saint by any means. I already had 3 sons die as infants. Since I am 77, all my older relatives parents, aunts, uncles, everyone has died. And I had hoped to die before anyone else did.

I served myself a huge bucket of self pity, and forged ahead. I bought a mobile home on the last day of November in 2023. He loves to move in the winter. 😂. He says we can’t afford to live apart. Sure we can, I say. I can live in the mobile and you can pay the bills. Then you can live under a bridge or in a park or with our son. He’s having trouble realizing that I just don’t care.

Cause for once, in 53 years, it’s not about you, I say. For once, in 53 years, it’s about me.
Of course, he was moving with me. Our son would let him live with him, but our son would not take care of him. He’d have to get up off his ass, and that would not happen.

The mobile is wonderful. A single wide. Research showed to buy one with a frame made in at least 1975. Frames before that time cannot be moved. If the park is sold, and many have been, homes build earlier are trashed. My frame is 1998. I was buying when Utah housing was still way too high. Still is. I paid 60,000, with 10,000 left for necessary repairs.

Plumbing ate that up really fast. And I still have a leak in the bathtub. Yes, we had an inspection. Apparently there had been temporary fixes which were very temporary. Charged an air conditioner, cause Utah summer are brutal and mobile homes are not. My tiny bedroom is at the front of the mobile. It’s great except for the closet access. The hot water heater is in my closet as well.

My room is yellow and I love yellow rooms. I have a jack and Jill bathroom, shower tub/combo, but there a hand railing to help with access. The bathroom is painted brown 🤮. Bought the high toilets for both bathrooms. Charge, charge, charge 😂. (He can work overtime). The living room is, hmm, close to army green, but did a bit of green and white wallpaper.

Found some amazing curtains, green, white flowers, brownish branches. Very nice. One wall kitchen, big hole where the dishwasher was, just put an Ikea cabinet there. Kitchen painted brown, almost finished painting it white. It’s lovely. Separate laundry room. And I own it. I own it all. 😊

The very large master bedroom has peach walls and a lime green carpet; and is at the opposite end of the mobile YAY. A large bathroom with shower, separate large jetted tub, which he’s too fat and old to get into, (so am I) two sinks, and lots of storage. He can have it and he does have it 😂. Don’t care. He usually stays in his room. We rarely talk to each other, which means we get along so much better 😂😂😂.

And there you are.
 
Of course, I had to charge a lot. Now we owe for the new car, we owe on the balance transfer I got to pay cash for the mobile home, we owe for the air conditioner, and we owe for various other stuff. And there’s the park rent, the utilities, and all the other things you need to live. Cable tv, very expensive, I can’t live without, I really can’t. But he makes good money.

Except.

His work decides they will no longer accommodate his disability and he is given the option to go part time or quit. He goes part time. We lost 2000 dollars a month. Lord love a duck, didn’t see that coming. He’s worked there 30 years. He works from home. He stays in his room. We are getting along better mainly because we pretend we are not together. Things are going fairly well between us for the first time in decades.

We are and always have been totally united in support of our children. Our issues are kept between us and rarely involve them. And only ever involve the older two. We help the children as much as possible financially-that ability, in the blink of an eye, disappears.

I/we may be in the wrong religion.

I/we should perhaps be in a religion that believes in reincarnation. Then I could explain to myself, that in a prior life, I must have really irritated the hell out of God. Cause now I find myself in debt with three sons who are going to die much sooner than expected and a lot less money to help the my children.

But I love my mobile. Just saying.

And chicken little just ran across my computer screen, screaming the sky is falling.
 

You must log in or register to reply here.

Back
Top