Goodbye, gray skies! I escaped Cleveland yesterday afternoon and the plan that no one bothered to tell me was that I’d be going back to hell (his parents’ suburban home) with them. I only packed enough clothing for one day because we were supposed to be out of there Thursday evening. In the interest of being my own pack mule, I only wanted what I absolutely needed so I wouldn’t load myself down and fall over while carting shit to the room or hospital. This meant no shower stool/stuff, no personal pharmacy (only a small divided pill box), no laptop, I hadn’t given the lizard many worms as I had assumed I’d be back by Thursday night, and of course my stash of yarn. I’m going through a skein every two days…that’s how angsty I am. 😉
I let MC know that I had contacted my parents early Friday morning and asked them to meet us at 71 with the laundry basket full of stuff that MC asked me to bring for him, but asking them to repack for me was completely out of the question. My stuff has exploded all over the house. Instead, I’d go back to rural ghetto with them and give myself time to get organized before heading onward to hell. I was going to let Harpy know on the way south, but I heard MC talking to her about it in the hotel lobby while we were waiting for the car. Awesome. The fewer words I have to say to that woman, the less I have to hear her obnoxious voice grating at my sense of sanity. I sent a messenger pigeon to my parents and let them know we’d be at the exit around 3:15pm and I’d let them know if there were any delays.
We were not more than 30 minutes away from my destination when MC reminded her we were exiting soon, and she said, “I’m taking you to the farm.” Two exits too soon. It was a quarter ’til 3, so I called my parents to tell them to stay put but they were already on the way. Shit. She claimed no one told her what was going on, but I was there! He confirmed it. Her brain is fucked, or she just changes her mind on a whim without thinking about the other people involved, including her exhausted son who wanted nothing more than to go to bed. “Fresh air and cows will make you feel better.” Uh, rest will make him feel better. The whole reason he’s staying in Columbus instead of at the farm is because he’s close to large hospitals that can handle him if an emergency comes up. If something happens while he’s in BFE, he’s dead. This isn’t an exaggeration.
I let my parents know they could head home. Harpy would be dropping me off there. I tossed his crap into the Harpy-mobile, then put on a fleece jacket because the heartless bitch was blasting the AC the whole way back (it was 42 degrees outside). Skinny person problems. I freeze when everyone else is comfortable. I said I’d see MC tomorrow after I get myself all organized and repacked.
How much organizing and packing have I done? None. I sat here all evening working on my blanket any running through my watch list on Hulu. EDS was mentioned on Grey’s Anatomy and it was all wrong, from the pronunciation to diagnosis. “You may have saved this girl’s life!” Really? Did they find a treatment that actually works? No? I didn’t think so. It’s all symptom management, like so many chronic illnesses. All of the wonderful people with EDS that I’ve encountered have very few of their symptoms sufficiently managed. Oh well, it’s entertainment. Not real life. If only diseases would respond to treatment as well as they do on TV.
It’s after 10am, I haven’t done laundry, I haven’t showered, and I’m supposed to be ready to go in two hours. When pigs fly. I’m going to suggest we treat this like a TDY, wherein we remain separated and communicate via text. His surgery isn’t for another three weeks, plus 6-8 weeks after that for recovery. I can’t deal with his asshole family that long. He’s welcome to stay here and my parents have even tried to bribe him with a sub from his favorite pizza shop, but Harpy has him on a very short leash. I know he feels like shit and he doesn’t feel like fighting with her, but I’m sick too. I’m doing much better here with my people and while it makes me feel completely selfish, I know this is what I need right now. Not the constant criticism and crunching of eggshells under my feet. In order to take care of him when he needs it, I MUST take care of myself. There’s a large amount of guilt involved, but at least it’s proof I have a conscience. Or that I’ve got a strong self-sacrificial streak that I’m fighting against. Same thing, right?