Wherever I go, I can’t get away from nagging matriarchs or manbabies.
Example 1 – attempted matriarchal dictatorship:
Wednesday I was looking forward to being rescued from Harpy-land by my mother. As I was loading my junk into her trunk (I realize how off this sounds and it’s staying as is for my own amusement), the second thing she said after “Hi!” was “I called the GI department at the CC and they want you to stop by to register next week”. Oh, for fuck’s sake. The nurse there gave her numbers for the nephrology and cardiology clinic and she told me to set up appointments there. Hey! NO! Get off my case, you quasi-Harpy! When it comes to medical care, less is more. Does this make any sense? The more doctors I have to deal with, the more tests are ordered and the more stress it puts me under. As if I can handle ANY MORE STRESS. Nope, I don’t think so.
After her bossy-bitch routine failed, she said “Do it for me so I can stop worrying!”, followed by lots of whining and pouting. Ugh, she tapped the guilt keg. Here’s the thing – I’m stable. For now. I know when I’m not and I do what I have to do in those cases. I won’t waste my energy on that which isn’t absolutely necessary.
“She makes her own decisions.” – that’s what MC said to my Mom while we were arguing about my accusation that she’s overstepping boundaries.
Damn right, I do. I refuse to choose things that have no benefit to anyone, or could possibly cause harm, just to placate someone who’s worried. As insane as I sometimes think I am, this extended exposure to the truly insane people I have no choice but to coexist with gives me a little perspective boost and makes me realize how ‘with it’ I actually am. Yes, I’m a flagrant weirdo, but I’ve got gray matter that works well when it counts.
When my Mom asked MC if he makes his own decisions, he shrugged and said no. Obviously, considering his life has been dictated by satanis pubis aka Harpy, since early in September. This brings me to…
Example 2: Manbabies
I have numerous stories of MC attempting to retrieve his balls from Harpy and they’re all infuriating. I can’t stand watching him go through it, but ultimately it’s his fight. I can mouth off all I want to his parents and they don’t hear a single word I say. It HAS to come from him. Side note: he’s doing well aside from mental anguish. His wounds are all healed and he has regained most of the strength in his right arm. He’s able to drive again and gets his second wind around 8pm, which results in evening trips to the 24-hour box stores to peruse the selection of spiffy socks and…candy.
This isn’t about Manchild at all. It’s about my Dad, Manchild Sr.
He has diabetes, heart disease, and basal cell carcinoma that has resulted in the loss of several chunks of skin in the past 20 years. He’s on antidepressants and antipsychotics. He has an insulin pump for his uncontrolled diabetes and was recently put on a subcutaneously administered medication to treat his binge eating disorder (I have no idea what it is, only that is was prescribed off label). Statins, diuretics, antiarrhythmics, anti-inflammatories for his dessicated discs, and probably a bunch of other shit I’m unaware of.
He has been nauseated and feeling abnormally unwell for the past couple of weeks. He asked me what I thought it was. My first guess was gastroparesis because he mentioned he’s burping up food hours after he has eaten it. He has uncontrolled diabetes, diabetes causes neuropathy, gastroparesis is a neuropathy. “But I have diarrhea too.” Okay, assuming he’s not a freak like me who has both gastroparesis and the perpetual trots, I’ll blame it on the Cipro that he took for 10 days to treat a gnarly UTI. Intestinal dysbiosis, or even C Diff, but he doesn’t have fever. I told him I can guess all I want and run down my professional patient ddxs’, but he really needs to see his any of his doctors. His GP or his endo…don’t care. Someone who is trained to do this shit. I recommended a bland food diet (hahaha, yeah right), which he ignored. Now that it’s Friday, he’s vomiting constantly. He can’t keep fluids down even in small amounts. We tried to get him in to be seen at urgent care or even an ER because his blood sugar is spiking due to being ill, but he’s being dumb. I found the number for the VA 24-hour medical advice line, and the nurse advised him to remain on a liquid diet for 24 hours after his last vomiting episode, then switch to a bland food diet for a few days thereafter. “I’m still peeing, so I’m not dehydrated.” Dude…you don’t wait for your kidneys to shut down before you seek medical intervention. If he can’t swallow water, he can’t swallow pills. He could go into congestive heart failure since he’s adapted to diuretics.
Just like me, he makes his own decisions. The difference being, he’s out of his fucking mind. Diabetic brain-rot. If it were me hitting the two week mark, I’d already be at the doctor’s office or hospital getting my shit straightened out. The more you urge him to do something, the more he resists. Standard Manchild protocol.
If this is indeed just a stomach bug on top of whatever the hell else is causing him to feel sick, this makes me a petri dish who should remain far far away from her husband to avoid contaminating him before his surgery next week. We’ve come too far for me to screw it up for him again. Another delay will mean more time spent in this corner of hell and that, my friends, is not an option. The fun never ends.