Accidents Happen/moms & daughters

Things in my life have been on a downward spiral... for a while now, regarding health issues and family. It’s hard to put a smile on my face, since everything seems so depressing.  Truth is, writing just hasn’t been in the cards, lately and I'm missing my blog buddies. As you all know, we lost our dear kitty Mira after 18 years, less than a month ago. I still expect to see her where she’s obviously not going to be. I know her spirit and her sister’s are everywhere around us, so that should comfort me. But it doesn’t. I need to see that sweet face and big eyes, up close and personal. SIGH. Reality kicks in. My hubby's breathing issues are at a critical point. Not just because of the COPD. But because his heart has a twisted aorta and his left ventricle is only functioning at less than 50 percent? Surgery would probably would be dangerous. My dad died two years ago, six days after he had his heart surgery. The thought of losing my hubby so close to Mira’s passing would be devastating.  He’s not keen on doing anything to alter the staus quo, though he seems to be getting worse. That frightens me. Every night I pray he makes it through the next day. Maybe I'm being a tad bit over dramatic? But... it is what it is. He's had MORE bad days, than not. Today was a very good day for him, though. I am grateful. He has a doctor's appointment at end of week.  Finally he's going to ask where to start, so he can have a better quality of life? Meanwhile, back on the East Coast my mom, whom we haven’t seen for over one and a half years, took a tumble on the way to the bathroom at 4am. All alone, she struggled to pull herself up. After difficult maneuvering, she  managed to do it, by scooting on her rear,  to the top of the stairs, dangling her feet over the edge, and grabbing hold of the wrought iron railing, in the hallway above. Frankly knowing how steep those stairs are, I felt terror, knowing how harrowing, that solution was. A week has passed and she’s none the worse for wear. Thank goodness. But still I shudder to think about her in a bloody heap at the foot of those stairs with a broken neck and no one knowing. Scary.  She also has heart issues and like my hubby doesn’t want an operation cause of my dad dying, like he did. My brother from the West coast will be there at the end of the month, so that visit should do her some good. And he'll go to the doctor with her to discuss her condition. But our troubles don’t stop there.  My older daughter has surgery soon. I’m her ride to and from hospital. Hoping she gets a good outcome. Fingers crossed. My youngest daughter, on top of having lingering Covid effects, and being immune compromised. She  was hospitalized for bleeding ulcers.  14 days later she is improving. And is attempting work in person, next week.  Again fingers crossed. Despite all this chaos around me, I’m trying to keep upbeat. My mobility and health issues are keeping me struggling too. But since I'm the glue holding everything together, I can't focus on that. Unfortunately, I keep accidently  keep falling down, hurting myself. I don't know if it's because I'm distracted by everything else??? Or just a string of bad luck. It's one thing after another. I took a tumble a few months ago, like my mom just did, really messing up my shoulder. Time healed it. But I was crawling the walls, grounded more or less, while everybody I knew, has headed out on vacation, to unwind and distract from the past year of Covid. And mostly to have some FUN. Seems the ill effects are still lingering here on our home front, though. And it is frustrating to watch other families having a good time, while we are not. I feel guilty for feeling envious. Daily I drain my brain, thinking  peaceful,  healing thoughts. Or shop for things I really don't need online. And pray the situation in our family improves. The other day however, added insult to injury. I had broken down some cardboard boxes making a big  pile in the living room. I was trying to clean a small part of the garage. Remember that project?? I asked my hubby to hold open the front door, so I could put them out in the trash. We don’t have recycling here. So I scooped up the cardboard and walked out the front door. The first step down was fine. No problem. But when I went to step off the second one, the back of my shoe hit the edge of  it, and splat I went onto the cement sidewalk below and partly into the bushes, full of poison, whatever??? Cardboard scattered everywhere. I was more upset that my thrifted pants might have a hole on them??? Than how much pain I was actually in. Every part of my body was crying out in agony. I glanced downwards at my arm and hand just in time to notice a snake was slithering away. And bugs of a million sorts were crawling all over the dirt, grass and some on my extremities. I started screamimg, louder and louder.  I had been like a turtle on it’s back. I couldn’t right myself and my hubby‘s efforts to help were fruitless. I could not pull myself up no matter how hard I tried. I was a beached whale. But seeing the snake got me moving what little bit I could. It just wasn't enough to get me off the ground. My spouse had had enough and was going to call 911. We were both afraid he might end up on the ground with me, if he tried to0 hard to help. I convinced him to let me regain my footing. (Bad pun, sorry.) I needed  some more time.  He relented. And I was able to concentrate on turning over. Then crawling back to the stoop. The lower step I had fallen off, was going to be more helpful now. It was higher than I would have liked, but I believed if I were persistent...  I’d be able to use it to help me out of the situation I found myself in. Fifteen minutes later, my efforts paid off. I was able to use my elbows on the step, to push my legs up, pivot and actually sit on it. It was exhausting.  My hubby, then helped pull me up to a standing position.  Needless to say, I was traumatized by the whole thing. I was trembling and weak... when he helped to get me through the front door... so I could lay down on the sofa. My shoulder suffered the most damage. But the other parts on my right side weren’t really doing that well either.  I iced what I could,  took aspirin and slept through to early afternoon, the next day. I can not believe this has happened to me again. Another fall. More healing needed. It’s very embarrassing and I’m beside myself, 

over the 'damage' to my body. 

My poor fragile bones.

I mean how much more can they take???  

I'm not a spring chicken.

But I'm not that old???

Getting Old & Fumble Fingers

 

Getting older is a chore. Everything hurts, nothing works. It’s frustrating. The high point of my life these days is going to the grocery store. Because of Covid my hubby still REFUSES to travel. And we go little if anywhere. Climbing up into my van is difficult, at best, but I manage to go it alone sometimes. And escaping the daily monotony is a thrill. I’m vaccinated. No worries. So... I travel a couple miles up the road, to the supermarket and find a parking place. I wobble to where the scooters are inside and get on board one, with a charge. Then the fun begins as I navigate my way around the store finding what I need. It brings me joy to be getting out of the house and seeing what new items are lurking on the shelves.  When I’m done picking and choosing what’s what, I check out. I then load the van up with my haul and  head back home. There, you know the drill. I have to unpack it all and put it away inside. Well the last time I did this, I had fumble fingers. Because I have neuropathy in my hands, sometimes they don’t work so well. I had reached into the van to grab a bag. I have hooks on back of my seats that hold the bags. They are quite high up. As I pulled the bag off, I realized it was heavier than I anticipated and I accidently dropped it. My fingers just didn't work. SPLAT right on the driveway apron. This was from a height of about 3 to 4ft. I screamed, mad at myself for being so clumsy. When I looked in the plastic bag to see if anything was broken, I suddenly realized there were two cartons of eggs in it. I knew without a doubt they had to be lost, for hard boiling. My husband was going to be disappointed. I managed to get everything else out of the vehicle and inside without further incidence. But I felt stupid for the mishap. There were two cartons of eggs, like I said. Amazingly the one on top received NOT one bit of damage and the eggs were completely intact when I opened the lid. The other one, on the bottom, however, did not fare so well. Shells and yolks were everywhere. When my husband saw the mess he was going to dump the bag and carton into the trash. I screamed no, I could salvage them. I put all the groceries away and then spent the next fifteen minutes picking shells out of the mixture inside the carton. When I was done, I poured some oil into my saucepan on the stove, and added the broken eggs, sans shells. Threw in some Old Bay seasoning, added a touch of milk and some smoked oysters to the mix, beating it up. And made an omelet. No harm done.  A happy ending. “Waste not, want not.”  Have you ever had this happen to you?

Independence Day is Here

ENJOY the DAY.

Remember what it means.

GET VACCINATED 

to kick the Delta Variant 

to the curb.