Thursday, September 24, 2015

In which Primo returns to his mom and dad's four days earlier than planned

If Sly were standing in front of me right now, I would punch him in the nose.

It's a good thing we don't own a gun.

I would use it.

Primo came home last Saturday. He had been gone for a month, with one quick weekend home. He was supposed to be here until Tuesday. In this time, we were going to celebrate his birthday and he was going to do a bunch of chores and he was going to relax.

Instead, we had the drama of Doris needing a blood transfusion. And an x-ray because of severe abdominal pains, which turned out to be (as I diagnosed) constipation.

Today, Sly called Primo - Sly never calls Primo - he just complains that Primo doesn't call them enough - to say that he does not know what to do.


Admitting he does not know what to do.

A first.

Primo messaged earlier today

  • He had heard from the nurse that my mom would not be able to bear any weight on her leg for at least 6 more weeks -- but that may only apply to the left leg.

  • 2:46pm

    She is miserable in the rehab place. He is unhappy about paying the full cost (if Medicare won't cover any because she can't do real PT) for a place where she is unhappy. He may think that she could go home, but I said that would require full-time care and a bunch of equipment at home, which might cost even more.

Primo is worried about his mom, whom he will not be able to see for a week yet, so has decided to return early to his mom and dad's.

"It's no fun for me here," he said. "They still  bring their problems to me but now I am a thousand miles away. This is just too hard."

"Did you want to scream at your dad that he is the reason Doris is in a rehab center?"

"Yes," Primo admitted.

So now, on a weekend when we are having a houseguest and in a week where Primo was going to relax and catch up on some chores, he is instead, again

dealing with his parents' shit.

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