"They say" write, keep a journal, jot down all your troubles. This is therapy. Well something has to work. I know I could kick the troll out of my house. Knowing I have that option is somewhat soothing. But I won't, I believe she is our responsibility. I'm pretty sure she is my payback.



On Monday she went to ER. They admitted her to rule out heart attack and a blood clot from the surgery on her knee the week before. On Wednesday they did an ultrasound, Thursday some test(can't remember the name) to test the function of the gall bladder, which they found to be sluggish, and Friday a cat scan. Each day they said that yes, the problem is your gall bladder. Why would they keep her for 6 day in the hospital for a gall bladder. She was as happy as a clam. She told Dan that she'll make more money for this stay than when she was in for her knee the previous week. You see, she has some policy with AARP that pays her money for each day she spends in the hospital, and each procedure she has done.

This is an honest scam. How do you like that oxymoron? It's legit. So she should have lots of Christmas money. Or not. She will spend it the first week she has it. If Christmas is not that week she will be crying at Christmastime for lack of money.

So they planned on doing surgery on Saturday, but the surgeon at the last minute decided not to proceed. She has been on plavix, and aspirin and so would bleed. They sent her home on Sunday. Why not Saturday? I don't know. That week while she was enjoying her stay at the hospital, our home was wonderfully peaceful. Then, it came home. She walked up the stairs talking, thru the doorway talking, and talked non stop the rest of the evening. The next day
we had to go to court. We are fighting for custody of Dan's daughter and she does not want to live with us. There are good reasons for our fight. Then that evening we found that my Bailey Boy had blood in his urine. Dan would have to run him to the vet in the morning. I had to go to work where overtime is exhausting us all. That night, last night, I cracked my mouth guard. A mouth guard is made to protect your teeth when you grind your teeth while sleeping. I have to find a better way to deal with stress.

During this time, I have been interviewing Rita. I'm taking notes and we started at the beginning. Boy, that is depressing. The things that come out of her mouth are shocking, disgusting, amusing and interesting. It's the abuse that I have a hard time hearing. Put it all together and maybe I can make some sense out of her. Researching helps me to understand. I've done some research on the Appalachian people. This is where she comes from. That doesn't help explain her, only her origins.

Some of what Rita does is on purpose, some is incidental. Her existence is a bane to mine. Today I became suddenly and furiously ill. I hate to go here but if anyone is going to read my stuff, know this, it may often be vulgar, nasty and or disgusting. Poop is a hot topic of the Queen of Evil. Back to my workday, yes, I was at work. It came so fast and watery that my bum-hole hurt, for the rest of the day. I literally had a pain in the ass. This usually indicates food poisoning and as always I think of Rita. However, I suspected the milk, it was about the right amount of time for a food bug to get to that part of my system. Plus the night before we figured out that the refrigerator was at 60', so why, for pete's sake, would I take the milk from my warm refrigerator? Well morning are not my thing, I go into auto mode, but my auto sputters in the morning. So my husband call later to tell me that our fridge is not failing, really, see Rita and Elliot bought fruit cake. Who buys fruit cake in the fricken summer? Who eats fruitcake ever? Well it was cheap and these tarts like it. So they shove their boxed fruitcake into the fridge along with every leftover for two weeks and any thing they can buy at a cheap price. The refrigerator door does not seal apparently with the fruitcake box sticking out over the shelf.

So because of Rita's fruitcake, I had a retching gut, exploding diarrhea, and a sore ass for the rest of the day. She is a pain in the ass.

Rita had surgery last Tuesday, yesterday, which was Monday she awoke ill. She had a hard time breathing, congestive heart failure. Not a big deal for the Queen, she's recovered from that easily at other times. She also had some chest pain, and a great deal of vomiting. She said it looked like old blood. I was at work. Dan called to tell me the news, he said she called blubbering incoherently. He was at work also. He said "Ma, I can't understand a damn thing you're saying". She just stopped crying and screamed "I'm fucking having chest pain and can't quit throwing up". So when I quit laughing, I called her, she was indeed vomiting, loudly. With a bit of prying she said she had taken two nitros for the chest pain, couldn't breath and was throwing up. I told her to call an ambulance, which she did not do. She went to the ER, where they ruled out a heart attack and blood clot. They kept her last night and again tonight. It took that long to run the tests for the clots. I am not too concerned as you can tell, I know her very well. What she did not tell them was that the night before she had a brown cow, which is vanilla ice cream with root beer. Not a small glass either. That was around 5pm. At 6:30 we had dinner, steak, potatoes with gravy, and veggies. Two hours later Elliot brought her a bag of gummy worms, immediately, I'm not kidding, followed by strawberry shortcake topped with a mountain of whipped cream.

Now, you would think that might make a diabetic like the Evil One somewhat ill. But her sugar seemed to be fine. My diagnosis, actually the diagnosis of my very informed co-workers is that she is having a gall bladder attack.

I dragged my sorry sore ass up to the hospital along with my husband. We wanted to know what was discovered. According to Rita and Elliot, nothing was found. They didn't know what was going on or why she had to stay. When asked why she wasn't eating we were told she was nauseous and was afraid to eat. When asked if they were managing her pain, for the knee, she said they were not. Where was her ice pack for the knee they did not know. It is like talking to children. When asked what was going to happen now, they did not know. What the hell! I walked out, to the desk and asked who was the nurse in charge of Rita.

The nurse said Rita did not have chest pain, had not complained of nausea, had not complained of knee pain and as far as she knew they did a doppler to rule out blood clot and an xray. I only spoke to her for no more than 5 minutes, I swear. Within an hour, two ortho residents came to discuss the tests. A regular resident came to discuss all other medications, tests and diagnosis's, further care, and then assured us that they would do the tests for gall bladder 1st thing in the morning. Her surgeon came in, nicely dressed in his jeans and suit jacket, to see if there was anything he could do. I did not threaten anything more than that I would have to call in to work tomorrow to come up there to see what was going on. Apparently, they did not want me to have to miss any work. So Rita is all set, drugged up, happy as a clam, waited on as any mighty Queen must be. Elliot was able to escape, Dan and I can go to work tomorrow without worry. All is well in the Queens queendom.

Clatter bone

Rita's mouth runs faster than a 'clatter bone in a goose's ass'. That saying is one I learned from her. She knows many of these old sayings, this one she can't explain. But it means that the one referred to talks alot. I swear she does not stop talking. I can hear voice when I'm outside, upstairs or in the basement. I wonder what in the hell she has to say. How can someone continue to talk non stop?

She had angioplasty with stents put in a few years ago. I was there she never slept, she talked non-stop in the recovery room and all through the halls to her overnight room.

Bionic woman

The evil one survived her surgery. We, my husband and I, have not been to see her. She's fine. A hysterectomy, two knee replacements and two lens replacements just since May of this year and she can't catch one bout of Staph Aureus? Diabetes, high blood pressure, chronic lymphocytic leukemia (sounds much worse than it is), congestive heart failure at times and, I believe, a few psychotic episodes and she goes on and on and on. Like the ever-fucking-ready bunny. At 65 Dan said "She won't last another five years". Crap, she will outlive me!

She once told one of her grandchildren that she was not going to die. She laughed and said something about sitting up in her casket at the wake and smiling, yes, and saying "what's goin on here". Oh we worry that she could do just that, embalmed and all. So, we have discussed just who gets to bring the shotgun to the funeral. Since it was my idea I think I should have the honor.

Will continue later, I would like to tell Orlan's story, God rest his soul. He paid a high price for her.

Rita had surgery today. Her knee. So far this year she had a hysterectomy in May, left knee replacement July 19, both lenses in the eyes replace in August and today the right knee replaced. Her husbands health insurance will be lost to her next year. The divorce will go thru then, and she will be left with medicare. Good thing Elliot lives here with her, someone has to take care of her. He is a saint. Unfortunately, she will not do the same for him when he gets his liver transplant. Just a couple of days ago she said that he reminded her of Orlan. Elliot had a bout of confusion and she said she could'nt stand it, it reminded her of Orlan. Beotch. Now the husbands name is Bill. He didn't pay his TV and phone bill at the hospital the last time he was in so she can't get a phone. She was giving them hell over that when Elliot left tonight. They'll give her a phone within 24 hours. Mark my words.

Now I've mentioned 3 men in this little bit of time, she is 69, does this seem confusing? It will become clear. As her story is told. I'm afraid if others read this, they will have to hear my take on the whole situation. I wish I could leave it for others to figure out but it drives me crazy and I will have to vent!

You may think I'm as wicked as I believe she is, doesn't matter. If I don't express myself I will end up in prison or a psych ward.