perils with writing and whatnot
Hubby and I moved to Tennessee with the one thought in mind of helping his mom with the last days his dad would be alive. He was in the advance stages of Parkinson’s disease and also had a stroke.
My mother-in-law (We’ll call her MIL here – short for mother-in-law.) couldn’t bear the thought of putting him in a nursing home. She toiled every day to keep him comfortable and as well as possible. To say the least, after 3 years of this, she was beginning to feel like she was losing her sanity.
Having her youngest son there, Hubby, to help with getting his dad up and comfortable in the morning and then help put him to bed at night made a huge difference in MIL’s general attitude. During most days, Hubby was looking for a job while I helped with the household chores and stayed with my father-in-law where MIL needed to go to the store or had an errand to run.
Life wasn’t really terrific, as you might guess, but it wasn’t that bad either. My days were boring but I did feel needed and I did have a purpose. The only thing was I couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. It wasn’t the bed. That was fine. The only thing I could think it could be was ‘new surroundings and experiences’.
After about eight months, Hubby was getting terribly worn out from trying to find a job. The economy in Tennessee was really getting a beating, making it hard for even the locals to find work. With our surroundings being a small town, we were considered outsiders. The one thing we had going for us was that Hubby’s brother and his family lived in the area and the brother had a good reputation in town.
That next month, Hubby found a job finally as a Direct Personal Assistant, in other words, a caregiver. MIL insisted that we look for our own place to live. It wasn’t that she didn’t want us in her home anymore. She just didn’t want to feel guilty anymore for interrupting our lives. Also, Hubby’s dad was definitely seeing his last days by then. MIL knew it wouldn’t be long until his body would give up the fight.
It took us 4 months to find a house we felt would be okay for us. Along that path, we almost bought 2 other houses. We got so close on one of them that we were all ready inside fixing and cleaning before we moved in. However, the home inspector wouldn’t approve the home for residence because of the plumping underneath the house. Thank God for home inspectors. The second one we almost bought had a ramp to the back door. We thought it was a nice feature seeing that I’m disabled. But it was way too steep and the owner wouldn’t fix that problem. We marked it off as bad.
The house we bought was a foreclosure residence. Yes, alarms went off and flags waved. Yet, we could find nothing wrong with the place other than there wasn’t a stove or a refrigerator. A lot of houses are sold this way. It had clean walls, the plumbing worked, and all we saw amiss was holes on doors where the doorstops had gone through. For a house built in the 1970s, it was in good shape. And the deal we got on it was worth the minor repairs.
Even after moving into our ‘new’ house, I still was having problems sleeping. Hubby’s hours were changed at work, which didn’t help matters. Hubby working the second shift was easier on him and because it didn’t seem to make any difference in my sleeping patterns, I said very little about my tribulations.
Just 2 months ago, I went to the doctor for one of the regular visits of letting the Vampire, Eric (will tell you more about this at another time) take blood out of my arm. I mentioned to him that I was having problems sleeping. He, of course, being the fantastic tech. he is, notified the doctor who caught me in the hall before I had a chance to leave after the blood experience.
I told him what was happening with me, and told him what I thought it was. I ended up being half-right. The part I was right about was that it did have something to do with my GAD. I needed to change when I take my second dose of medicine during the day because it does affect sleep patterns. The part I was wrong about is that it didn’t have anything to do with getting use to surroundings or experiences. This should have been obvious to me seeing that I had been in my own home for 5+ years. So what was wrong with me? I have Restless Leg Syndrome. The doctor didn’t want to put me on any more prescription meds. (I love him for that.) He suggested I take Tylenol PM and, if needed, an over-the-counter med for arthritis.
Believe it or not, it’s working, at least so far anyway. I can’t believe how much my general attitude has changed and how much more I can get done.
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