...
WHAT is a 70-year-old woman doing listening to Mötley Crüe? And, indeed, well you might ask, but I am now the goddess of happy campers. To translate: I got hospice to help me bring out the big guns to settle Billy's hash. Peace is now upon us. Two little old ladies can now pretty much handle the load if we take all our vitamins and get enough SLEEP... plus, of course, regular check-ins from people with muscles.
But, I tell you what! There ARE medications that keep lunatic claustrophobes who CANNOT get out of bed from constantly trying and bellowing about their predicament. The entire neighborhood was feeling the need to shoot him out of bed and into the ocean the first night we got him back from he hospital.
Holy crap, you ain't seen someone whose lungs barely work anymore, with brain tumors and half his body almost completely useless and STILL able to send everyone within a mile radius into panic mode. Berit and I had to sit there like a wrinkly brick wall until we could get the stuff that WORKS!
Not only do I now have the stuff that works, but I have two backup levels of what we Doctors Feelgood like to call "magic hammers". I told Billy I would make positive his exit is as pleasant as ever we can make anything this unpleasant, and that I would make CERTAIN all his wishes were carried out, AND I'M DOING IT.
Dammit. Don't fuck with me.
pipe up any time....
