Monday was bliss. My mother was enjoying her new caregiver and I was patting myself on the back for a job well-done. Of course, I should have known that my euphoric bubble would burst.
Yesterday, my caller ID revealed the agency that employs the caregiver. My stomach clenched. I started to break out into a sweat. I just knew that bad news was on the horizon. Sure enough, her caregiver had injured her ankle while at my mother’s home, and would be out for the day pending what the doctor says. Sweet. Baby. Jesus.
Trying to figure out how to deliver the news to my mother is like negotiating a hostage situation. It is best served with minimal information along with a dose of encouragement so she doesn’t lose her shit. She took it pretty well while she doled out some things she needed me to do. I exhaled and prayed that good news would later be revealed. It wasn’t.
Her caregiver has a bad sprain that will need to heal with her being off until next Wednesday. The fact that my head didn’t pop off yesterday is a miracle. So, I delivered the news to my mother with a little cushion. That cushion being that I would take the brunt for the week until she returned. I can’t deal with the fallout if I brought yet another new person in to fill the spot. I can do anything temporarily. If she doesn’t come back, we will be back to the drawing board. Christ. On. A. Cracker.
There were many sentence enhancers used yesterday. None of them were adequate enough. My youngest reminded me that things could be worse. He’s right, so maybe flipping him off wasn’t necessary.
Fingers crossed that she heals and comes back. Until then, I suppose I will be giving a lot of outward smiles while I am inward screaming.
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