This is very long. Im venting and trying to save the stories of Life with Father aka Poppy. I know some of you are dealing with your elderly parents and this just proves, you are not alone! Poppy has been very sick. He went to the doctor and the diagnosis was bronchitis. His 82 year-old girlfriend landed here (Tampa) from New York the week he was pretty sick. The following week, she comes down with it and has it worse than he does. I steered clear of both of them retreating to my room and only emerging when they werent here. I became an OCD hand washer and constantly wiped down everything they touched in the house with a cleaning product containing bleach. It’s pretty hard to keep the germs at bay when the man brings her to our house every single day and she uses my bathroom. I tried really hard to keep from getting it. I got it from him last year, lost five days of work, and ended up with the dreaded “Frankenstye.” Remember? So I tried, in vain, to explain how sicknesses spread. His response was always, “I’m NOT contagious.” So I ask him how Mary got it. He replies that he doesn’t know, but it wasn’t from him. He is NOT contagious. I explained how one should remain in one’s home when ill out of courtesy for others. Nope. He wasn’t buying into it. So the woman I’ve affectionately dubbed, Edith Bunker, sat in our living room hacking up her lungs day after day and using my bathroom (thats the worst offense). Yep, I have it. When I started showing the first symptoms, he was furious. “Where did you get THAT?” he demanded. I explained, from “YOU!” “NO, you did not. I’m NOT contagious.” Okey dokey. He further explains, “I did not breathe on you.” “Aha!” I counter. Then you admit it is contagious? “The damned Yankees brought it down here and gave it to everyone,” he retorts. Me again, “If that’s so, and they gave it to everyone, then you will agree that it IS contagious?” “I guess you got me on that one,” he gives in. Night before last, Edith Bunker sat in the living room near death huddled inside her jacket demanding that he turn the heat up to 75 degrees. This is Florida and even though it’s somewhat cold outside (it was mid-50s), 75 degrees will roast all inhabitants. “OMG,” I screamed in my stuffed up head. “They are going to cook me.” Even when the temps here were in the 30s, I had to sleep with the window cracked so I could breathe because the heat was set so high. Today, he gets dressed and announces that he is off to take Edith to church. “What? Do you want her to infect the entire congregation?” “She is NOT contagious. We don’t have the flu, and we did NOT give this to you. The Yankees brought it down here,” he huffs forgetting the previous conversation when he admitted it IS contagious. “Well, I don’t hang out with Yankees! You do!” I explain as we live in Snow-Bird City AND Edith is from New York! “Maybe you are right. I’ll tell her not to go to church,” he concedes. Upon his return (from taking Edith to church), “Mary said a special prayer for your healing today.” I’m wondering if it was for my physical well-being or my mental state. Im just glad I have some lean left over from last year.
Posted on: Mon, 27 Jan 2014 01:58:06 +0000
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