It sucks to be unemployed. I’m quite the couch potato, but the income and benefits are abyssmal. However, summer brings a few high points: It’s a lot nicer to walk the dog when it’s 74F, than at 20F. A lot of friends take vacation so there’s someone to hang with during daytime. So the degree of hell as unemployed is slightly less unbearable than most of the other time of the year.
Since my dad died, last year, I’ve helped my mom once or twice a week. Grocery shopping, driving her to the cemetary, the odd stuff. Being unemployed and can’t say I don’t have time, and it’s nice to help one’s mother. The bonus for me is that she lets me use her car, in between helping her out. Yay - free car. I’d help her anyway, but it’s still nice.
This week, the plan was to go visit some friends in Stockholm. I’ve been frugal and have saved up the money for the gas and I haven’t been away from hometown area for more than a year. I had mom duty Tuesday and not till next Tuesday again, so I’d get a week. Stockholm is about 400mi away and the gas should run to about $150.
No such fun for the unemployed though.
Tuesday evening arrived with some kind of germ/bacteria/bug/evil force in my stomach. At 8ish I felt that I had to pay a visit to the can, to take a serious crap, and it was not negotiable to wait. So an hour and a half ensue with frequent visits to the can and a diarrhea that started liquid and finished watery.
Stomach, not being happy to just empty the intestines decided I should throw up some as well. After my last bout on the big white porcelain tuba, I had some water, went to lie down and realized that it would be coming the other way too. I was up quickly, but not quickly enough, since I not only hit the bowl, but also sprayed the floor, walls and sink. Special bonus points for vomit to come rushing at such speed it came through my nostrils.
Feeble and pitying myself (who else would?) I finally managed to fall asleep and woke up the next morning. Showered, got dressed, woke up not-so-small-puppy-anymore and started to take him out, only to discover that he walked down the stairs on three legs. This is something that I’m very wary of, since he had a torn ligament in january and ended up having to remain calm for six weeks - such an easy task with a boxer puppy.
So off to the vet, waiting forever, since we didn’t have an appointment, and a couple of hours later, I’m $150 poorer and have a diagnosis of growth pains. I couldn’t ignore it, considering his previous injury, and not wanting to stick him in the car for a 400mi ride, only to arrive and realize I have to spend the weekend nursing him.
Of course, this meant no trip. I was still weak, I’d blown the gas money on the vet and didn’t have any extra cash for the trip, just in case. So calling friends, trying to re-schedule, ending up having to postpone and what have you. Fine, I’ll spend the weekend at home, the weather is nice, I can take puppy down to the beach, he loves bathing, but doesn’t dare to swim yet. It’s a nice Wednesday and Thursday but today, everything went to hell again. I just got home from the hospital with a injured meniscus. You see, doggy was playing today with one of his best friend, Trixie, who’s the same age and they have a lot of fun together. She’s also a 120lb Irish wolfdog, who took an odd turn and hit me smack on the left knee, when chasing my little guy. I went down like some cartoon character, took puppy home and decided to rest.
After about an hour or so, the knee started hurting in a totally new way, and I decided that a trip to the E.R. was called for. I arrived at five in the afternoon, and soon realized that I couldn’t sit and wait, I had to lie down. The welfare state is nice, since a trip to the doc only costs $40, no matter what. The disadvantage is, of course, the waiting. Two hours to see the doc, two hours wait for an x-ray and another 90 minutes for the doc to come back and tell me there really wasn’t much they could do beyond tap my knee-joint for blood, which they did: 4oz. Then binding the knee and telling me to walk as much on the leg as possible, preferably only using crutches when it really hurt.
Woe me. The pain is less, now when the blood is out, but it still hurts as hell. Three weeks to the next appointment, at which point they’ll see how it’s healed and decide if I need surgery, which they don’t think I’ll need, but anyway.
I’ll try to sleep now, which I bet will be interesting.
Thanks for letting me vent.